act that there were many
honest enough traders and workmen whose lot had been cast there, and
whose prayers were probably very heartfelt and genuine--some of them,
perchance, being an appeal for deliverance from the wretches who ruled
them with a rod of iron--indeed, we might almost say, a rod of red-hot
iron. Whatever the nature of their prayers, however, they were early in
presenting, and remarkably particular in not omitting, them.

Down at the Marina there was a group of Christian slaves who were not
behind their task-masters in this respect. In an angle of the
fortifications the Padre Giovanni was kneeling by the side of a dying
slave. The man had been crushed accidentally under a large piece of the
rock with which the bulwarks of the harbour were being strengthened. He
had been carried to the spot where he lay, and would have been left to
die uncared for if Blindi Bobi had not chanced to pass that way. After
administering such consolation as lay in a little weak wine and water
from his flask, the eccentric but kind-hearted man had gone off in
search of the Padre, who was always ready to hasten at a moment's notice
to minister to the necessity of slaves in sickness. Too often the good
man's services were of little avail, because the sick slaves were
frequently kept at work until the near approach of death rendered their
labours worthless; so that, when Giovanni came to comfort them, they
were almost, if not quite, indifferent to all things.

On the present occasion he was too late to do more than pray that the
dying man might be enabled, by the Holy Spirit, to trust in the
salvation wrought out--and freely offered to sinners, even the chief--by
Jesus Christ.

While the spirit of the poor slave was passing away, Sidi Omar
approached the spot. Blindi Bobi, remembering a former and somewhat
similar occasion, at once glided behind a projection of the walls and
made off.

"He is past your help now, Giovanni," said Omar to the old man, for whom
he, in common with nearly all the people of the town, entertained great
respect, despite his Christianity, for the Padre had spent the greater
part of a long life among them, in the exercise of such pure, humble
philanthropy, that even his enemies, if he had any, were at peace with
him.

"His spirit is with God who gave it," replied the old man, rising and
contemplating sadly the poor crushed form that lay at his feet.

"His spirit won't give us any more trouble, the