Not to make my Story longer, I will tell you at once, that as soon as he could be made to understand who Mr. Wakefield was, being as frightened as a child at his own imaginations, he poured out the whole story, as you have already heard it, and as I had suffered it. He said he couldn't die with all that blood upon his soul. And was there any hope of forgiveness? And what should he do to be forgiven? He said that he had not been a willing partaker of the crimes of Doctor Gray, who he told us had gone on another cruise, and might be expected in Sydney in about a month's time, but that he himself should be under ground before that time, and that he never wished to see his face again, "neither here or there?"

Mr. Wakefield dealt very kindly,. yet very fairly with him, and told him that he had an opportunity of asking forgiveness of the brother of one of his victims, who now stood beside his bed.

He looked at me for a moment, recognized me, and taking my hand, said:

"Don't make me out worse than I am, lad! you know the ship was hell-and that the Doctor was a devil. It was against my grain all along, you know it was. It was Gray that threw them overboard-Gray and Darken. I damned the deed then, and I damn it now; and they called me a chicken for my pains. But I shot with the best or the worst of them through the bulkhead, boy—I have blood untold upon my guilty soul-thank God I have not yours, nor your brother's—I remember him—a fine bright lad-the bloody butchers!—may they both hang for it! Look out for 'em, both of you—it's their last voyage—their pile's made. Perhaps God 'd forgive me if I tell all and get them hanged. Do you forgive me, lad?"

“Yes, sir,” I said, my voice quavering with compassion for the poor conscience-stricken man. "I forgive you all. God used your cruelty to punish me. I deserved it all. I forgive it all. I took it all from the hand of God. I have been for

"OUR DEAR BROTHER.”

237

given. How can I refuse to forgive?" We knelt down and prayed by the sick man, who cried out once or twice, ‹ Ah, Doctor, that's the physic I want-the Blood of Christ to wash out the other blood, and take me clean into port!”

He took every word of the prayers and of the psalms to his heart, saying from time to time: "He will! I know He will!" "That's true!" "I never thought of that before," and so on.

I went home, but my friend remained all night. Next morning he told me that he died quite suddenly about midnight, as he was crying out too loudly for his weak frame to bear-"God be merciful to me a sinner!"

Mr. Wakefield wrote out his confession, and he willingly signed it.

In the afternoon we followed him whom the God of mercy and humility taught us to acknowledge as our "dear brother" to the end of his last earthly journey: wept for and forgiven.

I was deeply impressed at the funeral, and as I walked back with a strange feeling of loss upon me, the question arose in my mind, but did not reach my lips

"Has he met Diara ?"

CHAPTER XLIX.

HEALED.

MR. WAKEFIELD took the proper steps to ensure the arrest of the Doctor and Darken on their arrival, and also to procure the return to their homes of those who had been kidnapped and carried off to New Caledonia and elsewhere.

Besides this he carried on the work of the absent clergyman, and kept me hard at my books, learning and teaching, as he said, at the same time. He spoke Pombuana very well indeed. There were of course a host of names for out-of-the-way things

which he had not much occasion to use, and which he continually forgot such as the names of 80 or 90 different kinds of yams, which we could distinguish at a glance or touch; likewise fishes, birds, and trees. But the part of the language he did know, he spoke almost better than we did, for he turned it to new and better account, introducing many of your proverbs and similies, which we soon picked up and made use of, at first with a laugh, as if we were saying something uncommon, but by-and-bye as seriously as if they had been handed down to us from generation to generation.

At length the Aurora arrived, having come straight from Happy Island, whither she had gone after her cruise to land her new party, and to embark there those who were to go to Sydney.

There was Mr. Carter, and there were several familiar Marianusa faces; there were also one or two new Pombuana boys come to look about, but above all there was Arthur Rogani.

Percy and I went down to meet them, and I confess that I felt afraid and ashamed to face the kind and gentle but somewhat austere Mr. Carter; for had I not done all that he advised and besought me not to do? Had I not, besides going astray myself, been a stumbling block to others? Had I not caused him disappointment, trouble, and annoyance? Had I not wounded my nearest and dearest friend, who had sacrificed so much for me, almost unto death? What good was I? What was the use of me?

No wonder then that I hung my head, and felt good for nothing, like salt that had lost its savour, as I approached that most compassionate, but just and upright man, who must consider others as well as me, whose anger and distrust my conscience told me that I merited. If I had behaved like this, what could be expected of others?

These were the thoughts that passed through my mind as we pulled off to the Aurora, as she came to an anchor in the bay.

How could I meet those fellows whom I used to teach, and if the truth must be told, to look down upon?

Well, my dear Reader, who are, I dare say, as kind as any of your race, I had nothing at all to do in the matter. I had not to face or to meet anybody-for directly it was known that I was there-everybody faced and met me. Was there a single word of anger, of reproach, of blame, a single cloud to dim the sunshine of that moment of heaven? Not one. Nothing but smiling faces-except Mr. Carter, who, although he smiled as brightly as any of them, trembled-I don't think anyone noticed it but me-and looked a little dim about the eyes, and had to wipe his spectacles.

If men are so merciful and so forgiving, what must God in Jesus be!

I could not speak a word, but stood choking there, as helpless as an infant, while some of my friends nearly squeezed me to death with their hugs, and others almost shook my arms off.

It was a great triumph; but it wore me out in a few minutes more completely than the hardest work or the cruelest usage I had ever had.

Presently, after Mr. Carter and Mr. Wakefield had had a little talk together, Mr. Carter called me down into the cabin -the same dear old cabin, part of my home, and then I thought that perhaps the scolding was to come.

But not a bit of it. The wonder of it was that Mr. Carter, with his hand upon my shoulder, whose warm touch revived the old dear life like magic, uttered all that was in my mind, and answered it. He told me that it was no good idly mourning over the past; but to take and keep its lesson, and then cast it for ever behind me, and look forward, making the best use of the fast fleeing present. That all was forgiven and would never be mentioned again, because he knew my repentance was sincere; but that time had been lost, even if experience had been gained, and that he and all my friends were

ready to help me in the hard work which was before me. Then he took my hand in his, said that it was one of the happiest days of his life, and that Percy had something to say to me.

It was, that the opportunity was offered to me of being Confirmed along with the other candidates, who all desired it. I, of course, had told Mr. Wakefield all about that night at the Jumping Rock, and of the terrible passions and murderous thoughts, and going after false gods which weighed upon my conscience, and had asked him to tell Mr. Carter. This new proof of complete forgiveness affected me deeply; but after thinking hard for a day and a night, I determined to wait, for I could not bear to place myself on an equality with those who had done no wrong, and who had won their present condition and privileges by continued good behaviour; and who-dear, good fellows!—were quite put out and sorry when I told them what I meant to do. But I have the satisfaction of knowing that both Mr. Carter and Mr. Wakefield thought I had decided rightly.

CHAPTER L.

NEWS.

MR. WAKEFIELD used always to keep our best letters, and carefully enter all new words and neat phrases in his vocabulary.

Here is one of Rogani's, written in case Mr. Wakefield had gone home to England, as was thought probable. Rogani was just going to throw it away, but our friend said he would like to read it all the same, and so perhaps will you :—

"My Dear Father Percy Wakefield,

"HAPPY ISLAND.

"This is your letter which I am writing to you. Here I am in Happy Island, and this morning came your letter to me. I