Wearily, mocking sick hearts with their floods of brightness, the summer days stole on. The house of Schole gaunt and melancholy, stood shrined in the full glory of that sunshine. The dark figures within wandered about in restless pain, like ghosts uncongenial to the light, or gazed forth with vacant eyes upon the rejoicing country, and dazzling sea. In the sick chamber lay that restless, suffering man, wending unconsciously nearer and nearer the valley of the shadow of death. The doctor from the little town had visited him repeatedly.--Nearly a fortnight after the wreck, he had a final conversation with Christian. Anne was watching eagerly in Patrick Lillie's study. Christian accompanied the doctor to the door, and answered his subdued and sorrowful farewell; then she entered the study. Anne looked up anxiously in her face. "The time has come," said Christian, solemnly, "there is no hope of his life. He has but a little way to go, and yet he knows not the only entrance. God succor us--what can we do alone? Come with me--now there is no longer any obstacle or hindrance--come with me." Anne followed her silently. The room in which Patrick lay was high, and had also windows looking on the water--that broad placid, noble Firth, the sole companion of the watcher. Wan and wasted, with only the hectic spot burning on his cheek to distinguish it from the pillow on which it uneasily rested, lay the dying man. Cold, wasting, death-like perspiration lay heavily upon his brow; his long, white hand and emaciated arm were stretched upon the coverlet with a power of nervous motion in them, which contrasted strangely with their color and form of death. On a small table beside him lay a paper closely written. Near at hand were writing materials. His eyes were fixed upon the manuscript--he did not seem to notice the entrance of Christian and Anne. He was speaking in broken sentences, with incoherent intervals between. "Sevenfold--sevenfold. Thou God of mighty justice! Thou Lord of holy revenge! What can a sinful man do more? Not an old man, O, Lord! not a little child; seven lives in their prime--seven full of health, and strength, and hopefulness--seven saved for one lost. Lord of mercy, wilt Thou accept them! what can I more?" "Patrick," said Christian Lillie, "if the whole world had lain perishing at your feet, what more than urgent need was it to save them all; the seven will not atone for the one. If ye have no other atonement to offer, then the blood is still crying upon God for vengeance."