ll soon get all to rights."

"No, no!" groaned Jose; "my doom is fixed; it serves me right, for I
intended to betray you for the sake of the reward I expected to receive.
I am dying--I know it; but I wish that I had a priest to whom I might
confess my sins, and die in peace."

"Confess them, my friend, to One who is ready to hear the sinner who
comes to Him--our great High Priest in heaven," answered Tim, who, like
most Irish Protestants, was well instructed in the truths of
Christianity. "Depend on it, all here are ready to forgive you the harm
you intended them; and if so, our loving Father in heaven is a
thousandfold more willing, if you will go to Him."

Jose only groaned; I was afraid that he did not clearly understand what
Tim said, so Arthur endeavoured to explain the matter.

"God allows all those who turn to Him, and place their faith in the
all-perfect atonement of His blessed Son, to come boldly to the throne
of grace, without the intervention of any human being," he said.

"I see! I see!" said the dying man. "What a blessed truth is that!
How dreadful would otherwise be our fate out here on the ocean, without
the possibility of getting a priest to whom to confess our sins."

I, of course, give a mere outline of what I heard, and cannot pretend to
translate exactly what they said. Jose, however, appeared much
comforted.

The wind had by this time entirely gone down, and the sea was becoming
smoother and smoother. At length night came on. Jose still breathed;
but he was speechless, though I think he understood what was said.
Either Arthur or Tim sat by him, while Marian and I supported our
father. Uncle Paul, overcome by fatigue, had gone to sleep. Just as
the sun rose, Jose breathed his last. Our father, who had slept for
some time, by this time appeared greatly refreshed; and after he had
taken some food, a little water, and an orange, he was able to sit up,
and we began to hope that he would recover. We did not tell him of
Jose's death, but soon his eye fell on the bow of the boat. "God is
indeed merciful, to have spared me. I might have been like that poor
man," he observed.

We waited till Uncle Paul awoke, to learn what to do, and he at once
said that we must bury poor Jose. I sat with Marian in the stern of the
boat, while Uncle Paul and Tim lifted Jose's body up to the side; and
the latter fastened a piece of stone, which served as ballast, to his
feet. Our uncle having uttered a