he minister, maybe you could say
a word to him you are not caring to say to me--a word of sorrow or
remorse--"

"Remorse! remorse! No, no, David! Remorse is for feeble souls;
remorse is the virtue of hell; remorse would sin again if it could.
I have repented, David, and repentance ends all. See to your Larger
Catechism, David--Question 76."

Throughout this conversation speech had been becoming more and
more painful to him. The last words were uttered in gasps of
unconquerable agony, and a mortal spasm gave a terrible emphasis
to this spiritual conviction. When it had passed he whispered
faintly, "The pains of hell get hold on me--on my body, David; they
cannot touch my soul. Lay me down now--at His feet--I can sit in
my chair no longer."

So David laid him in his bunk. "Shall I say _the words_ now--the
words you marked, father?" he asked.

"Ay; the hour has come."

Then David knelt down and put his young, fresh face very close to the
face of the dying man, and said solemnly and clearly in his very ear
the chosen words of trust:

"When the waves of death compassed me;

"When the sorrows of hell compassed me about, and the snares
of death prevented me,

"In my distress I called upon the Lord, and cried to my God:
and he did hear my voice out of his temple, and my cry did
enter into his ears."

* * * * *

"The sorrows of death compassed me, and the pains of hell gat
hold upon me: I found trouble and sorrow.

"Then called I upon the name of the Lord; O Lord, I beseech
thee, deliver my soul....

"Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for the Lord hath dealt
bountifully with thee.

"For thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from
tears, and my feet from falling....

"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints."

Here David ceased. It was evident that the mighty words were no
longer necessary. A smile, such as is never seen on mortal face until
the light of eternity falls upon it, illumined the gaunt, stern
features, and the outlooking eyes flashed a moment in its radiance. A
solemn calm, a certain pomp of conscious grandeur in his victory
over death and the grave, encompassed the dying man, and gave to
the prone figure a majestic significance. As far as this world was
concerned, Liot Borson was a dead man. For two days he lingered on
life's outermost shoal, but at sunrise the thi