lifted, and looked in.

"Who's there?" inquired a voice, as sharply as extreme weakness would
allow. "Have a care! There's a revolver pointing at your head. If you
come in without leave, I'll blow out your brains."

"I am a friend," said Ned, looking towards the further end of the boat,
where, on a couch of straw, lay the emaciated form of a middle-aged man.
"Put down your pistol, friend; my presence here is simply owing to the
fact that I heard you groan, and I would relieve your distress, if it is
in my power."

"You are the first that has said so since I lay down here," sighed the
man, falling back heavily.

Ned entered, and, advancing as well as he could in a stooping posture,
sat down beside the sick man's pallet, and felt his pulse. Then he
looked anxiously in his face, on which the hand of death was visibly
placed.

"My poor fellow!" said Ned, in a soothing tone, "you are very ill, I
fear. Have you no one to look after you?"

"Ill!" replied the sick man, almost fiercely, "I am dying. I have seen
death too often, and know it too well, to be mistaken." His voice sank
to a whisper as he added, "It is not far off now."

For a few seconds Ned could not make up his mind what to say. He felt
unwilling to disturb the last moments of the man. At last he leaned
forward, and repeated from memory several of the most consoling passages
of Scripture. Twice over he said, "Though thy sins be as scarlet, they
shall be white as wool," and, "Him that cometh unto Me, (Christ), I will
in no wise cast out."

The man appeared to listen, but made no reply. Suddenly he started up,
and, leaning on his elbow, looked with an awfully earnest stare into
Ned's face.

"Young man, gold is good--gold is good--remember that, _if you don't
make it your god_."

After a pause, he continued, "_I_ made it my god. I toiled for it night
and day, in heat and cold, wet and dry. I gave up everything for it; I
spent all my time in search of it--and I got it--and what good can it do
me _now_? I have spent night and day here for weeks, threatening to
shoot any one who should come near my gold--Ha!" he added, sharply,
observing that his visitor glanced round the apartment, "you'll not find
it _here_. No, look, look round, peer into every corner, tear up every
plank of my boat, and you'll find nothing but rotten wood, and dust, and
rusty nails."

"Be calm, my friend," said Ned, who now believed that the poor man's
mind was wanderin