y
with its own secret agony, and at these words from her son the rigid
wrinkles of her face relaxed, and she turned her head once more aside.

Rotha felt that the moment had at length arrived. She must speak now
or never. The one hope for two innocent men who were to die as soon as
the world woke again to daylight lay in this moment.

"Mr. Garth," she began falteringly, "if a sin lies heavy on your soul,
it is better to tell God of it and cast yourself on the mercy of our
Heavenly Father."

Gathering strength, the girl continued: "And if it is a dark secret
that touches others than yourself--if others may suffer, or are
suffering, from it even now--if this is so, I pray of you, as you hope
for that Divine mercy, confess it now, confess it before it is too
late--fling it forth from your stifled heart--do not bury its dead
body there, and leave it to be revealed only at that judgment when
every human deed, be it never so secret, shall be stripped naked
before the Lord, that retribution may be measured out for ever and
ever."

Rotha had risen to her feet, and was leaning over the bed with one
hand in an attitude of acutest pain, convulsively clutching the hand
of the blacksmith.

"Oh, I implore you," she continued, "speak out what is in your heart
for your own sake, as well as the sake of others. Do not lose these
precious moments. Be true! be true at last! at last! Then let it be
with you as God shall order. Do not carry this sin to the eternal
judgment. Blessed, a thousand times blessed, will be the outpouring of
a contrite heart. God will hear it."

Garth looked into the girl's inspired face.

"I don't see my way clearly," he said. "I'm same as a man that gropes
nigh midway through yon passage underground at Legberthwaite. The
light behind me grows dimmer, dimmer, dimmer, and not yet comes the
gleam of the light in front. I'm not at the darkest; no, I'm not."

"A guest is knocking at your heart, Mr. Garth. Will you open to him?"
Then, in another tone, she added: "To-morrow at daybreak two men will
die in Carlisle--my father and Ralph Ray--and they are innocent!"

"Ey, it's true," said the blacksmith, breaking down at length.

Then struggling once more to lift himself in bed, he cried, "Mother,
tell her _I_ did it, and not Ralph. Tell them all that it was I myself
who did it. Tell them I was driven to it, as God is my judge."

The old woman jumped up, and, putting her face close to her son's, she
whispered,