similarity that became the more distressing when he
perceived also that their oars in pulling together made no noise. The
stranger, assuming the helm, guided the boat on quietly, while the fog,
settling over the face of the water and closing around them, seemed to
interpose a muffled wall between themselves and the rude jarring of
the outer world. As they pushed further into this penetralia, the Padre
listened anxiously for the sound of creaking blocks and the rattling of
cordage, but no vibration broke the veiled stillness or disturbed the
warm breath of the fleecy fog. Only one incident occurred to break the
monotony of their mysterious journey. A one-eyed rower, who sat in front
of the Padre, catching the devout father's eye, immediately grinned
such a ghastly smile, and winked his remaining eye with such diabolical
intensity of meaning that the Padre was constrained to utter a pious
ejaculation, which had the disastrous effect of causing the marine
Cocles to "catch a crab," throwing his heels in the air and his head
into the bottom of the boat. But even this accident did not disturb the
gravity of the rest of the ghastly boat's crew.

When, as it seemed to the Padre, ten minutes had elapsed, the outline of
a large ship loomed up directly across their bow. Before he could utter
the cry of warning that rose to his lips, or brace himself against the
expected shock, the boat passed gently and noiselessly through the sides
of the vessel, and the holy man found himself standing on the berth deck
of what seemed to be an ancient caravel. The boat and boat's crew had
vanished. Only his mysterious friend, the stranger, remained. By the
light of a swinging lamp the Padre beheld him standing beside a
hammock, whereon, apparently, lay the dying man to whom he had been so
mysteriously summoned. As the Padre, in obedience to a sign from his
companion, stepped to the side of the sufferer, he feebly opened his
eyes and thus addressed him:--

"Thou seest before thee, reverend father, a helpless mortal, struggling
not only with the last agonies of the flesh, but beaten down and tossed
with sore anguish of the spirit. It matters little when or how I became
what thou now seest me. Enough that my life has been ungodly and sinful,
and that my only hope of absolution lies in my imparting to thee a
secret which is of vast importance to the holy Church, and affects
greatly her power, wealth, and dominion on these shores. But the terms
of t