out fear I know very well; but
still, you know that you should not die without feeling sorry for the
sins you have committed, and praying for pardon. We have all of us, the
very best of us, to make our peace with Heaven; so, had I not better
tell the chaplain to come and talk with you?"

"No, Jack, no; I want no parsons praying by my side. What's done is
done, and can't be undone. Go now, Jack, I wish to get a little sleep."

"Shall I come and see you to-morrow, Spicer?"

"Yes, come when you will; I like to have some one to talk to; it keeps
me from thinking."

I wished him good day, and went away with the book in my hand. Before I
went home I sought out old Anderson and told him what had passed. "He
will not see the chaplain, Anderson, but perhaps he will see you; and,
by degrees, you can bring him to the subject. It is dreadful that a man
should die in that way."

"Alas for the pride of us wretched worms!" ejaculated Anderson; "he
talks of dying game--that is to say, he defies his Maker. Yes, Jack, I
will go and see him; and happy I am that he has a few days to live. I
will see him to-night, but will not say much to him, or he might refuse
my coming again."

I went home. I was not in a very gay humor, for the sight of Spicer's
leg, and the announcement of his situation, had made a deep impression
upon me. I sat down to read the book which Spicer had made me a present
of. I was interrupted by my mother requesting me to go a message for
her, and during my absence Virginia had taken up the book.

"Who lent you this book, Tom?" said she, when I returned.

"Spicer, the man whom they call Black Sam, who is now dying in the
hospital."

"Well, that's not the name on the title-page--it is Walter James,
Tynemouth."

"Walter James, did you say, dear? Let me look! Even so."

"Why, what's the matter, Tom?" said my sister; "you look as if you were
puzzled."

And indeed I do not doubt but I did, for it at once recalled to my mind
that old Nanny's married name was _James_, and that Spicer had said that
his father was a sailor, and that he had died at the time that he was
born, which agreed with the narrative of old Nanny. The conclusions
which I came to in a moment made me shudder.

"Well, my dear, I was surprised, if not frightened; but you don't know
why, nor can I tell you, for it's not my secret. Let me look at the book
again."

Here my father came in, and the conversation took a different turn,
which I was not