habits, than to Rose, he had contrived to give the woman, unknown to herself, a double allowance.  Nor was it surprising that Biddy did not detect this little act of fraud in her favour, for this double allowance was merely a single mouthful.  The want of water had made itself much more keenly felt than the want of food, for as yet anxiety, excitement and apprehension prevented the appetite from being much awakened, while the claims of thirst were increased rather than the reverse, by these very causes.  Still, no one had complained, on this or any other account, throughout the whole of the long and weary day which had passed.

Mulford took the first look-out, with the intention of catching a little sleep, if possible, during the middle hours of the night, and of returning to his duty as morning approached.  For the first hour nothing occurred to divert his attention from brooding on the melancholy circumstances of their situation.  It seemed as if all around him had actually lost the sense of their cares in sleep, and no sound was audible amid that ocean waste, but the light washing of the water, as the gentle waves rolled at intervals against the weather side of the wreck.  It was now that Mulford found a moment for prayer, and seated on the keel, that he called on the Divine aid, in a fervent but silent petition to God, to put away this trial from the youthful and beautiful Rose, at least, though he himself perished.  It was the first prayer that Mulford had made in many months, or since he had joined the Swash—­a craft in which that duty was very seldom thought of.

A few minutes succeeded this petition, when Biddy spoke.

“Missus—­Madam Budd—­dear Missus”—­half whispered the Irish woman, anxious not to disturb Rose, who lay furthest from her—­“Missus, bees ye asleep at sich a time as this?”

“No, Biddy; sleep and I are strangers to each other, and are likely to be till morning.  What do you wish to say?”

“Anything is better than my own t’oughts, missus dear, and I wants to talk to ye.  Is it no wather at all they’ll give us so long as we stay in this place?”

“There is no one to give it to us but God, poor Biddy, and he alone can say what, in his gracious mercy, it may please him to do.  Ah!  Biddy, I fear me that I did an unwise and thoughtless thing, to bring my poor Rose to such a place as this.  Were it to be done over again, the riches of Wall Street would not tempt me to be guilty of so wrong a thing!”

The arm of Rose was thrown around her aunt’s neck, and its gentle pressure announced how completely the offender was forgiven.

“I’s very sorry for Miss Rose,” rejoined Biddy “and I suffers so much the more meself in thinking how hard it must be for the like of her to be wantin’ in a swallow of fresh wather.”

“It is no harder for me to bear it, poor Biddy,” answered the gentle voice of our heroine, “than it is for yourself.”

“Is it meself then?  Sure am I, that if I had a quar-r-t of good, swate wather from our own pump, and that’s far betther is it than the Crothon the best day the Crothon ever seed—­but had I a quar-r-t of it, every dhrap would I give to you, Miss Rose, to app’ase your thirst, I would.”