ionless form. But he
did not leave his place until the last prayer had been said, the last
psalm chanted. Then he rose and walked deliberately to the place where
Dino lay, and laid his hand upon his head.

"My son!" he said, gently. There was a great fear in his face, a tremor
of startled emotion in his voice. "Dino, my beloved! I pardon thee."

But Dino did not hear. His prayer had been granted him; he was at rest.
God had been more merciful than man. The Prior's pardon came too late.

* * * * *

And far away, on a southern sea, where each great wave threatened to
engulf the tiny boat which seemed like a child's toy thrown upon the
waters, three men were struggling for dear life--for the life that Dino
Vasari had been so ready to lay down--toiling, with broken oars, and
roughly-fashioned sails, and ragged streamers as signals of distress, to
win their way back to solid land, and live once more with their fellows
the common but precious life of common men.

They had narrowly escaped death by fire, and were fast losing hope of
ultimate rescue. For five days they had been tossing on the waves of the
Southern Atlantic, and they had seen as yet no sign of land; no friendly
sail bearing down upon them to bring relief. Their stock of food was
scanty, the water supply had now entirely failed. The tortures of a
raging thirst under a sultry sky had begun: the men's lips were black
and swollen, their bloodshot eyes searched the horizon in anguished,
fruitless yearning. There was no cloud in all the great expanse of blue:
there was nothing to be seen between sea and sky but this one frail boat
with its three occupants. Another and a larger boat had set out with
them, but they had lost sight of it in the night. There had been five
men in this little cockle-shell when they left the ship; but one of them
had lost his senses and jumped over-board, drowning before their very
eyes; and one, a mere lad, had died on the second day from injuries
received on board the burning vessel. And of the three who were left, it
seemed as if one, at least, would speedily succumb to the exposure and
privations which they had been driven to endure.

This man lay prostrate at the bottom of the boat. He could hold out no
longer. His half-closed eyes, his open mouth and swollen features showed
the suffering which had brought him to this pass. Another man sat bowed
together in a kind of torpor. A third, the oldest and mos