He bent without words and lifted the shrinking figure in his arms.
Ten seconds later Toby sank down in a berth as luxurious as any ever carried by private yacht.
He was still shivering though a grateful warmth came about him as Saltash tucked him in.

He tried to murmur thanks, but ended with a quivering chin and silence.
"Go to sleep, you little ass!" commanded Saltash.
And so at last Toby slept, the deep, unstirring sleep of exhaustion, utterly unconscious of his surroundings, unaware of the man who came in and out watching that unchanging repose, sublimely oblivious of all observation, sunk in a slumber so remote that it might have been the last long rest of all.
Saltash spent the night on the velvet couch under the closed porthole, dozing occasionally and always awakening with a jerk as the roll of the vessel threatened to pitch him on to the floor of the cabin.

It was not a comfortable means of resting but he endured it in commendable silence with now and then a grimace which said more than words.
And the little waif that the gods had flung to him slept in his bunk all through the long hours as peacefully as an effigy upon a tomb..