gradually failed from privation.  I cannot tell you here all that happened, but I must refer you to a diary which I have daily kept posted, and that will explain more fully what I am unable to write now.

We are free from the ice at last, and are drifting we know not whither!  My strength is well-nigh gone.  Not a man on board can move a hand to touch a sail.  Perhaps these will be the last words I shall ever write.

I crave from you, my dear father, and from all whom I have wronged, forgiveness for the sorrow, distress, and injury I have wrought.  Return the Bible, please, if it ever comes into your possession, to Howard, and tell him how I thank God for its blessed teachings.

    Land is in sight; we fancy it must be the Orkneys.  A storm is
    gathering.  Nine men lie dead upon the deck.  There appears to be
    certain death for us all.

As Mr. Morton finished reading the letter, he paced the room to and fro, while the hot tears fell freely down his face; and his heart was full of thanksgiving and praise as he cried, “This, my son, was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”

CHAPTER XII.

A FAREWELL.

It was a fortnight before Digby was well enough to leave his room, and then he had to be carried in the strong arms of Howard and Martin.  So weak—­so utterly weak was he—­that the strong man had become as a little babe, and Dr. Henderson sometimes feared that he would never know health again.

But he was bright and cheerful and happy.  The joy he experienced in finding so many dear ones around him, the relief in having unburdened his mind, and being assured of a full and complete forgiveness; the feeling of gratitude for the glad changes which had come to his father and mother, and for his own happy deliverance from death, made him think and talk so cheerily, that Ethel’s heart rejoiced as she found in the long-lost one more than her old ideal Digby.

Howard and Martin had exceeded the time of their leave from business duties, but, in the circumstances of the case, they had been allowed longer furlough, and were now waiting for the time when Digby would be well enough to travel, so that they might superintend his journey home.

And the last day of the Shetland visit came.  It was with a feeling of sadness that our friends went round on the afternoon of that day to call upon the cottagers and leave their little presents and say farewell.

Not the least memorable event of the visit, was the gathering of the villagers in the large room of the cottage, where our friends had taken up their abode.  It was the last night in Shetland, and it had been Digby’s earnest wish that, if he could bear it, the Hughsons and their friends, and as many as were saved from the death-stricken ship, should meet together to say farewell.  Early in the evening, the villagers, in their best Sunday clothes, began to assemble, and, before very long, the room and the passage-way and the stair-way were crowded.