"Tom,' he said, 'you're looking much better to-day." You'll soon get over the mischief the niggers did you. I'm sure I never thought I should see you able to move about again.'

"Well, Bill,' I said in a much pleasanter tone than I had ever used to him before, there were no bones broken in my case, only cuts and bruises; but it's all thanks to you that I'm here now-indeed, that I'm alive at all. You not only saved my life when those black brutes were just about to put an end to me, but you've helped to keep me alive since by all your kindness, sitting with me, and giving me drink when I was thirsty, and trying to keep up my spirits. I've been an ungrateful dog, I know, Bill, but I'll try to make up to you for it now.'

"I shall never forget the happy expression of surprise and pleasure which passed over Forster's face, and shone forth from his eyes as I spoke these words.

"I'm sure I've been glad enough to help you, Tom, as much as I could in my poor way,' he replied; 'it's what we ought all to do for each other in trouble, especially if we're fellow-townsmen, as you and I are. You'd have done

the same for me, I know.'

I was silent, for I didn't feel at all certain that I should. Hitherto I had hated Forster, and now that my feelings with regard to him were beginning to change, I was ashamed of my former conduct. I was never so thoroughly base that I hadn't generous impulses now and then, and I had done kind acts to my shipmates occasionally; but I don't think I would have gone out of my way to give Forster a helping hand.

"You've had a bad time of it, Tom,' Forster continued ; 'but now you're able to get about a little, you won't find it so dull as it's been for you down below.'

"No,' I said, 'and I hope I'll not forget what you've done for me, Bill. I know I've behaved very badly to you ever since I came aboard this ship. You have meant me well, I am sure. I can't understand why you should have given yourself so much trouble about me, trying to bring me to your way of thinking, and warning me of the consequences of my own bad ways. You never have got anything in return from me and the other chaps but scoffs and oaths and hard names. Why do you persevere so, Bill? Why don't you leave us alone, and keep your religion to yourself?'

"Just for the same reason, Tom,' he replied, 'that I wouldn't leave you to be beaten to death by the savages. I can't see you or others of my shipmates wounded by sin and enslaved by the devil, without putting out a helping hand to rescue them. I know your evil courses and bad ways will lead you to ruin at last, and because I know this I feel I should be a coward if I didn't do my best to try and save you. The scoffs and sneers and surly answers I get in reply may make me sad, but they do me no harm. God has had mercy on me, He has given His Son to die for me, and should not I, in return for His love, have pity on my brethren, and do all I can to persuade them to accept that great salvation so freely offered to all?'

“I was much struck by Forster's words. I had not looked at the matter in that light before. 'Now I see that you did it all for a good motive, Bill,' I replied; and you acted so bravely in that terrible skirmish with the niggers, that I shall never say again, as most of us do, that Methodists are cowards, and never make good sailors or soldiers.'

"I know that's what folks say,' said Forster with a smile, but if you come to think of it, Tom, you will see what a mistake it is. A man who strives with all his might to lead a godly life, who loves God and trusts in Him, who repents of his sins and knows that they are pardoned through the blood of his Saviour, must go into the battle with far more courage and confidence than one who has never thought of eternal things at all, and to whom, should he fall, the future life-what comes after death-is all dark and uncertain.'

"Yes, Bill,' I said after a pause, 'I felt that when I was struggling there among the savages. Death stared me in the face; I thought what will come after? I knew I was not ready to die.'

"God was very merciful to you, you see, Tom; for He spared your life, and has given you time for repentance and amendment. Profit by this warning, then, you may not have another. O Tom! I have by His mercy been the means of saving your life, let me help you to save your soul !'

