Sixteen nights and fifteen days, twenty nights and nineteen days, twenty-
four nights and twenty-three days. So the time went on. Disheartening
as I knew that our progress, or want of progress, must be, I never
deceived them as to my calculations of it. In the first place, I felt
that we were all too near eternity for deceit; in the second place, I
knew that if I failed, or died, the man who followed me must have a
knowledge of the true state of things to begin upon. When I told them at
noon, what I reckoned we had made or lost, they generally received what I
said in a tranquil and resigned manner, and always gratefully towards me.
It was not unusual at any time of the day for some one to burst out
weeping loudly without any new cause; and, when the burst was over, to
calm down a little better than before. I had seen exactly the same thing
in a house of mourning.

During the whole of this time, old Mr. Rarx had had his fits of calling
out to me to throw the gold (always the gold!) overboard, and of heaping
violent reproaches upon me for not having saved the child; but now, the
food being all gone, and I having nothing left to serve out but a bit of
coffee-berry now and then, he began to be too weak to do this, and
consequently fell silent. Mrs. Atherfield and Miss Coleshaw generally
lay, each with an arm across one of my knees, and her head upon it. They
never complained at all. Up to the time of her child's death, Mrs.
Atherfield had bound up her own beautiful hair every day; and I took
particular notice that this was always before she sang her song at night,
when everyone looked at her. But she never did it after the loss of her
darling; and it would have been now all tangled with dirt and wet, but
that Miss Coleshaw was careful of it long after she was herself, and
would sometimes smooth it down with her weak thin hands.