J. COLE. 81

absence, and grieving for him. What hours
of agony he must have passed in the cold
and darkness, hearing the footsteps of passers-
by above his living tomb, and feeling the
pangs of hunger and thirst. What weeks
those three days must have seemed to him
in their fearful darkness, until insensibility
mercifully came to his aid, and hushed his
senses to oblivion.

Morning was far advanced when, at last,
Joe’s eyelids began to flutter, and his eyes
opened a very little, to close again imme-
diately ; even the subdued light we had let
into the room being too much for him to
bear after so long a darkness; but in that
brief glance he had recognized me, and see-
ing his lips move, I bent my head close to
them.

Only a faint murmuring came, but I distin-
guished the words:

“Missis, I couldn’t ’elp it! Forgive me.
Say ‘Our Father.”

I knelt down, and as well as I could for
the tears that almost choked me, repeated
that most simple, yet all-satisfying petition to
the Throne of Grace.