onscious that she craved the impossible. It would appear that
she had been a good churchwoman. The man could only stare. He was no
priest, only a rough sailor.

"A priest," said the woman more clearly. "I want--a priest--the
sacrament." By some nervous convulsive effort she lifted her arms up
toward him beseeching, appealing. There was another kind of agony in her
voice that had not been present when she had moaned for water in the
days before.

"The sacrament," she insisted, "I die."

The man looked away. Hard by the boat where there had been but a waste
of sea rose a green island. A stretch of pleasant meadow met his eyes.
It was so close to him that if he had leaned over the gunwale of the
boat he could have laid his hand on the lush grass. Dumbly he wondered
where it had been before, how he had come upon it so suddenly, why he
had not seen it hours ago.

In front of him were hundreds of people, men, women, and children, plain
people in strange simple garb, the like of which he had never seen. In
front of these people and with their backs toward him stood a little
group of men, in the center a figure in white garments. A lad offered
something in a basket.

The man watched, amazed, awe-stricken, yet with a strange peace in his
soul. He made no movement to gain the shore. He only looked and looked.
The white-robed figure bent over the basket. He lifted from it a crude
rough loaf of bread. He raised his eyes to heaven, his lips moved. He
broke the bread and gave it.

As the sailor watched the island disappeared as suddenly as it had come.
The scene changed. Now he looked into a low room, dimly lighted with
strange lamps. Through an open window he saw the stars. The few men that
had stood about the man in the grassy meadow were alone with him in that
upper chamber reclining about a table. The man lifted from the board a
cup of silver. He blessed it and gave it. The fragrance of wine came to
the watcher.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again and before him spread the smooth
unbroken surface of the monotonous sea. The woman's voice smote his ear
again, higher, shriller, with more painful entreaty.

"A priest--for the love of God--the sacrament," she whispered.

The man tore open the last canvas bread-bag. It was tough material but
it yielded to his insistence. In the corner there was a single tiny
crumb they had overlooked. He lifted it gently with his great hand. He
held it up in the air a moment striving to thi