no sooner had orlando and the negro passed round the cliff to which rosco had directed them, than they beheld a sight which was well calculated to fill them with anxiety and alarm, for there stood zeppa, panting and wrestling with one of the fiends that were in the habit of assailing him.

the fiend, on this occasion, was familiar enough to him—the stout branch of a tree which overhung his cave, but which his delirious brain had transformed into a living foe. no shout or cry issued from the poor man’s compressed lips. he engaged in the deadly struggle with that silent resolve of purpose which was natural to him. the disease under which he laboured had probably reached its climax, for he swayed to and fro, in his futile efforts to wrench off the limb, with a degree of energy that seemed more than human. his partially naked limbs showed the knotted muscles standing out rigidly; his teeth were clenched and exposed; his blood-shot eyes glared; the long, curling and matted hair of his head and beard was flying about in wild disorder; and his labouring chest heaved as he fiercely, silently, and hopelessly struggled.

oh! it was a terrible picture to be presented thus suddenly to the gaze of a loving son.

“stay where you are, ebony. i must meet him alone,” whispered orlando.

then, hastening forward with outstretched arms, he exclaimed—

“father!”

instantly zeppa let go his supposed enemy and turned round. the change in his aspect was as wonderful as it was sudden. the old, loving, gentle expression overspread his features, and the wild fire seemed to die out of his eyes as he held out both hands.

“ah! once more, my son!” he said, in the tenderest of tones. “come to me. this is kind of you, orley, to return so soon again; i had not expected you for a long time. sit down beside me, and lay your head upon my knee—so—i like to have you that way, for i see you better.”

“oh, father—dear father!” said orlando, but the words were choked in his throat, and tears welled from his eyes.

“yes, orley?” said zeppa, with a startled look of joyful surprise, while he turned his head a little to one side, as if listening in expectancy; “speak again, dear boy; speak again. i have often seen you since you went to the spirit-land, but have never heard you speak till to-day. speak once more, dear boy!”

but orley could not speak. he could only hide his face in his father’s bosom and sob aloud.

“nay, don’t cry, lad; you never did that before! what do you mean? that is unmanly. not like what my courageous boy was wont to be. and you have grown so much since last i saw you. why, you’ve even got a beard! who ever heard of a bearded man sobbing like a child? and now i look at you closely i see that you have grown wonderfully tall. it is very strange—but all things seem strange since i came here. only, in all the many visits you have paid me, i have never seen you changed till to-day. you have always come to me in the old boyish form. very, very strange! but, orley, my boy” (and here zeppa’s voice became intensely earnest and pleading), “you won’t leave me again, will you? surely they can well spare you from the spirit-world for a time—just a little while. it would fill my heart with such joy and gratitude. and i’m your father, orley, surely i have a right to you—more right than the angels have—haven’t i? and then it would give such joy, if you came back, to your dear mother, whom i have not seen for so long—so very long!”

“i will never leave you, father, never!” cried orlando, throwing his arms round zeppa’s neck and embracing him passionately.

“nay, then, you are going to leave me,” cried zeppa, with sudden alarm, as he clasped orlando to him with an iron grip. “you always embrace me when you are about to vanish out of my sight. but you shall not escape me this time. i have got you tighter than i ever had you before, and no fiend shall separate us now. no fiend!” he repeated in a shout, glaring at a spot in the bushes where ebony, unable to restrain his feelings, had unwittingly come into sight.

suddenly changing his purpose, zeppa let go his son and sprang like a tiger on the supposed fiend. ebony went down before him like a bulrush before the hurricane, but, unlike it, he did not rise again. the madman had pinned him to the earth and was compressing his throat with both hands. it required all the united strength of his son and the negro to loosen his grasp, and even that would not have sufficed had not the terrible flame which had burned so long died out. it seemed to have been suddenly extinguished by this last burst of fury, for zeppa fell back as helpless as an infant in their hands. indeed he lay so still with his eyes closed that orlando trembled with fear lest he should be dying.

“now, ebony,” said he, taking the negro apart, when they had made the exhausted man as comfortable as possible on his rude couch in the cave; “you run down to the ship and fetch the doctor here without delay. i will be able to manage him easily when alone. run as you never ran before. don’t let any soul come here except the doctor and yourself. tell the captain i have found him—through god’s mercy—but that he is very ill and must be carefully kept from excitement and that in the meantime nobody is to disturb us. the doctor will of course fetch physic; and tell him to bring his surgical instruments also, for, if i mistake not, poor rosco needs his attention. do you bring up as much in the way of provisions as you can carry, and one or two blankets. and, harkee, make no mention of the pirate to any one. away!”

during the delivery of this message, the negro listened eagerly, and stood quite motionless, like a black statue, with the exception of his glittering eyes.

