"What's the use? we cannot do more than has been done. We shall sight land by daybreak, and I hope run into Port Natal, if the wind holds." "Have you heard anything of Dom Maxara?" anxiously asked Hughes. "Nothing; but he got a terrible mauling. When I saw him, he was lying between the pump and the mainmast with his thigh broken." "Is there any one else hurt?" "Yes," returned the mate; "poor Stapleton has been severely crushed. That huge sea dashed them both on deck and stove in all our boats." "Is not that day breaking, away to the eastward?" asked Hughes. "Yes; and if the wind will only hold, we shall soon sight the land, for with the leak gaining on us, short-handed, and nearly dismasted, the sooner we make a port the better," answered the mate, as, wearied and moody, the soldier turned, and went below. Volume 2, Chapter VIII. THE RAFT. Through the dim, grey light, Hughes took his way down the companion, entering the brig's little cabin. If things had seemed gloomy on deck, where the cool morning breeze was blowing, and the dying gale moaning through the broken rigging, how much more desolate all seemed here as he paused and looked about him. The hatches were on, the deadlights shipped, and a lamp, with its long wick unsnuffed, swung wildly to and fro. Down the companion came the first faint sickly streaks of the coming day. The soaked carpets, the crimson seats drenched with salt-water, and the broken cabin furniture, were the natural results of the few minutes the brig had been lying on her beam ends. A small table had broken from its lashings and, fetching way, pitched right into a large mirror, and there it lay broken among the shivered glass. The crew were now so short-handed that the steward was working at the pumps, whose metallic clanking sound was plainly heard all over the vessel. Pausing a moment as he glanced around, Hughes realised the scene, and then, passing on, knocked at the door of a small cabin. The knock was low and timidly given. It produced no reply, so, turning the handle, he entered. He stood in the Portuguese noble's private cabin, and he became at once aware that the injuries which Dom Maxara had received were of a graver character than the mate had led him to suppose. In point of fact, the broken thigh caused by being jammed in between the pump and the brig's mainmast was not all, for several ribs had been broken, by the heavy blocks which had been rolled to and fro, and some severe internal injury had been received. What was even worse was that there was no doctor on board, and so there on the tumbled bed lay the injured noble, his grey hairs falling on the pillow, while by the bedside, her face buried in the clothes, sat Isabel fast asleep. Several large stains of blood marked the sheet, and the sick man's eyes, though closed, seemed sunken, and the lips deadly white. The morning was breaking fine and calm.