Jack might have been a little offended at Spike’s compliments, but he was certainly not sorry to find him so good-natured, after all that had passed.  He now left the captain, and his Mexican companion, seemingly in close conference together, while he went below himself, and dropped as naturally into the routine of his duty, as if he had never left the brig.  In the cabin he found the females, of course.  Rose scarce raising her face from the shawl which lay on the bed of her own berth.  Jack busied himself in a locker near this berth, until an opportunity occurred to touch Rose, unseen by her aunt or Biddy.  The poor heart-stricken girl raised her face, from which all the colour had departed, and looked almost vacantly at Jack, as if to ask an explanation.  Hope is truly, by a most benevolent provision of Providence, one of the very last blessings to abandon us.  It is probable that we are thus gifted, in order to encourage us to rely on the great atonement to the last moment, since, without this natural endowment to cling to hope, despair might well be the fate of millions, who, there is reason to think, reap the benefit of that act of divine mercy.  It would hardly do to say that anything like hope was blended with the look Rose now cast on Jack, but it was anxious and inquiring.

The steward bent his head to the locker, bringing his face quite near to that of Rose, and whispered—­“There is hope, Miss Rose—­but do not betray me.”

These were blessed words for our heroine to hear, and they produced an immediate and great revolution in her feelings.  Commanding herself, however, she looked her questions, instead of trusting even to a whisper.  Jack did not say any more, just then; but, shortly after, he called Rose, whose eyes were now never off him, into the main cabin, which was empty.  It was so much pleasanter to sleep in an airy state-room on deck, that Senor Montefalderon, indeed, had given up the use of this cabin, in a great measure, seldom appearing in it, except at meals, having taken possession of the deserted apartment of Mulford.  Josh was in the galley, where he spent most of his time, and Rose and Jack had no one to disturb their conference.

“He is safe, Miss Rose—­God be praised!” whispered Jack.  “Safe for the present, at least; with food, and water, and fire to keep him warm at night.”

It was impossible for Rose not to understand to whom there was allusion, though her head became dizzy under the painful confusion that prevailed in it.  She pressed her temples with both hands, and asked a thousand questions with her eyes.  Jack considerately handed her a glass of water before he proceeded.  As soon as he found her a little more composed, he related the facts connected with his discovery of Mulford, precisely as they had occurred.

“He is now on a large rock—­a little island, indeed—­where he is safe from the ocean unless it comes on to blow a hurricane,” concluded Jack, “has fresh water and fresh turtle in the bargain.  A man might live a month on one such turtle as I saw Mr. Mulford cutting up this evening.”