Chapter II: Part 2

"Ah, my poor Neptune! Is it you?" exclaimed Lord Robert, with mingled anguish and pleasure, as he threw his arms round the faithful animal, and gave vent to his feelings with a burst of tears. "Yes!" said he, as he threw himself on the beach in bitter sorrow, "the Diomede must indeed have foundered, or my kind, my benevolent uncle, would never have committed this old memorial of his lost nephew to the mercy of the waves, for the sake of lightening the vessel, or saving the morsel of food he would have consumed." But again remembering the chance that some of the crew might be saved by the pinnace, and condemning the indulgence of his grief, he rose, and, dripping as he was, pursued his search, attended by his faithful Neptune, who bounded round him with joyful affection. In the course of his walk, he found some limes and cocoa-nuts scattered on the beach; and, yielding to the painful thirst that consumed him, he raised one of the limes to his parched lips, when he recollected that they were some of the fruit young Harley had gathered, and was carrying to the ship at the time the boat was upset, and the unfortunate youth had been buried in the waves. This thought recalled the bitter reflections he had with difficulty succeeded in banishing from his mind; and when he remembered that, though he had not been the immediate, he had certainly been the ultimate cause of his death, he sickened at the thought, and casting the untasted fruit from him, he said, "No; I cannot eat these!" Proceeding on his walk, he gained the spot where he had landed with his unfortunate companions the day before. He sighed deeply as he passed it; and, doubling a projection of rock, he discovered the pinnace, floating bottom upwards close in shore. At that sight, the most agonizing in the world to the heart of a sailor, he turned away, and wept almost to suffocation. For some moments, he continued to give way to the grief which oppressed him, till roused from the indulgence of his feelings by a loud and joyful bark from Neptune, and, uncovering his eyes, he perceived a young sailor, whose face was turned from him, gazing on the pinnace, apparently in as melancholy a mood as himself. This doubtless was the only one of her unfortunate crew who had escaped the violence of the waves; and Lord Robert, losing all distinction of rank in the fellowship of misfortune, sprang towards him with open arms, exclaiming, in a voice broken by emotion--"What cheer, my lad?" At the sound of his voice, the young man turned slowly round, and discovered a face pale with contending feelings--it was Philip Harley! For a moment, the two enemies surveyed each other in silence; each wondering at the other's preservation; each somewhat softened by the traces of sorrow and suffering in the countenance of the other,--but, alas! each mutually yielding to the same stubborn and haughty temper which had so long been the spring of all that was evil in their separate characters, they surveyed each other with a look of defiance, and walked gloomily away in opposite directions.

Lord Robert certainly did feel his heart relieved of half the painful emotions which had, for the last ten hours, oppressed it almost to bursting; and as he retraced his steps almost instinctively to his cheerless chamber in the rock, where he had spent that dreadful night, he exclaimed, "Thank God, he lives! I am not then his murderer! It is true, that entire solitude would have been much more agreeable to me, than the idea of breathing the same air with him, and being constantly exposed to the chance of meeting him; but that is more than compensated by the knowledge that he lives, and is, indeed, no worse off than myself."

Thus did Lord Robert compose his troubled thoughts, and lull to sleep those better feelings which almost prompted him, at the first sight of young Harley, to make such advances towards amity, as would have been pleasing in the sight of God, and even in that of his enemy, whose heart, naturally kind and good, had been greatly softened by the awful circumstances under which their last interview had taken place. Besides, he had been an unseen spectator of Lord Robert's manly but acute sorrow, when he beheld, in the deplorable situation of the pinnace, a confirmation of his worst fears respecting the fate of his uncle and friends. He, too, had been weeping; for he reverenced Sir Henry Stanley, and loved Lieutenant Cary; and he was disposed to behold even Lord Robert with complacency, for their sakes; for he knew he was very dear to them both; and when he saw the agony with which Lord Robert staggered forward, on reaching the spot which commanded this melancholy sight, and heard his repeated sobs, he felt his hatred towards him so much diminished, that he was forced to recollect all the injuries he had received from this young officer, before he could sufficiently repel the inclination he felt to speak to him in the voice of kindness and comfort. Lord Robert had hitherto appeared to him haughty, rude, and unfeeling; and Philip knew not that this spoiled child of prosperity possessed at times much sensibility, strong affections, and feelings, which, had they been properly directed, would have been conducive to the happiness of all around him; instead of which, his unchecked passions produced danger and inconvenience to all who, even unintentionally, irritated them, and misery to their unhappy possessor, far beyond what he had ever inflicted on others.

