Chapter 39

CHAPTER XXXIX.

JANUARY 5th and 6th.--The whole scene made a deep impression on
our minds, and Owen's speech coming as a sort of climax, brought
before us our misery with a force that was well-nigh
overwhelming.

As soon as I recovered my composure, I did not forget to thank
Andre Letourneur for the act of intervention that had saved my
life.

"Do you thank me for that; Mr. Kazallon?" he said; "it has only
served to prolong your misery."

"Never mind, M. Letourneur," said Miss Herbey; "you did your
duty."

Enfeebled and emaciated as the young girl is, her sense of duty
never deserts her, and although her torn and bedraggled garments
float dejectedly about her body, she never utters a word of
complaint, and never loses courage.

"Mr. Kazallon," she said to me, "do you think we are fated to die
of hunger?"

"Yes; Miss Herbey, I do," I replied in a hard, cold tone.

"How long do you suppose we have to live?" she asked again.

"I cannot say; perhaps we shall linger on longer than we
imagine."

"The strongest constitutions suffer the most, do they not?" she
said.

"Yes; but they have one consolation; they die the soonest;" I
replied coldly.

Had every spark of humanity died out of my breast that I thus
brought the girl face to face with the terrible truth without a
word of hope or comfort? The eyes of Andre and his father,
dilated with hunger, were fixed upon me, and I saw reproach and
astonishment written in their faces.

Afterwards, when we were quite alone, Miss Herbey asked me if I
would grant her a favour.

"Certainly, Miss Herbey; anything you like to ask," I replied;
and this time my manner was kinder and more genial.

"Mr. Kazallon," she said, "I am weaker than you, and shall
probably die first. Promise me that, if I do, you will throw my
body into the sea."

"Oh, Miss Herbey," I began, "it was very wrong of me to speak to
you as I did!"

"No, no," she replied, half smiling; "you were quite right. But
it is a weakness of mine; I don't mind what they do with me as
long as I am alive, but when I am dead--" she stopped and
shuddered. "Oh, promise me that you will throw me into, the
sea!"

I gave her the melancholy promise, which she acknowledged by
pressing my hand feebly with her emaciated fingers.

Another night passed away. At times my sufferings were so
intense that cries of agony involuntarily escaped my lips; then I
became calmer, and sank into a kind of lethargy. When I awoke, I
was surprised to find my; companions still alive.

The one of our party who seems to bear his privations the best is
Hobart the steward, a man with whom hitherto I have had very