, and then said, "I know that all I
now say is useless, Tom; but still I must say it--it is I who, by my
folly, have occasioned all this distress and misery--it is I who have
caused you to suffer a--dreadful death--yes, Tom, I am your murderer."

"Not so, Mary, the folly was my own," replied Tom, taking her hand.

"You cannot disguise or palliate to me, dearest Tom," replied Mary; "my
eyes have been opened, too late it is true, but they have been opened;
and although it is kind of you to say so, I feel the horrid conviction
of my own guilt. See what misery I have brought about. There is a
father who has sacrificed his youth and his limbs to his country,
sobbing in the arms of a mother whose life is bound up with that of her
only son. To them," continued Mary, falling down upon her knees, "to
them I must kneel for pardon, and I ask it as they hope to be forgiven.
Answer me--oh! answer me! can you forgive a wretch like me?"

A pause ensued. I went up to old Tom, and kneeling by his side, begged
him to answer.

"Forgive her, poor thing--yes; who could refuse it, as she kneels there?
Come," continued he, speaking to his wife, "you must forgive her. Look
up, dame, at her, and think that our poor boy may be asking the same of
heaven to-morrow at noon."

The old woman looked up, and her dimmed eyes caught a sight of Mary's
imploring and beautiful attitude; it was not to be withstood.

"As I hope for mercy to my poor boy, whom you have killed, so do I
forgive you, unhappy young woman."

"May God reward you, when you are summoned before Him," replied Mary.
"It was the hardest task of all. Of you, Jacob, I have to ask
forgiveness for depriving you of your early and truest friend--yes, and
for much more. Of you, sir," addressing the Dominie, "for my conduct
towards you, which was cruel and indefensible--will you forgive me?"

"Yes, Mary, from my heart, I do forgive you," replied I.

"Bless thee, maiden, bless thee!" sobbed the Dominie.

"Father, I must ask of you the same--I have been a wilful child--forgive
me!"

"Yes, Mary; you could not help it," replied old Stapleton, blubbering;
"it was all human natur'."

"And now," said Mary, turning round on her knees to Tom, with a look
expressive of anguish and love, "to you, Tom, must be my last appeal. I
know _you_ will forgive me--I know you have--and this knowledge of your
fervent love makes the thought more bitter that I have caused your
death. But hear me, To