So they came alongside, under many craning heads of seamen and projecting mouths of guns; so they climbed on board somnambulous, and looked blindly about them at the tall spars, the white decks, and the crowding ship's company, and heard men as from far away, and answered them at random. And then a hand fell softly on Carthew's shoulder. “Why, Norrie, old chappie, where have you dropped from? All the world's been looking for you. Don't you know you've come into your kingdom?” He turned, beheld the face of his old schoolmate Sebright, and fell unconscious at his feet. The doctor was attending him, a while later, in Lieutenant Sebright's cabin, when he came to himself. He opened his eyes, looked hard in the strange face, and spoke with a kind of solemn vigour. “Brown must go the same road,” he said; “now or never.” And then paused, and his reason coming to him with more clearness, spoke again: “What was I saying? Where am I? Who are you?” “I am the doctor of the Tempest,” was the reply. “You are in Lieutenant Sebright's berth, and you may dismiss all concern from your mind. Your troubles are over, Mr. Carthew.” “Why do you call me that?” he asked. “Ah, I remember--Sebright knew me! O!” and he groaned and shook. “Send down Wicks to me; I must see Wicks at once!” he cried, and seized the doctor's wrist with unconscious violence. “All right,” said the doctor. “Let's make a bargain. You swallow down this draught, and I'll go and fetch Wicks.” And he gave the wretched man an opiate that laid him out within ten minutes and in all likelihood preserved his reason. It was the doctor's next business to attend to Mac; and he found occasion, while engaged upon his arm, to make the man repeat the names of the rescued crew. It was now the turn of the captain, and there is no doubt he was no longer the man that we have seen; sudden relief, the sense of perfect safety, a square meal and a good glass of grog, had all combined to relax his vigilance and depress his energy. “When was this done?” asked the doctor, looking at the wound. “More than a week ago,” replied Wicks, thinking singly of his log. “Hey?” cried the doctor, and he raised his hand and looked the captain in the eyes. “I don't remember exactly,” faltered Wicks. And at this remarkable falsehood, the suspicions of the doctor were at once quadrupled. “By the way, which of you is called Wicks?” he asked easily. “What's that?” snapped the captain, falling white as paper. “Wicks,” repeated the doctor; “which of you is he? that's surely a plain question.” Wicks stared upon his questioner in silence. “Which is Brown, then?” pursued the doctor. “What are you talking of? what do you mean by this?” cried Wicks, snatching his half-bandaged hand away, so that the blood sprinkled in the surgeon's face. He did not trouble to remove it. Looking straight at his victim, he pursued his questions. “Why must Brown go the same way?” he asked.