As the first words of this simple, beautiful prayer issued from Walford's dying lips, George and Tom threw themselves upon their knees in the bottom of the boat, their hands clasped, their heads bent, and their hearts earnestly uplifted to Him who was thus mercifully taking the poor sufferer to Himself. The first sentence was spoken with child-like simplicity, but, after that, every word was uttered with increasing fervour and an evident conception of its momentous import, until the clause was reached, "and forgive us our trespasses," which was breathed forth with a solemn intensity that thrilled the very souls of the listeners. Then the voice suddenly ceased, and as George looked up with startled eyes he saw Walford's lips tremble, a radiant smile parted them for an instant, and he sank heavily back on the boat's thwart-- dead. George gazed long and earnestly in the face of the dead man, his thoughts travelling rapidly back to that eventful evening when they two met--the one going humbly and doubtingly to declare his love, the other hurrying triumphantly away from a successful wooing; and Leicester grieved, as he pictured the sorrow of that loving woman's heart, when the news should be taken to her of the sad event just past. He thought, too, of the strange meeting in mid-ocean, of the helpless state in which Walford had remained since then, of his own vow, and all that it had cost him, and as he reverently gathered the folds of canvas about the lifeless form he felt comforted with the reflection that, though he had failed, he had honestly done his best to keep that vow. He did what he could to dispose the corpse decently and to prepare it for its last long sleep beneath the waves; it was not much that he was able to do, but he did what he could, "for Lucy's sake," as he kept on muttering to himself; and when all was ready he turned to Tom. The poor lad, utterly worn-out, had sunk down in the bottom of the boat, and, with one arm supporting his head on the thwart, was fast asleep. "Well, better so," thought George to himself; "he is enjoying at least a temporary respite from his miseries; I will not disturb him;" and, murmuring a short but earnest prayer, he raised the body in his arms, lifted it over the side of the boat, and allowed it to pass gently away from his grasp into the peaceful depths below. "God have mercy on his soul," he murmured, and with clasped hands stood and watched the shrouded form passing slowly out of sight for ever. CHAPTER TWENTY. MR BOWEN UNEXPECTEDLY REAPPEARS. About an hour afterwards a fine breeze sprang up from the north-east, and, putting the boat before it, George seated himself in the stern, tiller in hand, and steered as near a southerly course as the boat, without canvas, would go.