Oh, my poor father! my poor, poor father! 'Hush, hush, dear,' said Mrs.Hardy.

'We must help him on to his bed.
Come!' Each took an arm of the sick man and raised him to his feet.

He offered no resistance, but allowed them to lead him to the bunk in the other room and place him upon it, although he continued to utter wild threats against Joe Rogers and to chummer about the gold, and move his hands about, scratching amongst the bedclothes.
Mrs.Hardy brought the light from the kitchen, and busied herself over the delirious man, making him as comfortable as possible upon his narrow bed.

She gave directions to Chris and the girl obeyed them, bringing necessary things and making a fire in the kitchen.

She seemed inspired with a new hope, and presently she moved to Mrs.Hardy's side again.
'Do you think he will die ?' she asked.
'I do not think so, dear.