"The tears ran down his cheeks, and I could not restrain mine. I was still very weak from the effects of my wounds, and was therefore more susceptible than I should have

been under ordinary circumstances to Forster's warnings and entreaties. Just at that moment he was called away, and it was some days before we had any talk alone again. I rapidly recovered, but, thank God, as I grew stronger I became more and more convinced that I had been leading a wicked life, and more determined to change it. Of course when my messmates perceived what an alteration there was in me, I had to endure mockery and persecution of every kind; now and then, too, I was led into sin, passion overcame me, and I would break out into oaths and curses, to the no little delight of my ungodly comrades. I didn't all of a sudden become as good as Forster-alas! no, I shall never be like him-but he was always ready to comfort and encourage me. Sometimes after I had fallen into grievous sin, I would despair altogether, then Forster would talk with me, and read to me out of his Bible and Hymn-book, and pray with me too, if we could get a chance, down below somewhere, when no one was near, and so by the help of God's Spirit I gradually began to love my Saviour and to lead a more Christian life. This happened more than two years ago; ever since, Forster and I have been firm friends; we've stuck to each other through thick and thin, and now he's gone, and our ship's gone too, and my future is dark enough. Ah, my heart sinks within me when I think how sad and lonely I shall be without my friend!"

Tom's voice had often been very husky as he told his story, but at the close the tears started to his eyes. Philip, too, was deeply moved as he listened to Tom's simple tale. When he could speak he said

"Well, Tom, I thank you very much for telling me your history; we have indeed both suffered a great loss in Forster, but how thankful I am that I was with him when he fell, and able to receive his last message to you. Ah, Tom, we mustn't grieve for him, he's happy now, he is with the Master he so well and nobly served. God grant that our last end may be like his."

"Amen," said Tom earnestly; "and here are his books he valued so, and out of which he used to read to me, and I, alas! can't read a word."

"Can't you, indeed, Tom?" said Philip; "but I can, so I'll read to you whenever we get a chance, as Forster asked me to do."

"Just now you could often manage it; we sha'n't be molested much here; the Frenchmen can't understand us, and our few messmates are not likely to interfere with us. But now, Philip, I want to hear your story."

66 So you shall, Tom," said Philip, and he began to relate his whole history, which greatly interested his companion. "And so you were pressed too!" he said at the end. "What a wonderfully good parson that must be, down your way!"

66

Ah, that he is," said Philip; "this is the Testament he gave me that Sunday when I was dragged away from my home. God grant that I may see him one day again. It's he that taught me the right way, he and my good mother that's gone. He's such a brave gentleman too, he does not care for any man, and he's enough to put up with from our chaps at Sennen."

"Pity those who mock him ain't like him, I'm sure!" said Tom.

Their conversation was now interrupted by the "Redoubtalie's" surgeon, who called Tom to help him to attend to the wounded below. But he and Philip were often together afterwards. The latter was able to read to Tom out of his friend's Bible and Hymn-book. They had plenty of leisure time, and were rarely interfered with. Philip's arm rapidly healed. His heart was full of gratitude to God, who had not only saved his life in the terrible battle, but who had also granted him a companion of like mind with himself, so that they were able mutually to cheer and encourage each other in leading a godly life.

Contrary winds and calms continued to impede the French ship, so that it was not till ten days after the battle that she anchored in the roads of Martinique, Here the prisoners were landed, and here we must leave Philip and nis friend for the present, and return to Cornwall.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE LIGHT BURNS AGAIN.

"Said one-she was the elder child,
And older yet in all her ways,
She was so motherly and mild,
So meekly wise beyond her days-

'O'er sea or land I'll never roam

While father wants his maid at home.'

-Rev. S. J. STONE.

ARTHUR PENDREAN was still indefatigable in his exertions to find a lighthouse-keeper. But hitherto no success had crowned his efforts, for a month all had been darkness; the lighthouse indeed stood firm and immovable as the rock on which it was built, but so long as no friendly light shed its warning rays over the sea around, it was practically useless. There had been much stormy weather and several wrecks. The Sennen men had profited by them; one vessel, it was said, had been lured by them on to the rocks, by the false lights they had displayed along the shore. All hands had perished, but much plunder had been washed on shore. For the next few days drunkenness and riot reigned at the Cove, and in the village, for it was always the gold from the wreck which paid for the cursed abuse of drink.

Owen frequently had implored the parson to allow him to go and live in the lighthouse alone. But in this Arthur remained inflexible. Jordan's example was always before his eyes. A few days after the storm which had caused so much mischief, Arthur called at Tresilian's cottage; he had gone out fishing, but Mary was there to welcome the parson. He sat down by the fireside and talked kindly to her, asking her about her father, if he was in better spirits now, and if he had made much by fishing lately.

"Oh, sir," she said, "father does take on so about the