of voice than could have been expected, after all that had
passed. "This is not a cabin--not the Swash--it looks like a
hospital."

"It is a hospital, Capt. Spike," said Rose, gently drawing near the
bed; "you have been hurt, and have been brought to Key West, and
placed in the hospital. I hope you feel better, and that you suffer no
pain."

"My head isn't right--I don't know--every thing seems turned round
with me--perhaps it will all come out as it should. I begin to
remember--where is my brig?"

"She is lost on the rocks. The seas have broken her into fragments."

"That's melancholy news, at any rate. Ah! Miss Rose! God bless
you--I've had terrible dreams. Well, it's pleasant to be among
friends--what creature is that--where does _she_ come from?"

"That is Jack Tier," answered Rose, steadily. "She turns out to be a
woman, and has put on her proper dress, in order to attend on you
during your illness. Jack has never left your bed-side since we have
been here."

A long silence succeeded this revelation. Jack's eyes twinkled, and
she hitched her body half aside, as if to conceal her features, where
emotions that were unusual were at work with the muscles. Rose thought
it might be well to leave the man and wife alone--and she managed to
get out of the room unobserved.

Spike continued to gaze at the strange-looking female, who was now his
sole companion. Gradually his recollection returned, and with it the
full consciousness of his situation. He might not have been fully
aware of the absolute certainty of his approaching death, but he must
have known that his wound was of a very grave character, and that the
result might early prove fatal. Still that strange and unknown figure
haunted him; a figure that was so different from any he had ever seen
before, and which, in spite of its present dress, seemed to belong
quite as much to one sex as to the other. As for Jack--we call Molly,
or Mary Swash by her masculine appellation, not only because it is
more familiar, but because the other name seems really out of place,
as applied to such a person--as for Jack, then, she sat with her face
half averted, thumbing the canvas, and endeavoring to ply the needle,
but perfectly mute. She was conscious that Spike's eyes were on her;
and a lingering feeling of her sex told her how much time, exposure,
and circumstances, had changed her person--and she would gladly have
hidden the defects in her appearance.

Mary Swash was t