t expedition, however, of the "Centipede," he had been
induced to go on board, so that he might become a check and guard over
the brutal ruffian who had been placed temporarily in command; but, as
we have already seen, his influence had been of little avail.

There was yet another occupant of the room inhabited by the doctor and
Padre Ricardo; and a low moaning cry caused the former to rise quietly
from his chair and approach the low iron bedstead on his side of the
lodging. There, beneath a light gauze musquito net, lay our poor little
Henri--his once round, rosy, innocent face now pale and thin, with a red
spot on each cheek, and a dark, soft line beneath the closed eyes.
Uneasily he moved in his fitful slumber; and putting his little hands
together as if in prayer, he murmured, "Oh mamma, mamma!"

Beside the bed stood an unglazed jar of lemonade, together with a vial
and a spoon. The doctor drew nigh, and, gently pushing aside the
curtain, stood looking at the child for some minutes. Presently the
little sick boy feebly stretched out his delicate, thin limbs, and
unclosed his eyes. Oh! how dim, and sad, and touching was that look, as
he gave a timid, half-wild stare, and then, closing the lids tight
together, the hot drops bubbled out and coursed slowly down his tender
cheeks.

The doctor, with the gentleness of a woman, bent over him, and taking up
his poor, limp little hand, he remained feeling the fluttering pulse and
catching the hot breath on his dark cheeks. As if communing with
himself, while a glow of compassion lighted up his careworn visage, he
muttered,

"By the great and good God, who hears me, if I save this child I will
restore him to his heart-broken mother!"

He sank down on his knees by the bedside as he made his vow, and letting
the little hand rest on the bed, he buried his face in his large bony
hands. What thoughts passed through that man's mind none but the
Almighty knows; but when he arose his stern features had resumed their
wonted expression, and, pouring a little lemonade in a glass, he held it
to the sleeper's lips. Then moving noiselessly back to the table, he
said, in a low tone,

"Padre, the boy will live. His fever is leaving him, and he will get
well."

"_Ave Maria! Santissima!_" ejaculated the padre, crossing himself and
kissing his cross; "I pray for him. You must give him to me, doctor. I
will make him a little priest, and he shall swing the censer and chant
the Misericordi