“yes, massa,” he said at its conclusion, and almost literally vanished from the scene.

orlando then turned to his father. the worn out man still lay perfectly quiet, with closed eyes, and countenance so pale that the dread of approaching death again seized on the son. the breathing was, however, slow and regular, and what appeared to be a slight degree of moisture lay on the brow. the fact that the sick man slept soon became apparent, and when orlando had assured himself of this he arose, left the cave with careful tread, and glided, rather than walked, back to the place where the pirate had been left. there he still lay, apparently much exhausted.

“we have found him, thank god,” said orlando, seating himself on a bank; “and i would fain hope that the worst is over, for he sleeps. but, poor fellow, you seem to be in a bad case. can i do aught to relieve you?”

“nothing,” replied rosco, with a weary sigh.

“i have sent for a surgeon—”

“a surgeon!” repeated the pirate, with a startled look; “then there must be a man-of-war off the coast for south sea traders are not used to carry surgeons.”

“ah! i forgot. you naturally don’t wish to see any one connected with a man-of-war. yes, there is one here. i came in her. but you can see this surgeon without his knowing who or what you are. it will be sufficient for him to know that you are an unfortunate sailor who had fallen into the hands of the savages.”

“yes,” exclaimed rosco, grasping eagerly at the idea; “and that’s just what i am. moreover, i ran away from my ship! but—but—do you not feel it your duty to give me up?”

“what i shall feel it my duty to do ultimately is not a matter for present consideration. just now you require surgical assistance. but how did you come here? and what do you mean by saying that you ran away from your ship?”

rosco in reply gave a brief but connected narrative of his career during the past three years, in which he made no attempt to exculpate himself, but, on the contrary, confessed his guilt and admitted his desert of death.

“yet i shrink from death,” he said in conclusion. “is it not strange that i, who have faced death so often with perfect indifference, should draw back from it now with something like fear?”

“a great writer,” replied orlando, “whom my father used to read to me at home, says that ‘conscience makes cowards of us all.’ and a still greater authority says that ‘the wicked flee when no man pursueth.’ you are safe here, rosco—at all events for the present. but you must not go near the cave again. rest where you are and i will search for some place where you may remain concealed till you are well. i shall return quickly.”

leaving the pirate where he lay, orlando returned to his father, and, finding that he still slept, went off to search for a cave.

he soon found a small one in the cliffs, suitable for his purpose. thither he carried the pirate, laid him tenderly on a couch of branches and leaves, put food and water within his reach, and left him with a feeling of comfort and of contentment at heart that he had not experienced for many years.

that night the surgeon of the “furious” ascended to the mountain cave. his approach was made known to orlando, as he watched at the sick man’s side, by the appearance of ebony’s great eyes glittering at him over the bushes that encircled the cave’s mouth. no wonder that poor zeppa had mistaken him for a demon! holding up a finger of caution, orlando glided towards him, seized his arm, and, after leading him to a safe distance, asked in a low voice—

“well, have you brought the doctor?”

“ho, yis, massa, an’ i bring tomeo and buttchee too.”

“didn’t i tell you to let no one else come near us?” said orlando in a tone of vexation.

“dat’s true, massa, but i no kin stop dem. so soon as dey hear dat antonio zeppa am found, sick in de mountains, dey swore dey mus’ go see him. i say dat you say no! dey say dey not care. i say me knock ’em bofe down. dey say dey turn me hinside hout if i don’t ole my tongue. what could dis yar nigger do? dey’s too much for me. so dey follered, and here dey am wid de doctor, waiting about two hun’rd yards down dere for leave to come. but, i say, massa, dey’s good sort o’ fellers after all—do whatever you tells ’em. good for go messages, p’raps, an save dis yar nigger’s poor legs.”

ebony made the latter suggestion with a grin so broad that in the darkness his face became almost luminous with teeth and gums.

“well, i suppose we must make the most of the circumstances,” said orlando. “come, lead me to them.”

it was found that though the strong affection of the two chiefs for zeppa had made them rebellious in the matter of visiting the spot, the same affection, and their regard for orlando, rendered them submissive as lambs, and willing to do absolutely whatever they were told.

orlando, therefore, had no difficulty in prevailing on them to delay their visit to his father till the following day. meanwhile, he caused them to encamp in a narrow pass close at hand, and, the better to reconcile them to their lot, imposed upon them the duty of mounting guard each alternate couple of hours during the night.

“he will do well,” said the doctor, after examining the patient. “this sleep is life to him. i will give him something when he awakes, but the awaking must be left to nature. whether he recovers his reason after what he has passed through remains to be seen. you say he has been wandering for some time here in a state of insanity? how came that about?”

“it is a long and sad story, doctor,” said orlando, evading the question, “and i have not time to tell it now, for i want you to visit another patient.”

“another patient?” repeated the surgeon, in surprise; “ah! one of the natives, i suppose?”

