About dawning the dying man looked at Ian with such a piteous entreaty in his pale blue eyes that Ian felt he must, if possible, grant whatever he desired. Very slowly and distinctly he asked, "What--do--you--want--me--to--do?" and the answer came, as if from another world, muffled and far off, but thrilled with such an agonizing intensity that it struck Ian as if it was a physical blow, "_Pray for me!_" Ian knelt down. He tried to pray, but he could not. With almost superhuman efforts he tried to pray, not for himself, but for this poor sailor sinking and dying in that dark place, struggling, forsaken, alone, but he could not. Again the dying man whispered, "_Pray!_" and his eyes were full of reproach, and the look in them almost broke Ian's heart. The next moment he was gone. It was against all Ian's spiritual feelings to pray for the dead, but in after years he prayed often and sincerely, "for the repose of the soul of Adam Bork." And why not? God was still in His Universe, Adam was therefore somewhere in God's presence. It may even be that prayer prevails there more easily than here. Creeds may say what they like, the heart of humanity prays for its beloved dead as naturally as it prays for its beloved absent. As soon as possible Ian was put on shore, and a week afterward he found himself in his uncle's home. He had gone first to Bath Street, but the house there was closed and empty. There were placards in the windows offering it for sale or rent, and the windows themselves, always so spotless, were now black with smoke and dust. It was a cold day and had a sharp promise of winter in its flurries of north wind and little showers of icy rain with them. All was desolation. Ian's first thoughts were of an angry, injured nature. The empty house told its own story. Marion was married, Donald in California, and Jessy had doubtless returned to her own home in the Border country. "No one cared about him, etc.," and when people get into this selfish mood they never ask themselves whether they are reasoning on just or unjust premises. So Ian went to Blytheswood Square, and found his uncle cheerfully eating a good dinner. He was delighted at his nephew's return. "Laddie! Laddie!" he cried joyfully, "you are a sight to cure sore eyes. I was just thinking of you; when did you touch Glasgow?" "An hour ago. I went to Bath Street, and found the house empty." "Just so. All gone to bonnier and better homes. At least they think so, and we must even bear the same hope. Where have you been?" "In the Shetlands. I found nothing to help me there. The last week I spent with the North Sea Fishing Fleet."