tunate man rolled over the side of the raft and instantly disappeared.
"Save him! save him!" shouted the boatswain.
"It's too late; he's dead!" said Dowlas.
"Ah, well! he'll do for———" began the boatswain; but he did not finish his sentence.
Wilson's death, however, put an end to the fray. Flaypole and Burke were lying prostrate in a drunken stupor, and Jynxstrop was soon overpowered, and lashed tightly to the foot of the mast. The carpenter and boatswain seized hold of Owen.
"Now then," said Curtis, as he raised his blood-stained hatchet, "make your peace with God, for you have not a moment to live."
"Oh, you want to eat me, do you?" sneered Owen, with the most hardened effrontery.
But the audacious reply saved his life; Curtis turned as pale as death, the hatchet dropped from his hand, and he went and seated himself moodily on the farthest corner of the raft
CHAPTER XXXIX
A FATHER'S LOVE
January 5 and 6.—The whole scene made a deep impression on our minds, and Owen's speech coming as a sort of climax, brought before us our misery with a force that was well-nigh overwhelming.
As soon as I recovered my composure, I did not forget to thank Andre Letourneur for the act of intervention that had saved my life.
"Do you thank me for that, Mr. Kazallon?" he said; "it has only served to prolong your misery."
"Never mind, M. Letourneur," said Miss Herbey; "you did your duty."
Enfeebled and emaciated as the young girl is, her sense of duty never deserts her; and although her torn and bedraggled garments float dejectedly about her body, she never utters a word of complaint, and never loses courage.
"Mr. Kazallon," she said to me, "do you think we are fated to die of hunger?"
"Yes, Miss Herbey, I do," I replied, in a hard, cold tone.
