Death! why, have I not died a hundred deaths already?
Yet do I trust the Christ and Mother Mary.
But why does the angel of their mercy hold back from me so long ?" Was she crazed, driven mad by some extremity of suffering at which I could only guess?
That oarless boat, beached amid the desolation of sand and the waste of water, alone told a story to make the heart sick.
I hesitated, not knowing what I had best say.

She lifted her head slowly, and gazed at me.

I caught one glimpse of a pale young face framed in masses of black dishevelled hair, and saw large dark eyes that seemed to glow with a strange fire.
"You,--you cannot be a devil also," she said, stammeringly.

"You do not look like those others,--are you a man ?" I bowed in silence, astounded by her words and appearance.
"Yet you are not of the garrison,--not of Dearborn.

I have never seen your face before.