Whether it was that the women who attended Bessy were more active than the men, or that she was younger, and her circulation of blood was more rapid, or because she was a female, certain it is that Bessy first recovered her speech, and her first question was, “Where was her father?” Bramble did not speak, but fell into a sleep immediately after he was brought to life.  I had changed my clothes, and was watching by him for an hour or more when he woke up.

[Illustration:  BRAMBLE HAD KNELT BY THE BEDSIDE, AND WAS EVIDENTLY IN PRAYER—­Marryat, Vol.  X., p. 411]

“Ah!  Tom, is that you?  Where’s Bessy?”

“She is in bed, but quite recovered.”

“Quite recovered—­I recollect.  I say, Tom, ain’t she a fine creature?  God bless her.  Well, she owes me nothing now, at all events.  I think I should like to get up, Tom.  I wonder whether I smashed my old pipe on the shingle?  Just look into my wet jacket.  I say, Tom, were they all saved?”

“No,” I replied; “Fisher and Harrison were both drowned.”

“Poor fellows!  I wish they had been spared.  Fisher has seven children—­and Harrison, he has a wife, I think.”

“Yes, and two children, father.”

“Poor woman!  God’s will be done!  He giveth and He taketh away!  Tom, I must get up and see Bessy.”

I assisted Bramble to dress, and as soon as he had put on his clothes he went to Bessy’s room.  I stayed at the door.  “You may come in, Tom; she’s muffled up in her blankets, and fast asleep.”

“Quite fast,” said Mrs. Maddox; “she has slept more than an hour.  Dear heart, it will do her good.”

Bramble kissed Bessy’s pale forehead, but it did not waken her.  “Look, Tom,” said Bramble, “look at that smooth, clear skin—­those pretty features.  Look at the delicate creature! and would you have thought that she would have dared what no man dared to do—­that she would have defied those elements raging in their might, and have snatched their prey from their very grasp?  Did I ever imagine, when I brought her as a helpless baby on shore, that she would ever have repaid the debt with such interest, or that such a weak instrument should have been chosen by the Lord to save one who otherwise must have perished?  But His ways are not our ways, and He works as He thinks fit.  Bless you, bless you, my Bessy—­and may your fond heart never be again put to such trial!  Is she not beautiful, Tom? just like a piece of cold marble.  Thank Heaven, she is not dead, but sleepeth!”

I certainly never did look upon Bessy with so much interest; there was something so beautifully calm in her countenance as she lay there like an effigy on a tomb, hardly appearing to breathe; and when I thought of the courage and devotion shown but a few hours before by the present almost inanimate form, I bent over her with admiration, and felt as if I could kneel before the beautiful shrine which contained such an energetic and noble spirit.  While this was passing through my mind, Bramble had knelt by the bedside, and was evidently in prayer.  When he rose up he said, “Come away, Tom:  she is a maiden, and may feel ashamed if she awaken and find us men standing by her bedside.  Let me know when she wakes up, Mrs. Maddox, and tell her I have been in to see her; and now, Tom, let’s go down.  I never felt the want of a pipe so much as I do now.”