But Philip was in many respects too like his adversary in character; and he never took the trouble of asking his own heart, if he were not sometimes to blame, as well as his high-born enemy. If Lord Robert was haughty, Philip was insolent; if one was hasty in giving a provocation, the other was still more so in retaliating. Had Philip for one moment remembered that most divine maxim of holy writ, "A soft answer turneth away wrath," and had he been sufficiently of a Christian disposition to practise it in _one_ instance only, Lord Robert would have been appeased; and what mischief might have been spared, what suffering avoided, on one side! and what painful remorse on the other! When Philip beheld Lord Robert's tears, his first emotion was surprise; and he said to himself, "Can he weep? _he_ that is so hard-hearted and proud!" and then the thought occurred to him, "Perhaps his heart is not so very hard as I have reason to believe?" Philip was not uncandid; and he remembered then, that he had often thrown himself in Lord Robert's way, and committed many outrages, on purpose to provoke him. For the first time in his life, he put himself in his Lordship's place, and asked his own heart, whether he were sure, under such circumstances, that he should have acted better? But Philip was not yet sufficiently acquainted with the faults of his own character, to see that he had been almost equally blameable; and though, perhaps, he would not have refused to forgive, he had no idea that _he too_ required to be forgiven, if not by his erring fellow-creature, at least by his heavenly Father. Had _this_ occurred to him, he would not have renewed their suspended enmity, by being the first to assume a look of defiance, while Lord Robert was undecided what course to pursue: but the favourable moment was unfortunately lost; for Lord Robert returned the glance with equal disdain, and they were as much at variance as before.

Lord Robert had returned to the cleft in the rock, and thrown himself at full length, lost in unpleasant and bitter reflections for some hours, before the cravings of hunger reminded him that it was necessary to make some exertion for the preservation of that life which Heaven had spared; but perhaps he would, in his gloomy frame of mind, have disregarded his own wants, and remained obstinate in his self-neglect, had not the mute appeals of his faithful Neptune roused him from inertion. Neptune was a fine water-dog, a present from his elder brother at parting; and Lord Robert, who had long desired to possess this animal, treated him with the most unbounded affection; and always suffered him to share every meal with him, and even divided with him his share of food and water during their late dreadful privations; and Neptune, who had not tasted food for many hours, continued to put his paws on his master's knees, and to survey him with a wishful look, till Lord Robert rose, and left the cave in search of something to satisfy his cravings. Amongst his other troubles, he had little fear of perishing by famine; for he knew, by the latitude he was in, that he should most likely find turtle, or turtles' eggs, on the beach. In fact, while he was listlessly pacing the shore, thinking of anything rather than the object of his search, Neptune, who was not quite so uninterested, pounced on something in a hole in the sand, which proved to be a fine turtle. His master soon killed it, and satisfied the hunger of his humble friend with part of the flesh; and then, in a more leisurely manner, set about collecting pieces of wreck to make a fire; but, alas! he was wholly unpractised in the sleight of striking a few sparks to kindle a flame. It is true, he knew how they were to be procured, and soon found a flint proper for the purpose: but in striking it with the back of his knife, he only rubbed the skin off his hands, and bruised his knuckles, without producing the desired effect; or, if he did elicit a few sparks, they died away for want of proper kindling. This put him in a passion, and he redoubled his violence till he broke the flint into a thousand pieces; and sat down in a very ill humour, looking at his pile of wood and his raw turtle with much discontent. At last he recollected, that if he could not cook his turtle, he could quench his thirst at the clear spring they had discovered on their first landing: this he soon found, and was much refreshed by a draught from it. At a small distance, within view of the spring, he saw the little grove of limes and cocoas in the valley; there he beheld, with some little envy, a bright blazing fire, near which Philip was employed cooking his supper. He hastily avoided the spot, and returned to the beach, where he found in the sand some turtles' eggs, which he could eat raw, and with them satisfied the calls of hunger. He then lay down on his flinty couch, with Neptune for a pillow; and, being completely exhausted by fatigue, notwithstanding his distress and discontent, sank into a profound sleep.

The next morning saw him still perplexed with those minor difficulties. For though he could bear, with heroic self-denial, the hardships incidental to his profession, and had not taken a morsel more food, or a drop more water, in their late distress on board ship, than any other of the suffering crew, and had even shared his scanty morsel with his famishing dog, this he _could_ do, for he felt there was something noble and refined in such conduct; but he felt sadly irritated at being thrown on his own resources in the little common everyday necessaries of life. From his infancy, he had been surrounded by servants, who were accustomed to perform for him the most minute services, so that at seventeen his Lordship (though a valiant officer, and perfect in his professional duties,) was ignorant of many things very necessary for every one to know; and if he was acquainted with the methods resorted to in many situations, he was at least very awkward in his attempts of putting them into practice. However, on this occasion, making use of his own good sense, after a little calm reflection, he collected from the sides of the rock some dry grey moss, and, drawing some rays from the sun in the focus of a little perspective glass he had in his pocket, he soon set his pile of wood in a blaze, and cooked sufficient turtle to feed him for a day or two.

