helpless to obey, and lay groaning there, not caring if the next lurch
took us down to the bottom. At last, after much shouting, the captain
himself came down and shook me roughly.

"Leave me," said I, "to die in peace."

"Die!" cried he, "thou sickly lubber. If you rise not in a minute's
time, we will see what a rope's end can do to 'liven thee. Come, get
up."

I struggled to my feet, but in that posture my sickness came back with
double violence, so that I tumbled again to the floor, and vowed he
might use every rope in the ship to me, but up I could not get.

I do not well recall what happened those next few days. I believe I
staggered upon deck and went miserably through the form of work, jeered
at by my fellow sailors, despised by my captain, and wondered at by
Ludar. But when, after the sickness gave way, I one day found myself in
a fever, with my strength all gone, I was let go below and lie there
without more to do. I know not how it came to pass, but ill I was for a
day or two; perhaps it was the vexations of the last few weeks, or the
weakness left by the sickness, or a visitation of the colic from heaven;
however it was, I lay there, humbled and ashamed of my weakness, and
wishing myself safe back outside Temple Bar.

At these times, Ludar was a brother to me. He came often to see me, and
talked so cheerily, that I almost forgot how solemn his looks used to
be. More than that, he fetched me dainties to eat, without which I
might have starved; for, while the fever lasted, I could not stomach the
strong ship's fare. And I suspected more than once that he had secured
my peace from the captain by offering himself to do a good piece of my
work as well as his own.

He spoke little enough about the maiden, though I longed to hear of her.
Once, when I asked him, his face grew overcast.

"That maiden," said he, "is never so merry as when the waves are
breaking over the deck. Yet I see her little, for, in sooth, the old
nurse has been nearer death than you, and will allow no one to go near
her but her young mistress. Nor dare I offer myself where I am not
bidden. Humphrey," added he, "I prefer to talk of something else."

Now, I must tell you that, to my surprise, I found I had another friend
in these dark days; I mean the poet. Contemptible as was my plight, and
mean as was the cabin I hid in, when he heard I was ill, he came more
than once to see me. It suited him to make a mighty to do about i