and suffering, ere health should once more send the glad blood
bounding along his veins.

Yet there was work for Blair Robertson on his couch of pain, work to do
for his heavenly Master. Blair was not the only sufferer on board the
prize.

Often during the homeward voyage, a settee was placed beside the soft
couch which Derry had appropriated to Blair's especial use. The occupant
of the settee was a huge, muscular, repulsive young man, whose yellow
hair lay uncombed on his pillow, while his pale, freckle-marked face
was distorted with pain, rage, and the torture of a rebellious spirit,
when sorely smitten by the hand of God.

Many of Brimstone's fierce shipmates had been hurried into eternity in
the midst of the struggle on the deck of the East Indiaman. Blair's
coarse tormentor, however, had escaped with his life, but with one leg
so wounded and bruised that it was promptly cut off, as the only way of
preventing ultimate death. Brimstone ground his teeth and swore fearful
imprecations at each movement that reminded him of his loss. It was in
vain that Derry bade him be quiet, and rather thank God that time was
left him for repentance. In Brimstone's hardened heart there seemed no
resting-place for good seed, no soil prepared for the heavenly plant.

His only relief was in forgetfulness of his misfortune, when he was
wiled from thoughts of himself by one of Blair's stirring tales of
adventure, or ballads of the olden time. Blair would weary out his
little strength for the benefit of his companion, and yet win not one
word of thanks for his kindly endeavors. Yet he persevered, ever
mingling in his stories and songs whispers of the only source of
comfort for the afflicted, the only balm for the suffering soul.

Brimstone's wild and wicked life had poisoned the very sources and flow
of his life's blood. His was no flesh to heal, like that of a healthy
child.

While Blair was daily making long strides towards health, fierce pains
and burning inflammation seized on Brimstone's stunted limb. Then no
voice could soothe him, no words of comfort reach his ear. He chafed and
tossed upon his narrow couch like a wounded beast of the forest, and
finally refused to suffer any hand to dress or touch the afflicted part.

Pain ceased at last, the end was near. Death would soon claim the
loathsome body, and bring the polluted soul before the judgment-bar.
Blair gently told the sufferer the awful truth, yet not from the lips of
t