“no, a white man. he is a sailor who ran away from his ship, and was caught by the natives and tortured.”

“come, then, let us go and see the poor fellow at once. does he live far from here?”

“close at hand,” answered orlando, as he led the way; “and perhaps, doctor, it would be well not to question the poor man at present as to his being here and in such a plight. he seems very weak and ill.”

when the surgeon had examined rosco’s feet he led orlando aside.

“it is a bad case,” he said; “both legs must be amputated below the knee if the man’s life is to be saved.”

“must it be done now?”

“immediately. can you assist me?”

“i have assisted at amateur operations before now,” said orlando, “and at all events you can count on the firmness of my nerves and on blind obedience. but stay—i must speak to him first, alone.”

“rosco,” said the youth, as he knelt by the pirate’s couch, “your sins have been severely punished, and your endurance sorely tried—”

“not more than i deserve, orlando.”

“but i grieve to tell you that your courage must be still further tried. the doctor says that both feet must be amputated.”

a frown gathered on the pirate’s face, and he compressed his lips for a few moments.

“and the alternative?” he asked.

“is death.”

again there was a brief pause. then he said slowly, almost bitterly—

“oh, death! you have hovered over my head pretty steadily of late! it is a question whether i had not better let you come on and end these weary struggles, rather than become a hopeless cripple in the prime of life! why should i fear death now more than before?”

“have you any hope of eternal life, rosco?”

“how can i tell? what do i know about eternal life!”

“then you are not prepared to die; and let me earnestly assure you that there is something well worth living for, though at present you do not—you cannot know it.”

“enough. let it be as the doctor advises,” said the pirate in a tone of resignation.

that night the operation was successfully performed, and the unfortunate man was afterwards carefully tended by ebony.

next day tomeo and buttchee were told that their old friend zeppa could not yet be seen, but that he required many little comforts from the “furious,” which must be brought up with as little delay as possible. that was sufficient. forgetting themselves in their anxiety to aid their friend, these affectionate warriors went off on their mission, and were soon out of sight.

when zeppa awoke at last with a deep sigh, it was still dark. this was fortunate, for he could not see whose hand administered the physic, and was too listless and weak to inquire. it was bright day when he awoke the second time and looked up inquiringly in his son’s face.

“what, are you still there, orley?” he said faintly, while the habitual sweet expression stole over his pale features, though it was quickly followed by the perplexed look. “but how comes this change? you look so much older than you are, dear boy. would god that i could cease this dreaming!”

“you are not dreaming now, father. i am indeed orley. you have been ill and delirious, but, thanks be to god, are getting well again.”

“what?” exclaimed the invalid; “has it been all a dream, then? were you not thrown into the sea by mutineers, and have i not been wandering for months or years on a desert island? but then, if these things be all dreams,” he added, opening his eyes wide and fixing them intently on orlando’s face, “how comes it that i still dream the change in you? you are orley, yet not orley! how is that?”

“yes, all that is true, dear, dear father,” said the youth, gently clasping one of the helpless hands that lay crossed on zeppa’s broad chest; “i was thrown overboard by the mutineers years ago, but, thank god, i was not drowned; and you have been wandering here in—in—very ill, for years; but, thank god again, you are better, and i have been mercifully sent to deliver you.”

“i can’t believe it, orley, for i have so often seen you, and you have so often given me the slip—yet there does seem something very real about you just now—very real, though so changed—yet it is the same voice, and you never spoke to me before in my dreams—except once. yes, i think it was once, that you spoke. i remember it well, for the sound sent such a thrill to my heart. oh! god forbid that it should again fade away as it has done so often!”

“it will not fade, father. the time you speak of was only yesterday, when i found you. you have been sleeping since, and a doctor is attending you.”

“a doctor! where did he come from?”

at that moment ebony approached with some food in a tin pan. the invalid observed him at once.

“ebony! can that be you? why—when—oh! my poor brain feels so light—it seems as if a puff of wind would blow it away. i must have been very ill.” zeppa spoke feebly, and closed his eyes, from which one or two tears issued—blessed tears!—the first he had shed for many a day.

“his reason is restored,” whispered the doctor in orlando’s ear, “but he must be left to rest.”

orlando’s heart was too full to find relief through the lips.

“i cannot understand it at all,” resumed zeppa, reopening his eyes; “least of all can i understand you, orley, but my hope is in god. i would sleep now, but you must not let go my hand.” (orlando held it tighter.) “one word more. your dear mother?”

“is well—and longs to see you.”

a profound, long-drawn sigh followed, as if an insupportable burden had been removed from the wearied soul, and zeppa sank into a sleep so peaceful that it seemed as if the spirit had forsaken the worn out frame. but a steady, gentle heaving of the chest told that life was still there. during the hours that followed, orlando sat quite motionless, like a statue, firmly grasping his father’s hand.