OR THE DESERT ISLAND. 121

that face by the marks of personal violence! Miserable
wretch that I am !”

At this moment his hand was gently squeezed by the
count’s—a convincing proof that the latter had not Jost the
use of his senses, and had understood his soliloquy. Philip
drew back, blushing at the thought, when his companion,
elevating his feeble voice, exclaimed : “ My dear Merville,
if you accuse yourself so unsparingly for what was but a
justifiable rebuke, extorted from you by my insupportable
arrogance, what reproaches can I find severe enough for
myself, when I think of my conduct towards you while on
board the Achilles—conduct that agonizes my heart every
time that I reflect on it.”

“Think no more about it, my lord,” said Philip, to whom
the appellation of ‘my dear Merville’ had given much plea-
sure; “permit me to entreat you not to disquiet yourself
with the painful recollections of our past errors and mis-
takes. I would give all I have in the world to see you .
well and happy.”

Count Charles now seemed perfectly sensible, and a few
moments afterward he fell into a profound slumber. Philip
took advantage of this favourable-change to refresh him-
self by sound repose on the floor. The sun had risen be-
fore he finished it ; and, as the count was still sleeping, he