He had scarcely completed this employment, when the sun, which had for days been shaded by tempestuous clouds, broke forth with its usual splendour; and there was promise of a continuance of that sultry weather so seldom interrupted in these latitudes. Lord Robert, when he felt the sun beat on his uncovered temples, fled for shelter to his cave, which he found nearly of the same temperature as an oven half heated. Panting for breath, he remembered the grove, of which Philip had taken possession, and bent his steps towards it; but he found that this spot of verdure did not consist of more than a rood of land; and he did not choose to be so near young Harley as the farthest extremity of its shelter. So he remained on the burning beach, or under the shade of some arid rock, during the day, determining to make a tour of the island in the cool of the evening, and hoping to fix his residence in some shady vale similar to Philip's territories. But how can his disappointment be expressed, when, after a most fatiguing walk, all the good he gained was a knowledge of the extent of his prison? He had in vain searched for a grove; barren rocks and burning sands alone met his sight: at last, he climbed a conical hill, which towered above the other rocks, and which, from his geological knowledge, he was certain contained the exhausted crater of a volcano. Here he had a view of every nook of the island, which was of the extent of about five miles, and presented a prospect of one pile of horrid rocks heaped on another, without one spot of fertility, except Philip's little cluster of trees, whose bright verdure formed a refreshing contrast to the burning rocks, which seemed yet to glow with the intense heat that had been poured on them through the day. As he fixed his eyes wistfully on this favoured spot, and saw the smoke of Philip's evening fire curling above the trees, he exclaimed, "Yes; I must, though most reluctantly, share this only habitable place with him; for such a day as the last I cannot endure again. Doubtless, this grove was planted by some benevolent navigator (such as I have often read of) on the soil formed by the accidental residence of sea-birds; and the grass and trees[4] have gradually spread over a small extent of land. Surely, as it was meant for universal benefit, I have a right to a share of it." So saying, he descended the hill, and after a toilsome walk arrived at the grove after nightfall, where he enjoyed the luxury of stretching his aching limbs on the soft grass, under the fragrant shade of a lime-tree, and slept soundly till after sunrise. He awoke in the morning with the cheerful sound of a human voice singing, and on opening his eyes, saw Philip Harley, a few paces from him, busy at work. He was astonished to see the progress his enemy had made in forming himself a habitation; for he had got very forward in the frame-work of a neat hut, and was now boarding it in with planks, which he had collected on the beach, singing as he knocked in every nail. This hut was situated among the thickest cluster of trees, directly under a fine young vine, the only one in the island; and as Philip roofed his hut, he carefully trained the rich branches all over the dwelling, taking care not to injure the purpling fruit, which was nearly ripe; thus giving his hut, as soon as it was finished, the charming appearance of a bower.

[Footnote 4: The progress of vegetation is very curious in those islands, which are supposed by geologists to be thrown up from the bottom of the sea by volcanoes, or formed by the unceasing labours of the coral animalculi. These generally present at first a rocky surface, barren and arid. By degrees, a little soil is deposited by sea-fowl and birds of passage; on this at first grow the seeds of some of those minute plants, which are literally carried on the wings of the wind from countries that appear too far distant for any such conveyance. These plants flourish, fade, and are renewed by the seasons, until from their decayed parts is formed that fine vegetable mould which overspreads the more fertile surface of the earth. When this process is begun, if the land receives from the hand of some benevolent discoverer a few seeds of trees or plants to which the climate is congenial, the work of fertilization is rapidly accelerated; grass grows luxuriantly under the shade of the trees: verdure increases, and creeps farther and farther, till from one little spot, an oasis in the midst of a desert, the whole island becomes fruitful.]

Overcome by the heat of the climate, Lord Robert lay for a day or two wholly inactive, stretched beneath his lime-tree, amusing himself with playing with Neptune, or when he thought he was unperceived, watching the progress of his enemy's work, but not condescending to address one word to him; who, on his part, preserved the same sullen silence. Lord Robert could not help wondering how Harley came by the saw and hatchet which he handled with so much adroitness; but he would not condescend to ask him. The fact was, that when Philip and the sailors were called away from gathering the cocoas, Philip, in his hurry had left the saw and hatchet at the foot of the tree; and there he found them when he regained the land. Possessed of these treasures, he made himself a hammer of a hollow stone; and, drawing nails out of the wreck, he set to work, and soon completed his hut. But when he proceeded to make a stool and table, Lord Robert was moved to some exertion; for he thought, that if he could make himself something of the kind to place under his lime-tree, he should not regret the hut his adversary seemed so proud of; and he was determined to try to construct some such articles of comfort and convenience. He accordingly went to the beach, and soon collected timber, from which he selected pieces with which he meant to try to form a table and three-legged stool. He would willingly have worked on the beach, out of the impertinent ken of his enemy: but the intolerable heat soon drove him back to the delicious shade of the grove, where a perpetual breeze seemed to play amongst the leaves; and thither he reluctantly proceeded, carrying the wood, and followed by Neptune. Sorry I am to record, that when Philip saw his haughty enemy appear thus laden, he paused in his work with a malicious curiosity to see how Lord Robert would acquit himself in his new employment. The first thing he did was to tear a bough or two off a tree, meaning to cut three truncheons to form the legs of his stool. It was lignum vitae wood, extremely hard; and Lord Robert eyed Philip's saw, which just then would have been of great service to him, but he disdained to ask the loan of it. So he seated himself on the turf, and began to cut the legs with his pocket-knife (his only tool) with great difficulty; then he chose from the fragments of wreck a small piece of square wood, and marked with his pencil the holes he designed to make; he then walked, in a very stately manner, to Philip's fire, and taking from thence three hot coals, he laid them on his pencilled marks, and kept renewing them till the wood was nearly burnt through; then he scraped through the burnt wood, till he had got three holes; into these he knocked his truncheons with a great stone, and placed his stool on the ground to admire his own ingenuity; but he had knocked one leg more and another less, so that their lengths were unequal, and down the stool fell. Philip, who had seen this defect all the time, was highly diverted at his disappointment, when the stool fell, particularly when he saw how it irritated Lord Robert's impatient temper. At last, overcoming his inclination to laugh, he said: "You must shorten the middle leg of your stool, or it will never stand;" at the same time pushing his rule and saw towards his Lordship, who rejected them with great disdain, saying--"Do you think that I can condescend to learn the low mechanic art of a _carpenter_?" And he laid a most contemptuous stress on the word _carpenter_.

