One of the Irish volunteers, Gerald Burke by name, had for a long
time been seriously ill, and Geoffrey had in many small ways shown
him kindness as he lay helpless on the deck, and he determined
finally to confide in him. Although still very weak, Burke was now
convalescent, and was sitting alone by the poop rail gazing upon
the coast of Spain with eager eyes, when Geoffrey, under the pretext
of coiling down a rope, approached him. The young man nodded kindly
to him.
"Our voyage is nearly over, my poor lad," he said in Spanish, "and
your troubles now will be worse than mine. You have given me many
a drink of water from your scanty supply, and I wish that I could
do something for you in return; but I know that you do not even
understand what I say to you."
"Would you give me an opportunity of speaking to you after nightfall,
Mr. Burke," Geoffrey said in English, "when no one will notice us
speaking?"
The Irishman gave a start of astonishment at hearing himself
addressed in English.
"My life is in your hands, sir; pray, do not betray me," Geoffrey
said rapidly as he went on coiling down the rope.
"I will be at this place an hour after nightfall," the young Irishman
replied when he recovered from his surprise. "Your secret will be
safe with me."
At the appointed time Geoffrey returned to the spot.
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