oard as'll think that o' Dick Darvall," growled
the boatswain, who had just entered and heard the last remark.

"Right, bo's'n," said Brooke, "you have well expressed the thought that
came into my own head."

"Have ye seen Samson yet, sir?" asked the boatswain, with an unusually
grave look.

"No; I was just going to inquire about him. No worse, I hope?"

"I think he is, sir. Seems to me that he ain't long for this world.
The life's bin too much for him: he never was cut out for a sailor, an'
he takes things so much to heart that I do believe worry is doin' more
than work to drive him on the rocks."

"I'll go and see him at once," said our hero.

Fred Samson, the sick man referred to, had been put into a swing-cot in
a berth amidships to give him as much rest as possible. To all
appearance he was slowly dying of consumption. When Brooke entered he
was leaning on one elbow, gazing wistfully through the port-hole close
to his head. His countenance, on which the stamp of death was evidently
imprinted, was unusually refined for one in his station in life.

"I'm glad you have come, Mr Brooke," he said slowly, as his visitor
advanced and took his thin hand.

"My poor fellow," said Charlie, in a tone of low but tender sympathy, "I
wish with all my heart I could do you any good."

"The sight of your kind face does me good," returned the sailor, with a
pause for breath between almost every other word. "I don't want you to
doctor me any more. I feel that I'm past that, but I want to give you a
message and a packet for my mother. Of course you will be in London
when you return to England. Will you find her out and deliver the
packet? It contains only the Testament she gave me at parting and a
letter."

"My dear fellow--you may depend on me," replied Brooke earnestly.
"Where does she live?"

"In Whitechapel. The full address is on the packet. The letter
enclosed tells all that I have to say."

"But you spoke of a message," said Brooke, seeing that he paused and
shut his eyes.

"Yes, yes," returned the dying man eagerly, "I forgot. Give her my dear
love, and say that my last thoughts were of herself and God. She always
feared that I was trusting too much in myself--in my own good
resolutions and reformation; so I have been--but that's past. Tell her
that God in His mercy has snapped that broken reed altogether, and
enabled me to rest my soul on Jesus."

As the dying man was much exhausted by his effor