Philip coloured with indignation, as he replied, "Perhaps your _Lordship_ will in a little time see which is of most service in this place, _your_ title, or _my_ useful knowledge."

Lord Robert haughtily flung back the rule and saw, and began to shorten the leg with his knife. This was a work of time and difficulty: the wood was hard, and the knife unfit for the purpose, and, worse than all, Lord Robert was very awkward in his mechanical attempts; but he was unusually so in this, for he was in a pet, and he saw that Philip watched him and enjoyed his unskilful manoeuvres. This had the effect of enraging and confusing him; and, in his anger, the knife slipped and cut his knuckles across. He glanced at Philip, and saw him smile. This greatly provoked him, and he darted towards his enemy a furious look; but Philip continued to survey his operations with a calm but sarcastic regard. The next thing Lord Robert did was to set his knife so fast in the wood that he could not move it. Philip smiled again; and Lord Robert, out of all patience, used so violent an effort to get it free, that the blade snapped in the middle, and, starting up in a passion, he dashed the stool violently against the ground. Philip laughed aloud.

"Insolent plebeian!" exclaimed Lord Robert; "do you presume to insult me?"

"Lord Robert Summers," replied Philip, "I would advise you to remember, that you are neither in your father's park, nor on the deck of the Diomede, where your imperious temper might be feared and indulged: but here we are equals; and any outrage, either of words or actions, shall meet with instant chastisement. I would therefore advise your Lordship to be more guarded in your language, for it may be followed by consequences which you may not approve!"

"Villain!" retorted Lord Robert, "do you forget that I am your commanding officer?"

"No!" returned Philip, becoming greatly agitated as certain recollections crossed his mind; "no:--you have put it out of my power ever to forget that you were once enabled to gratify your ungenerous malice to the utmost stretch of your power. Basely and cruelly did you trample on me, when you knew that to resist the authority you abused was impossible. I _was_ your victim, but am so no longer! And," continued he, advancing very close to Lord Robert, "beware how you provoke me to take such signal vengeance for all the injuries you have inflicted on me, as shall teach your proud heart to rue the hour that ever you made Philip Harley the companion of your voyage!"

There was an expression so terrible in Philip's eyes as he spoke these words, that Lord Robert, stout-hearted as he was, (and there never was a braver officer,) changed colour; but in a moment recovering his intrepid spirit and haughty bearing, he flashed back a look of defiance, and assumed a posture of defence.

"It is unnecessary," said Philip; "I am not going to attack you. You have in many contests proved the strength of this arm: that it always was superior to yours, I scarcely need remind you. That your late injuries have not unnerved it, you may well believe; but, as long as you observe a temperate line of conduct, and discontinue addressing me by opprobrious names, you need not fear its force."

"Fear!" repeated Lord Robert indignantly: "I fear God; and have no other fear! Dost thou imagine that I fear aught like thee?"

"Perhaps not," replied Philip; "but I would advise you not to provoke me unnecessarily."

So saying, he retired within his hut, leaving Lord Robert speechless with contending emotions. He was indeed much ruffled by the short but fierce altercation which had passed between himself and young Harley; and the more so, when he reflected that Philip's bodily strength was superior to his own, and that his high rank would be of no avail to him in this desolate place, as Philip had very unceremoniously told him: and as his own conscience whispered that he had formerly offered him the most dreadful provocation, he could scarcely be astonished if Philip, now that he was the more powerful, should meditate retaliation, and take, as he threatened, unbounded vengeance for all that he had suffered on board the Diomede and elsewhere.

He was reluctant to abandon this sheltered and beautiful spot; but he preferred returning to his dreary cleft in the rock, to residing in the valley, where Philip had erected his dwelling; considering the heat and barrenness of the rest of the island as far less evils than the company of Philip, whose very sight, after the threats he had used, was most intolerable to him: and Lord Robert felt that he could not bend his haughty spirit to practise the civility and moderation which Philip had recommended, lest this behaviour should be construed into fear of his superior force. On the other hand, he reflected that if he persisted in his natural imperiousness, so far as to provoke Philip to a personal contest with him, the languor incidental to the climate had so much enervated him, that, to maintain a combat with such an adversary as young Harley had often proved himself to be, with the slightest prospect of success, was impossible, and would only expose him to insult and contempt, and perhaps even to more disgraceful treatment, from his justly incensed enemy. To avoid such consequences, he judged it most suitable to his dignity to retire; and, whistling to Neptune to follow him, he slowly and sullenly returned to the beach, leaving Philip in uninterrupted possession of the Valley of Limes.

