d only get him to land."

"We have no boats, and no means of landing. The brig is nearly
motionless, and will soon be quite so. If we had wind we might run her
on the coast; but at present it is only a question of how many hours we
can float. The captain talks of a raft."

"Land ho!" was heard shouted on the forecastle.

"Where away?" was asked from the quarter-deck.

"Broad on the starboard bow, sir, nearly ahead."

The shout seemed to rouse the sick man. His eyes opened languidly, and
so heavy and stertorous was the breathing, that the clothes rose and
fell with the labouring chest.

Dom Maxara had regained consciousness, but it became evident that some
severe internal injury had taken place, and that death was not far off.
Isabel leaned over him, and kissed the white lips.

"Land is in sight, dear father; the weather is fine, and we shall soon
reach it," she whispered, placing her hand in his.

The old man closed his eyes, and prayed; he then motioned with his hand,
and Hughes gave him some teaspoonsful of weak brandy and water.

This revived him, and the cushions being arranged, he managed, though
with much pain, to make himself heard.

"I shall never land, my daughter," he said, "never. Isabel, at the foot
of my bed you will find a tin case, bring it."

The weeping girl did as she was told without a word.

"Enrico," continued the dying man, slowly and feebly, "all my papers are
there. Whatever property I have is left to my daughter. Isabel, I am
leaving you fast."

The girl knelt by his side, sobbing bitterly, but without speaking.

A long pause ensued, during which the clank of the chain pumps, the
swish of the water, the loud voices on deck, and the stertorous
breathing of the dying noble, mixed with the passionate sobs of the
sorrow-stricken daughter.

"Isabel," said Dom Maxara, at last, "I would give you a protector.
Enrico, I would give you my daughter, ere I leave you."

"Oh, dear father, think of yourself, think not of me," sobbed the
heart-broken Isabel.

"I am thinking of myself. Enrico, tell your friend the missionary; ask
him to come here."

Wyzinski was soon found; and there, in the small cabin, the marriage
service was read, Captain Weber, whose eyes were wet with tears, being
present. Isabel's voice could hardly be heard through her sobs, as she
murmured the responses of the English Church. Wyzinski closed the book,
and the wife's head rested on her husband's shoulder.