means to attack single-handed the cruel creatures who lie in wait
for him on the sultry shore. He springs to land--I watch him with a
weird fascination. He passes the alligators--he seems not to be
aware of their presence--he comes with swift, unhesitating step to
ME--it is I whom he seeks--it is in MY heart that he plunges the
cold steel dagger, and draws it out again dripping with blood! Once-
-twice--thrice!--and yet I cannot die! I writhe--I moan in bitter
anguish! Then something dark comes between me and the glaring sun--
something cool and shadowy, against which I fling myself
despairingly. Two dark eyes look steadily into mine, and a voice
speaks:

"Be calm, my son, be calm. Commend thyself to Christ!"

It is my friend the monk. I recognize him gladly. He has returned
from his errand of mercy. Though I can scarcely speak, I hear myself
asking for news of the boy. The holy man crosses himself devoutly.

"May his young soul rest in peace! I found him dead."

I am dreamily astonished at this. Dead--so soon! I cannot understand
it; and I drift off again into a state of confused imaginings. As I
look back now to that time, I find I have no specially distinct
recollection of what afterward happened to me. I know I suffered
intense, intolerable pain--that I was literally tortured on a rack
of excruciating anguish--and that through all the delirium of my
senses I heard a muffled, melancholy sound like a chant or prayer. I
have an idea that I also heard the tinkle of the bell that
accompanies the Host, but my brain reeled more wildly with each
moment, and I cannot be certain of this. I remember shrieking out