Though Philip, still smarting under the remembrance of the many injuries he had received from Lord Robert, had, on the haughty expressions of contempt uttered by that young officer, used threats which were most irritating to his proud spirit, he by no means designed to proceed to personal hostilities; for Philip was, in spite of all his faults, too really generous to exert in this instance the advantages his superior strength gave him; and he was far from intending to drive his companion in misfortune from the only spot in the island capable of affording him any of the comforts of life. In short, he expected that when Lord Robert had vented his displeasure in a solitary walk, he would return to the valley. When Philip's temper cooled, he began to reflect on the luxuries Lord Robert had been accustomed to from his cradle; he thought how severely his high-born adversary must feel the privations to which he was now exposed; and his heart smote him for having, by his provoking ridicule, occasioned that ebullition of feeling which had vented itself in expressions of wrathful contempt, which he, on his part, (not considering the provocation was of his own giving,) had been so ready to return; and that their mutual recriminations had induced him to utter menaces, which had driven his companion in misfortune from an employment necessary even for the preservation of his existence.

Occupied by these thoughts, Philip often paused in his work, and looked round to see if Lord Robert had returned to the valley, and listened for his step with anxiety; but he did not come. Night arrived, and Philip did not see him reposing under his favourite lime-tree; and he felt out of humour with himself, for being the cause of keeping him away.

From some uneasy self-reproaches, he did not taste at night the calm repose which generally follows a day of labour; on the contrary, he felt that evening some of those painful feelings of remorse which had so often tortured Lord Robert, but which had never been experienced by himself before; and he now remembered that, though Lord Robert had ill-treated him, yet there _was_ a difference in their rank, and that it was brutal in him to threaten a high-spirited and elegant young man with personal violence when they were united in the same distress: and that Lord Robert's contemptuous expressions were caused by his laughter at that which was a serious misfortune to his high-born foe; namely, his want of skill in mechanics, and the mischance of breaking his knife, the loss of which was irreparable, and would perhaps deprive him, on some occasions, even of the means of procuring food.

Philip would have repaired to the beach, to see what had become of Lord Robert; but he thought it probable that some new cause of offence might arise between them. However, in the afternoon, he had occasion to visit the beach to search for some pieces of wreck. When he reached the shore, he found there had been a very high tide the preceding night, and many articles were scattered on the sand; as staves, pieces of rope, and splinters from the mast. These Philip carefully collected, and placed above high-water mark, lest they should be washed to sea again. In the course of this important avocation, he approached the cave where Lord Robert had again taken up his residence: but he had been too busily engaged to think of him, till his eye was attracted by the flash of his epaulet in the evening sun; and he saw him, at a little distance, bending over some employment, in which he was too much occupied to perceive the approach of Philip, who was tempted to draw near enough to ascertain what it was that so deeply engaged his attention; but he did so somewhat cautiously, lest he should again give offence. He soon was near enough to discover that Lord Robert's employment was that of digging a grave in the sand, with a butt-stave, and near him lay the bodies of five seamen, which the high tide had washed on shore, close to the entrance of Lord Robert's cave. Philip felt a bitter pang as he gazed on the lifeless remains of his unfortunate messmates; and seizing another stave, he placed himself opposite to Lord Robert, and began to assist in the sad duty; but neither spoke.

One of the bodies was that of a midshipman, whom Lord Robert had loved; and as he now proceeded to place his remains in the narrow bed he had scooped for him with so much toil, his tears fell fast on the face of the deceased. When he attempted to raise him from the shingle, to lay him decently in the grave, the effort was too much for him. Philip immediately sprang forwards and assisted him, otherwise the corpse would have fallen from his grasp. He did not reject the aid of his foe; but he did not even glance at him in return. In silence they began their melancholy task; in silence they proceeded in it; and the moon had risen high and shone with splendour by the time they had dug the last grave, when unfortunately, as they placed the seaman in the "house appointed for all living," Philip recognised his features: it was the boatswain of the Diomede! A crowd of agonizing feelings passed through Philip's breast, as he recollected that from this man's hand he had received such disgraceful punishment. He first turned pale, and then scarlet; and it recurred to his mind, that this person had only been the passive instrument obeying the orders of others.

"It was thy malice, tyrant! that added this worst wrong to all the rest," thought he. True, he did not utter these words: but he regarded Lord Robert with a look, in which hatred and rage were but too visibly painted to escape his Lordship's observation, though he was ignorant of the cause of it; but he thought it shocking of Philip to take the opportunity of insulting him at such an awful time, particularly when he had condescended to _permit_ his assistance; and he returned Philip's indignant look in so disdainful a manner, that, scarcely conscious that he was the first himself to renew hostilities, Philip took fire, and provokingly reminded his Lordship "that his haughty looks were useless, when directed to him; and he advised him to reserve them for those who cared for them, if he could find any such in the island."

"To the full as many as will endure your low-bred insolence," returned Lord Robert with equal scorn. "However, Mr. Harley, if I might condescend to speak to you in the language of entreaty, it would be to request the favour of your absence. You have taken possession of the only habitable spot in the island, and _I_ have not attempted to deprive you of it; and I think the least you can do, in return for my moderation, is to leave me undisturbed on my barren domain."

