So saying, I quitted the cabin and entered the pantry. There I found the steward sitting on the plate chest, with his hands to his temples. "Now then, my lad," said I; "rouse up. You are not dead yet. Have you any brandy here?" He pointed in a mechanical way to a shelf, where were several bottles. I found what I wanted, and gave him a dose to put heart into him, and asked him for some eggs. Four or five, the gathering of yesterday from the kindly hens under the long-boat, lay in the drawer, which he pulled open. I proceeded to mix two tumblers of eggs and brandy, which I carried to the next cabin. "This is my physic, Miss Robertson," I exclaimed, putting one of the tumblers into her hand; "oblige me by drinking it; and you, sir," I continued, addressing the old gentleman, "will not wait for her example." They both, to my great satisfaction, swallowed the contents of the glasses, the effect of which, after some moments, upon Mr. Robertson was decidedly beneficial, for he thanked me for my kindness in a much stronger voice, and even made shift to prop himself up on his elbow. "It is the best tonic in the world," said I, taking Miss Robertson's glass, "and I am very much obliged to you for your obedience." The look she gave me was more eloquent than any verbal reply; at least, I found it so. Her face was so womanly and beautiful, so full of pathos in its pallor, with something so brave and open in its whole expression, that it was delightful to me to watch it. "Now," said I to the old gentleman, "allow me to leave you for a little. I want to see what the _Grosvenor_ can furnish in the shape of linen and drapery. Isn't that what they call it ashore? We have found some serge, and needles and thread are easily got; and I'll set what wits the unfortunate steward has left in him to work to discover how Miss Robertson may be made comfortable until we put you both ashore." "Do not leave us!" cried the old man. "Your society does me good, sir. It puts life into me. I want to tell you who we are, and about our shipwreck, and where we were going. The _Cecilia_ was my own vessel. I am a merchant, doing most of my trade with the Cape--the Cape of Good Hope. I took my daughter--my only child, sir--to Cape Town, last year, for a change of scene and air; and I should have stopped another year, but Mary got tired and wanted to get home, and--and--well, as I was telling you, Mr--Mr.----" "Royle," said Miss Robertson. "Mr. Royle, as I was telling you, Mary got tired; and as the _Cecilia_ was loading at Cape Town--she was a snug sound ship--yes, indeed; and we went on board, we and a gentleman named--named----" "Jameson," his daughter suggested. "Ay, poor Jameson--poor, poor fellow!" He hid his face, and was silent, I should say, a whole minute, neither Miss Robertson nor myself speaking. Presently, looking up, he continued--