There was a shout from the vessel opposite us. A man stood on the gunwale, and steadying himself with one hand grasping the rigging, gesticulated with the other. His agitation was so great neither of us could make out what he was saying. “Speak slowly,” cried Father Moylan, when clear the response came across the water, “For the love of God, father, come aboord; ye’re needed.” There was only one rowboat in sight, and it belonged to Dr. Douglas. The oars were out of her and the chain locked. “You’ll have to send a boat,” cried the father. There was a long delay, ending in a boat putting off from the ship. He wanted me to go with him, but I said I wished to find my uncle. With heavy heart and unsteady step I turned to the buildings where the sick were. The nighest was the best. I looked in and to my joy espied my cousin Bridget sitting alongside a bunk. She started and gave a cry of fright when she saw me, for, she explained, she thought I was in Quebec and I looked like a ghost. It was her father and her sister Ellen who were in the bed. The latter had been landed sick of the fever; uncle had been stricken by it the day after arrival. He did not know me, and I feared the worst from the sound of his moaning. The girl seemed to be doing well. “Comfortable they be,” said Bridget, “this is the best place; the sheds are bad as the ship.” I told her to go and take the air for a while, and sat down to watch in her place. I was hardly seated when I distinguished a murmur of plaintive cries from every part of the room, mostly--“Wather, if ye plaze.” I bestirred myself, and when the poor souls found there was somebody to help, requests increased, and I was kept going from bed to bed. When Bridget returned I remarked that I saw none of our ship’s people in the place. She said there was only room for her father and Ellen and the others were in the sheds. It was growing dark when Father Malloy came to the door and beckoned me out. He had such a distressed and wearied look that I went with him without asking any questions. When we came near the outhouse I had lodged in, I turned towards it. He gripped my arm. “No, Gerald, not there; you’d lapse into your old mood.” He took me to the priest’s house, and a shake-down was made for me in the kitchen. I had a wakeful night and went out of doors before sunrise. To my surprise I saw Father Malloy walking up and down in front of the house, prayer-book in hand. When done he joined me. “Now, Gerald, we have work to do; we must make an examination of everything, for no plan can be laid until we know the actual state of affairs.” Re-entering the house with him, he got a loaf and a jug of milk. “I am going to tell you something you should never forget; when you have to go where there are sick, do not go with an empty stomach. Fasting and infection go together.” Having broken our fast, we started, the first thing to be done, the father said, being to see what the island was like. The