upon the services of the
doctor at Carn Du he would never have seen the sun rise on the morrow's
dawn. But as it happened, the warmth of the wrapping, the influence of
the spirit that had been poured liberally down his throat, and the
chafing, combined with his naturally strong animal power to revive him
from the state of insensibility into which he had fallen, and long
before they reached the granite pier of the little harbour his eyes had
opened, and he was staring in a peculiarly puzzled way at Mark Penelly,
who still knelt beside him in the double character of medical man and
nurse.

"Eh! lad, and that's right," cried the master in a sing-song tone; "why,
we thought we was too late. How came 'ee to get twisted up in the nets
like that?"

Harry Paul did not answer, but lay back on the heap of what had so
nearly proved to be his winding-sheet, trying to think out how it was
that he had come to be lying on the deck of that fishing lugger, with
those men whom he well knew apparently taking so much interest in his
state.

For all recollection of his swim and the conversation that had preceded
it had gone. All he could make out was that Mark Penelly, who was never
friendly to him, was now kneeling by his side looking in a curious way
into his eyes.

By degrees, though, the cloud that had been over his understanding
seemed to float away, and as they were nearing the harbour he began to
recall the urgings he had received to leap from Carn Du, which now stood
up black and forbidding on his left; the swim out to the lugger and
round; and then--"Well, how do you feel now, lad?" said the master.

"Better," said Harry, forcing a smile.

"How came ye to swim into the net? Didn't 'ee see it?"

"No," said Harry, thoughtfully; and as he spoke Mark Penelly watched him
very attentively. "I hardly know how it was, only that it seemed to
come down on me all at once."

"Just what I said," cried the master angrily; "and if I was you I'd have
it out of Zekle Wynn here, somehow--leaves a heap of net so as it falls
overboard."

"Tell 'ee I didn't," roared Zekle, shouting out his words as if he was
hailing a ship. "Nets went over o' theirselves."

Mark Penelly seemed to breathe more freely, as he now rose and placed
the spirits on the deck.

"I'd take a taste o' that myself, Mas'r Mark, if I was you," said the
master. "You don't look quite so blue as you did. But you seemed quite
scared over this job."

Mark declined