nes were one line and all the notes one note, but
telling how the Lord was King over death and hell and all the
devils.

Again and again he sang a verse of it, going faster at every
repetition, and the others joined him, struggling to keep pace with
him: and all but Greeba, who tried by vain motions to stop the
tumult, and Jason, who looked down at the strange scene with eyes
full of wonder. At last the mad chorus of praise came to an end, and
the sick man said, casting his weak eyes into the faces about him,
"Has he come?"

"He is here," whispered Greeba, and she motioned to Jason.

The lad pushed through to the bedside, and then for the first time he
came face to face with Stephen Orry.

Did any voice, unheard of the others, cry in his ear at that moment,
"Jason, Jason, this is he whom you have crossed the seas to slay, and
he has sent for you to bless you, for the last sands of his life are
running out?"

"Leave us alone together," said Stephen Orry; and Greeba, after
beating out his pillow and settling his head on it, was about to move
away, when he whispered, "Not you," and held her back.

Then with one accord the others called on to him not to tarry over
carnal thoughts, for his soul was passing through dark waters, and he
should never take rest until he had cast anchor after a troublous
voyage.

"Get religion," cried Kane Wade. "Lay hoult of a free salvation,"
cried old Chalse. "All flesh is as grass," cried Matt Mylechreest.
"Pray without ceasing," they all cried together, with much besides in
the same wild strain.

"I cannot pray," the sick man muttered.

"Then we'll pray for you, mate," shouted Kane Wade.

"Ah, pray, pray, pray," mumbled Stephen Orry, "but it's no good; it's
too late, too late."

"Now is the 'pointed time," shouted Kane Wade. "The Lord can save to
the uttermost the worst sinner of us all."

"If I'm a sinner, let me not be a coward in my sins," said Stephen
Orry. "Have pity on me and leave me."

But Kane Wade went on to tell the story of his own conversion:--It
was on a Saturday night of the mackerel season down at Kinsale. The
conviction had been borne in upon him that if he did not hear the
pardoning voice before the clock struck twelve, he would be damned to
all eternity. When the clock began to warn for midnight the hair of
his flesh stood up, for he was still unsaved. But before it had
finished striking the Saviour was his, and he was rejoicing in a
blessed salvation.