"I'm sure of it," sturdily. "And I know all about that sort of thing now, you know. I'm a parson." Nelson held the other off. "Are you a parson?" "Yes, sir," a thought defiantly. "And why not?" His heat brought no twinkle to the other's one wet eye. The nightmare was passing: Nelson was drifting away into dreams. "My father's a parson," he mused, as one talking to himself. "If I hadn't gone to sea at twelve, I think I should have been. Nelson and religion!--it sounds strange. Yet I always wished to give all to God." "You have," cried the Parson fiercely. "Who dares say you've not?" "I do," said Nelson, dreaming. "And what would have come to God's world but for you?" shouted the Parson. "Why, swamped by a pack of rackety French atheists." Nelson seemed not to hear. "_What is a man advantaged if he gain the whole world, and lose himself_?" he whispered. The Parson gathered the other in his arms. "Nelson," he said with tender sternness, "if you've wronged the Almighty, you must make Him amends." "How, Harry?" came the voice from his shoulder. "Why," said the Parson with a grave smile, "you must arise and smite His enemies." Slowly Nelson composed himself. A great calm swept over him. "You're right," he said at last, the light breaking about his face. "I am England's David. It is for me to slay Goliath. Sinner as I am, He has chosen me to do this work for Him, and I will do it. Yes, I will do it." He turned to the port and gazed out. To the Parson it seemed an hour before he turned again. The nightmare madness had passed. His face was altogether changed. It was that of a child who wakes from sleep in a panic. There was a startled little smile about it. "Harry," he said in shy waking voice, "have I been dreaming?--or have I been talking a lot of nonsense?" The Parson, for all his simplicity, was something of a man of the world. "Why," he cried heartily, "you've been standing with your back to me, mumbling and grumbling, and being damned rude." Nelson laughed. Was the Parson wrong?--or was there in that laugh a note of almost hysterical relief? "I'll make it up to you, Harry. I'll make it up to you, my boy." He thrust his hand into his bosom, and produced a miniature. "Look here!" in reverent voice--"my Guardian Angel." CHAPTER LXXIX IN THE CABIN AGAIN Kit was in the gun-room, the centre of a group of rosy-faced lads, eagerly questioning. He could not eat; he could not answer. "Caryll, the Admiral wants you." The boy rose and went, trembling. In the door of the cabin stood the Parson, his blue eyes very kind. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder, and drew him in. "Lord Nelson," he said, "I believe this is the most gallant lad in either Service." The great captain came towards him. The boy saw him through a mist.