The strength of all three had been sorely wasted by previous sufferings; but quiet of mind, fresh sea air, and unbounded care and kindness from every one on board the English ship, were gradually restoring them. Even Fray Fernando, whose recovery had at first been looked on as more than doubtful, both by others and by himself, was now improving day by day. A little while ago José,—who, as ever, waited upon him with the most devoted love,—said to him, his dark face glowing with thankful joy, “I knew it, patre, from the very hour they rescued us; you will not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord.” Only his limbs, enfeebled and well-nigh crippled by long confinement, had not yet regained, if ever they would regain, their former strength and activity. Two or three turns up and down the deck were still abundant exercise for him. And now Walter Grey was pouring into his sympathizing ear a detailed description of the quiet English home, “among the rose-hung lanes of Kent,” that would, he hoped, be his home also. He was confident that his mother and Fray Fernando would thoroughly understand and admire each other. He could talk and think of that mother now, not indeed without deep penitence for his wrong-doing, but without the aching remorseful pain, the great shadow of doubt and dread, which had lain on his heart so long. He thanked God for keeping alive her hope for him throughout those sad years. For he knew that, with her, hope meant prayer; and he believed that, but for the prayers which, like unseen angels, kept guard about him, he would not now be sitting on the deck of the _Sea Snake_ a free and thankful man, but dead long ago in his despair and anguish. Something of this he even ventured to hint to Fray Fernando; for in starlight much may be spoken that the glare of day would frighten into silence. “Yes,” Fray Fernando answered, after a thoughtful pause, “I do rejoice, Walter, at the prospect of seeing your happy English home. If a measure of strength is given back to me—and I begin to think God means to give it—He will find work for His servant, with whom He hath ever dealt so graciously, beneath the stars of the northern hemisphere, as well as under the Southern Cross—and for my José too.” “Ah! as to that,” said Walter, in a lighter tone, but very heartily, “Don José Viracocha Inca will be a great hero amongst us. We shall never keep such a wonder in our quiet home. The Queen and the Court will rob us of him all too quickly.” At that moment the captain’s loud, cheerful voice was heard from the fore-deck, “Cousin Walter, I want you here.” Walter rose, saying to Fray Fernando, “I will come back as soon as I can.” When he was gone, José came slowly forward and stood before the monk. “Patre,” he said, and his voice was low and sorrowful,—“patre, listen to me.” “My son, what is it?” Fray Fernando questioned, startled by his tone.