"If all my security were the _moderation_ of Lord Robert Summers," replied Philip with a contemptuous laugh, "I should be as soon driven from my dwelling here as I was forced from the home of my parents: but here I can, by the strength of my own right hand, maintain my rights; and whoever attempts to invade them, may chance to repent of his folly."

As Philip uttered this threat, he finished casting the last heap of sand on the boatswain's grave; on which, apparently exhausted with fatigue, Lord Robert had seated himself. The sight of these bodies had recalled the fate of his uncle, and he had been lately weeping bitterly; and when young Harley observed his tearful eyes, and the evident languor and despondency visible in his whole appearance, his conscience again smote him; he remembered what he had so lately suffered from self-reproach; and he reflected, that if he so much abused the mere bodily superiority his strength gave him, it was by no means wonderful that when Lord Robert possessed so much power, he should exert it when offended.

He paused, and looked earnestly at Lord Robert. The moon shone brightly on his face; the flush of resentment had faded from it; and he looked so ill, and there was such an expression of hopeless dejection in his eyes, that Philip was greatly touched; and he even thought of apologizing to him for what he had lately said, and of entreating him to return with him to the Valley of Limes. While he yet hesitated, Lord Robert looked up, and waved his hand impatiently for him to be gone: and Philip, finding that the conquest of his own pride was too great an effort to be made at that time, retired to his home, self-condemned and unhappy.

Lord Robert continued sitting on the grave, in a listless attitude, leaning his head on his hand, almost unconscious that he was alone. The faintness and languor which had been for some time stealing on him, seemed so wholly overpowering, as even to take away the inclination of retorting Philip's last innuendo; but now, though the words still rang upon his ear, and he fully understood their meaning to comprise reproach, insult, and threat, either of which was sufficient to put his proud spirit in a flame, yet he was conscious of a growing confusion in his own mind, which seemed to prevent his forming a suitable reply; and, for the first time in his life, he found himself unwilling to continue the war of words. He felt an impatient desire of quiet; and, forgetful that Philip would most likely pay no attention to his mandate, he motioned for him to retire, with no little of his habitual air of superiority. Philip, however, _did_ obey in this instance. Lord Robert, after some minutes, raised his aching head from his hand, and, looking round to see if he were gone, uttered an expression of satisfaction at finding himself alone.

Lord Robert's naturally fine constitution had been greatly impaired since his residence in the island, by the pain of mind he had suffered from the loss of his uncle and friends, the remorse he felt for his numerous errors, joined to his discontent and impatience at being placed in a situation so uncongenial to all his former habits. Besides, he suffered from the hardships which he was forced to endure: sleeping on the flinty rock, or passing the night on the turf under the lime-tree--a most unhealthy practice--for the dews were very heavy, and, in common to all hot countries, very noxious to those who were exposed to their influence.

He had lost his hat when the boat was overset; and, trivial as this loss may appear to the natives of a temperate climate, it was attended with very painful consequences to Lord Robert, on whose head the rays of the sun fell with unmitigated violence, and occasioned him the most acute headache whenever he was exposed to the noon-day heat. After his retreat from the Valley of Limes, he had for many hours paced the beach in a tumult of rage, with the perpendicular rays of a tropical sun darting on his uncovered head. The night he had passed without sleep; and, early in the morning, he found the remains of the unfortunate seamen. He was ill and feverish; and it was only by a strong effort that he so far overcame his painful languor as to attempt the necessary but mournful task of giving them burial.

Notwithstanding the heat of the day, and the toilsome task he was engaged in, he experienced repeated fits of shivering; the burning rays of the sun pouring on his head, though they occasioned the most acute pain, failed to impart warmth to his frame. This was accompanied with so strong a disinclination to move, that he several times paused in the course of digging the first grave; and, yielding to the sickly lassitude which oppressed him, he retired to his cave; but that commanding a full view of the poor seamen, the dreadful sight roused him from his inactivity, and again he proceeded in his mournful work. He had scarcely completed digging one grave with great toil and pain, and was wondering how it would be possible for him, ill as he was, to go through the whole business of interment, when Philip appeared and afforded his powerful aid. This was too valuable to be rejected; and he felt grateful for the silent manner in which he tendered his assistance and worked by his side; and he was about to thank him for his services, when, on raising his head for that purpose, he caught the offensive look which has already been mentioned. Lord Robert, lost in his own sad thoughts, did not perceive the _reason_ of this. Had he, indeed, recognised the features of the boatswain in the person they were burying, perhaps the same idea might have occurred to him. But, after having interred his friend, he had sedulously averted his eyes from the faces of the dead. Ignorant, therefore, of Philip's motives for renewed indignation, he returned his hostile glance, and the second contention ensued.

