Father White spoke low: "At least he was true to some one. Remember it, O Lord, when thou dost count up the sum of his transgressions!"
"Ay, 'twas Dick suggested it, so he and I feigned a quarrel before the gossips on the deck, and then I set out alone—More brandy—I cannot speak."
Again Neville knelt beside him and poured the brandy down his throat. Under the stimulant Ingle revived and moved as if he would sit up, but Father White stayed him.
"Waste not an inch of thy strength," he said, lifting his head, "but use it to save thy soul. Didst thou quarrel with Father Mohl?"
"Ay, 'twas his fault—I was singing a tavern song to cheer me, when I met old shaven-crown—Nay, God forgive me, the holy father—
"'Good evening,' says I.
"'God have mercy on your soul!' saith he.
"'That's between Him and me,' says I, and then he must needs answer back in Latin—I had borne to be damned in English and never raised a finger; but to be called names in an outlandish foreign tongue was too much!"
"Thou art sinning away the hour of mercy," said Father White, sternly; "speak of thyself and thy crime."