The pirate relapsed into silence, and a low groan escaped him.  But his thoughts seemed too powerful to be restrained within his breast; for they soon broke forth again in words.

“Your two texts have come true, Pastor Mason.  You did not mean them for me; but they were sent to me.  ’There is no rest, saith my God, to the wicked.’—­No rest!  I have not known rest since I was a boy.—­’Be sure your sin shall find you out.’  I laughed at those words once; they laugh at me now.  I have found them out to be true, and found it out too late.  Too late! Is it too late?  If these words be true, are not all the words of God equally true?  ’The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.’  That was what you said, Pastor Mason, on that Sunday morning when the savages were stealing down on us.  It gave me comfort then; but, ah me! it seems to give me no comfort now.  Oh that I had resisted the tempter when he first came to me!  Strange!  I often heard this said long, long ago; but I laughed at it,—­not in scorn; no, it was an easy indifference.  I did not believe it had anything to do with me.  And now, I suppose, if I were to stand in the public streets and cry that I had been mistaken, with all the fervor of a bursting heart, men would laugh at me in an easy way—­as I did then.

“I don’t fear death.  I have often faced it, and I don’t remember ever feeling afraid of death.  Yet I shrink from death now.  Why is this?  What a mystery my thoughts and feelings are to me!  I know not what to think.  But it will soon be over; for I feel certain that I shall be doomed to die.  God help me!”

Gascoyne again became silent.  When he had remained thus a few minutes, his attention was roused by the sound of footsteps and of whispering voices close under his window.  Presently the key was put in the lock, the heavy bolt shot back, and the door creaked on its hinges as it opened slowly.

Gascoyne knew by the sound that several men entered the cell, but, as they carried no light, he could not tell how many there were.  He was of course surprised at a visit at such an unusual hour, as well as at the stealthy manner in which his visitors entered; but, having made up his mind to submit quietly to whatever was in store for him, and knowing that he could not hope for much tenderness at the hands of the inhabitants of Sandy Cove, he was not greatly disturbed.  Still, he would not have been human had not his pulse quickened under the influence of a strong desire to spring up and defend himself.

The door of the cell was shut and locked as quietly as it had been opened; then followed the sound of footsteps crossing the floor.

“Is that you, jailer?” demanded Gascoyne.

“Ye’ll know that time enough,” answered a gruff voice, that was not unfamiliar to the prisoner’s ear.

The others who had entered along with this man did not move from the door,—­at least, if they did so, there was no sound of footsteps.  The man who had spoken went to the window and spread a thick cloth over it.  Gascoyne could see this, because there was sufficient light outside to make the arms of the man dimly visible as he raised them up to accomplish his object.  The cell was thus rendered, if possible, more impenetrably dark than before.