José’s heart was glad within him. For Fray Fernando had at last obtained permission for the slaves of the _San Cristofero_ to come by turns to his lodging that they might make confession of their sins, and receive private religious instruction and consolation. It is true that the señor commandante had shrugged his shoulders rather scornfully at the request; while the captain had hinted that the trouble the good friar was taking about the souls of the rowers was nearly as superfluous as that of “the over-clean Harcajo people, who wax their asses’ feet.” But both had very good reasons for not crossing his whims, even if they had been still more unaccountable. Nor was there really anything objectionable in his proposal, since he made himself personally responsible for the safe keeping of all the prisoners. So the poor wretches were allowed to come, two and two together, to the humble lodging of the friar; and many a fearful tale of guilt and shame did they pour into his ear. They were a motley crew. Some of them were Spaniards from the mother country, but a large proportion were Creoles, and there were some Mulattoes, and even two or three Negroes amongst them. “Poor fellows!” said José compassionately, “one can give them at least a bath, a change of clothing, and a good meal!” “It is easy for you, José. You only see those low wants of the body that you can supply, or at least alleviate,” Fray Fernando answered sadly. He was sitting at the table, his head resting upon his hands—an image of despondency. “Who will find me a bath for those sin-stained souls—clean raiment to cover them in God’s sight and their own—bread for their bitter hunger of heart?” “But, patre,” said José again, “you surely can do all that yourself. Else, why are you a patre? Are not the Sacraments for that?” Fray Fernando sighed. A chill misgiving, that the remedies did not after all reach the seat of the disease, was sinking gradually into his soul. Those degraded beings, into the core of whose hearts sin had eaten like a canker—was any moral restoration possible for them? And without moral restoration, could the spiritual cure he professed to work be real or effectual? What good in giving them absolution from the blasphemies of yesterday, when, through the partition that divided his chamber from José’s, he could hear the new score begun almost ere they had left his presence? Could the conscience indeed be cleansed whilst the heart and the lips remained so fearfully unclean?