"Let hope for the future find a place in your heart, Pedro, and grow there with repentance for the past," urged Ethel, while shrinking close to Morley, for the appearance of the patient terrified her.
"And then, senora, you say nothing of penance?"
"Because I know nothing of it," replied Ethel.
"A priest! a priest! Oh, that the sea would give up its dead, for I know there is one, at least there; but could I face him?" he added, wildly; "oh! that night of horrors at Santiago—I see the flames yet, and feel them in my soul!"
"Oh, Pedro Barradas," said Ethel, as this paroxysm induced weakness, and nothing was heard but his deep and heavy breathing; "whatever be the sins you have committed, remember that this book tells us 'there is more joy in heaven over one sinner who truly repents than over ninety-nine just men who do it not.'"
"Hear her, O Lord, who created heaven and earth, who divided light from darkness, and the sea from the land!" prayed the poor wretch, while crossing himself again and again, with his left hand, "and who formed me out of dust, to which I shall never return, because I must be buried in the sea," he added with something of simplicity; then, as his mind seemed to wander, he said, "Mi madre, listen to me, am I praying aright?"
"Yes, yes, Pedro, you pray aright," replied Ethel, covering her face with her handkerchief, and taking Morley's arm, "lead me away, dearest," she whispered, "I must return to papa. Pray on, Pedro, it is proper, it is good for you."
"Ave Maria purissima!" he said, "my own mother is at your feet interceding for me. Oh, she loved her little Pedrillo so well—and Zuares too—could she have foreseen this end!"
His voice completely failed him now, and Morley led Ethel on deck.