Hunston endeavoured to close with him.

But the temporary strength with which his fury had invested him vanished suddenly, and he fell to the ground, a dull, heavy load.

They ran to raise him.

To their dismay they discovered that he was breathless--lifeless.

"He's dead!"

"Is he? Then, by the Lord Harry, we must go and fetch the doctor, or we shall get into an awful mess. Stay here, Joe, awhile. I'll go up and see for the doctor."

"Stop a bit," said Joe Basalt, feeling the stowaway's chest. "He's not dead yet. I can feel something moving here. Yes, it's beating."

"He's only fainting, then."

"Yes."

"Quite enough, top. I'll go up and let them know, before he can go on again about it."

Up he ran.

Joe Basalt used his best exertions to bring the swooning man round.

Tiller found Harkaway on deck.

"Might I have half a word with your honour?"

"A dozen, if you like, Tiller," said old Jack, turning from the party of daring fishermen, who had been relating their deeds of daring with the sharks, and was quite elated with the narrations which they had been giving.

Jack Tiller hummed and ha'd, and looked uneasy, and so he pulled his forelock and spluttered out--

"Please, sir, I've been and gone on like a darned bad lot, your honour."

"Tiller!"

"Yes, your honour, I have. I've been and let a berth here on board, and stuck to the money--leastways, that's what the pa.s.senger himself says, though, the Lord help me, I hadn't the least idea of doing such a thing; not I. I took a poor drowning wretch in, and I put him below in the hold to keep him snug, and--"

Here Harkaway interrupted him with a cry of wonder and astonishment.

"What, Tiller, you mean to say you have a stowaway on board the 'Westward Ho?'"

"Yes, your honour," responded the frightened mariner.

"You have done very wrong, Jack Tiller," said Harkaway, "very wrong indeed."

"I know I have, though Lord help me if I thought of wronging any man.

The poor devil in grat.i.tude, offered me money, and I took it; and now I feel as if I had been robbing your honour, that's all. But I'll be glad to hand over the money, and so will my pal, Joe Basalt."

"Joe!"

"Yes."

"Is he in it?"

"Yes, sir."

"You surprise me."

"Devil a bit do I wonder at that, sir. We're a thieving, dishonest lot, sir, little as I thought it, sir."

Old Jack smiled at this.

"Well, well," he said, after a moment's reflection, "we'll go deeper into that question when we have seen your stowaway."

"This way, sir," said the worthy Tiller.

Old Jack followed him down below.

On reaching the hold, he found Joe Basalt kneeling up in a corner over the wretched stowaway, who was still in a deep swoon.

"How is he?" asked Tiller. "Any better yet?"

"No."

"Fainted again?"

"Yes--hush! don't make a row."

"Here's the governor, Joe," said Jack Tiller.

Joe Basalt turned round with a start, and hung his head abashed.

"It's all right, Joe," said Harkaway, "Don't worry any more about it; only you were wrong to conceal it from me, that's all. And now let us look at the patient. He is ill, Jack Tiller tells me."

"Yes, your honour."

"Turn your lantern upon his face."

The sailor opened his bull's-eye.

As its glare flashed upon the half swooning man, he opened his eyes.

The recognition was mutual--yes, and instantaneous.

The stowaway glared fiercely upwards, and uttered but one word--

"Harkaway!"