The rest of the night Lord Robert passed in a sort of stupor, seated on the boatswain's grave; from which he felt unable to rise through extreme exhaustion. The first rays of the sun drove him for shelter to the cave. His thirst was excessive; and he had no means of allaying it, unless he proceeded either to the Valley of Limes or the spring of water. The remembrance of Philip induced him to prefer the latter; and thither, with some difficulty, he crept rather than walked. Having drank profusely, he filled a large shell for a supply in the cave; for he thought it probable he should never be able to perform another journey to the stream; and slowly and faintly returned to his comfortless dwelling in the rock. The chills of the preceding day had terminated in the burning heat of raging fever; and as he retraced his melancholy steps through the sand, which reflected the intolerable rays of the sun to his eyes, and surveyed the barren rocks and frightful basalts of which the island was composed, he with a bitter sigh recalled the verdure of his father's park, and the shades of his native groves which bounded that beautiful domain.

"But these," said Lord Robert, "I shall never see again: I shall perish on this arid, frightful spot, without a living creature near who cares for me, except my poor Neptune!--And you, my tender mother, who are so benevolently solicitous to provide comforts for the sick poor, what would be your feelings, could you see your unhappy son stretched on this burning flint!" continued he, as entering the rocky chamber, he sank exhausted on the floor. He thought his death was near; yet he felt far from being in a proper frame of mind to die. Like too many of the young and thoughtless, if he were not profane, he was careless in matters of religion; in this awful moment, a thousand instances of neglect and offence against his Creator occurred to his mind; and he felt that he would have given worlds, had he possessed them, for a few hours of the time he had so often abused.

He recollected, too, with bitter regret, his pride, imperiousness, and implacability of disposition; of this, his conduct to young Harley was a frightful instance; he vainly wished he could have recalled the _past_, but that was not in his power; and he felt it very doubtful, if for him a _future_ in this world would be granted. The present was all he could call his own; and it behoved him to make the best use he could of the precious moments that were yet allowed him to make his peace with God. But, alas! the confusion incidental to fever had already attacked his brain; and, though he felt the necessity of penitence and prayer, it was no longer in his power to collect his wandering thoughts, so as to raise a single petition to the Throne of Mercy. He was sensible that he was on the brink of eternity; yet the minutes passed rapidly away, leaving his mind in a state between reason and delirium, yet conscious of his danger, and the importance of that time which was ebbing from him for ever.

His bodily sufferings, too, were dreadful. Burning with fever, he had no means of quenching his thirst--he had long since drained the last drop from the shell, and could not replenish it; for the next morning saw him raving in delirium, or sunk in long and death-like fits of stupor, from which his faithful Neptune strove in vain to arouse him by his caresses.

Philip, in the mean time, had returned to his comfortable hut in the Valley of Limes, and laid himself down to rest; but the image of Lord Robert, pale and languid as he had seen him seated on the boatswain's grave after their last altercation, pursued him when awake, and haunted his slumbers when he closed his eyes in sleep. In the morning, Philip sedulously pursued his useful employments, to divert these painful thoughts. He had discovered on the other side of the island some grass, the only natural production of the place, growing in long, dry, silky tufts out of the clefts of the rocks. He had cut several bundles of this grass, and braided it into a soft, thick mat; this mat he had fixed on a frame-work which he had made, and formed it into a most comfortable couch, rolling one end of the mat over for a pillow. He was so completely occupied and pleased with this employment, that he did not think of Lord Robert, till, on stretching his limbs upon this excellent bed, he remembered how differently his unfortunate enemy would sleep that night. He recollected that he had seen nothing of him in the Valley of Limes that day; and when he recalled the reproaches and threats he had used the day before, and reflected on Lord Robert's high spirit, he thought it probable that he would endure every suffering, rather than improve his condition by procuring anything from that spot. Of Neptune, Philip had seen nothing since the preceding day, when he had once visited the valley, and begged for a share of his dinner; for Lord Robert had peevishly chidden the dog for his importunities; indeed, he had nothing to give him, being too ill to go in search of food. Philip, who was very fond of Neptune, and had been accustomed to caress him when Lord Robert was out of sight, had fed him, and expected to see him again, but he did not come; and Philip thought it likely that Lord Robert was very ill; and he again bitterly regretted having used such expressions as had driven him from the valley.

The next day, Philip again visited the beach, where he had never been before in the meridian heat of the day, and when he experienced the blinding effects of the sunbeams, which soon occasioned him to feel, though in a lesser degree, one of those headaches that had continually tortured his more delicate rival, he wondered where Lord Robert could find shelter from the intense heat. Actuated by more humane motives than mere curiosity, he continued to pace the beach, determining not to return till he had seen Lord Robert. For some time he pursued his solitary walk, without discovering the object of his research. The sight of the seamen's graves redoubled his pain of mind. When he remembered the hopeless dejection visible in Lord Robert's face, so different from his usual animated expression of countenance, and combined it with the illness so apparent in his whole person, the thought crossed his mind, that he might have expired without a human creature near him. Philip shuddered as this dreadful idea presented itself. He was busy with self-accusing thoughts, when he paused before Lord Robert's cave, wishing, yet unwilling, to enter, when Neptune sprang from the interior part of it, and bounding round him, looked up wistfully in his face, and returned, as if to invite him to follow. This Philip could not prevail on himself to do. After waiting a few minutes, Neptune came again; and, laying hold of his jacket with his teeth, endeavoured to draw him into the cave--looking at him in such an imploring manner, that Philip could no longer resist his entreaties, not withstanding the reluctance he felt at intruding himself into Lord Robert's presence.

On entering the cave he beheld the unfortunate young nobleman stretched on the flinty floor in a stupor, so nearly resembling death, that Philip started back in horror; and so much had the violence of the disorder changed the appearance of his once beautiful countenance, that his dearest friends would scarcely have recognised his convulsed and livid features. On a second glance, Philip discovered that he still breathed, but was unconscious of his approach. His heavy eyes, half closed and fixed, had lost their expression of spirit and intelligence; his lips appeared parched and burning; and his light brown ringlets hung in disordered profusion, tangled and neglected, over his forehead.

At this heart-rending sight, Philip, forgetful of the enmity that had subsisted between him and the unhappy sufferer, turned away, and wept bitterly. It was with feelings of the most bitter compunction he recalled the altercation that had passed over the boatswain's grave--particularly when he experienced the stifling closeness of the cave, where he felt a difficulty in respiring; and reflected, that his menaces had had the effect of driving Lord Robert from the only temperate spot on the island.

Philip could form some idea of his Lordship's sufferings, from the recollection of an autumnal fever which had attacked him in his childhood, and nearly brought him to the brink of the grave; he remembered how much he had suffered from thirst, and the relief he had felt from some ices which the Marchioness, Lord Robert's mother, had brought him in her carriage. That noble lady had supplied him with the most delicate fruits from the hothouse; and his mother believed that these ices and fruits, which he took with so much avidity, had saved his life.

"And yet," said Philip, "wretch that I am! I see her darling son, through the criminal indulgence of my resentful feelings towards him, reduced to a state so deplorable, that, if his fond mother could behold him, the sight would kill her."

Here Philip was interrupted by Lord Robert's trying to articulate something; but so very faint was the attempt, that it was not till he had knelt down by his side, and raised his head on his arm, that he could catch his imperfect accents, or distinguish what he intended to express. Alas! it was but one word--"_Water!_" and that repeated incessantly, in tones of agony, which Philip, some years after that melancholy period, declared that night and day he strove in vain to forget: and at that moment, when he beheld the parched and blackening lips from which those sounds proceeded, they pierced his heart with an anguish no tongue can describe. Fortunately he had a lime in his pocket, with the juice of which he moistened the sufferer's mouth. Some minutes elapsed before this appeared to have the least effect; but at length his Lordship became conscious of the relief, and swallowed with avidity the cooling fluid; and, opening his languid eyes, he turned them on Philip with an expression of gratitude which overpaid him for his exertions. It was evident, however, that he took him for some other person; for, extending his arms towards him, he called him "Augustus! his beloved brother!" and besought him in the most pathetic manner, "to remove him from that horrid place, and to let him have a better bed than the hard one on which he lay, which he assured him had sadly bruised his body."

"Alas! poor sufferer!" said Philip, "if you knew to whom you were addressing these tender names and moving petitions for assistance, your proud spirit would make you reject my aid with scorn, and you would perish rather than accept it."

"However," continued he, "though I fear my help comes too late, yet you shall at least die in a more comfortable place than this dreary cave."

So saying, with some exertion of his strength, he raised the sufferer, who had again relapsed into a state of insensibility, from the ground; and, taking him in his arms, he proceeded to carry him to the Valley of Limes.

The touch of his dry and burning hand gave a sensation of pain to Philip, when it came in contact with his own, and his head dropped in powerless languor on his shoulder. Philip rested by the spring of water, and bathed Lord Robert's face and hands in the cool element: this seemed to revive him a little, and he drank eagerly from a shell of water which Philip held to his burning lips. Had it not been for this refreshment, the sufferer must have expired from thirst and exhaustion before they arrived at the valley. As it was, he appeared to endure so much pain from his exposure to the heat of the sun, that Philip uttered an expression of thankfulness when he reached the shelter of the hut, and laid his helpless burden on the couch of matting within it. But Lord Robert had swooned from weakness and fatigue, and lay for many hours without motion or sensation.

Philip now busied himself in procuring a large supply both of water and limes; and, mixing the juice of the limes in water, continually bathed the sufferer's hands and temples with this refreshing liquid, watching anxiously for returning life. The next day Lord Robert opened his eyes, and expressed his surprise and pleasure at finding his condition so much improved. But his reason was lost in delirium; he talked incessantly; and, addressing Philip by the name of his brother, bestowed on him the most endearing expressions of affection and described to him the particulars of his illness, and all his dreadful privations, in a manner pathetically minute.

Philip, deeply interested, and forgetting that he spoke under the influence of delirium, anxiously exclaimed, "Why did you not return to the Valley of Limes?"--"Because," replied his Lordship, wholly unconscious to whom he spoke, "I was ill and alone, and totally unable to cope with that insolent Harley, who menaced me with his superior strength."

Philip started at hearing his name so mentioned; and Lord Robert continued at intervals to speak on this subject, sometimes passionately blaming himself; and at other times, with all the inconsistency of delirium, bitterly complaining of Philip.