age, and among all men, it has seemed fitting that those who
were about to die should make some preparation to meet their God. Have
you no desire to do this?"

A fierce light shone upon the emaciated countenance and the thin lips
slowly articulated these words: "I--myself--will--settle--with--God!
He--will--have--to--account--to--me--for--all--he--has--made--me--suffer!"

The listener at the door leaned against the wall for support.

"Is there absolutely no word of pardon or of kindness which you wish to
send to those who have injured you, as a sort of legacy from the grave?"

"None!" he whispered fiercely.

"Suppose that your enemy should come to see you. Suppose that a great
change had come over him; that he, too, had suffered deeply; that your
wife had discovered his treachery and left him; that he had bitterly
repented; that he had made such atonement as he could for his sin; that
it was he who has been caring for you in these last hours, could you not
pardon him?"

These words produced an extraordinary effect on the dying man. For the
first time he identified his enemy with his friend, and as the discovery
dawned upon his mind a convulsion seized and shook his frame. He slowly
and painfully struggled to a sitting posture, lifted his right hand
above his head and said in tones that rang with the raucous power of
by-gone days:

"Curse him! If I had known that I was eating his b-b-bread, it would
have choked me! Send him to me! Where is he?"

"I am here," said David, quietly entering the door. "I am here to throw
myself on your mercy and to beg you, for the love of God, to forgive
me."

As he heard the familiar voice, the beggar trembled. He made one last
supreme effort to look out of his darkened eyes. An expression of
despairing agony followed the attempt, and then, with both his great
bony hands, he clutched at the throat of his night robe as if choking
for breath, tore it open and reaching down into his bosom felt for some
concealed object. He found it at last, grasped it and drew it forth. It
was a shining blade of steel.

Mantel sprang to take it from his hand; but David pushed him back and
said calmly, "Let him alone."

"Yes, let me alone," cried the blind man, trembling in every limb, and
crawling slowly and painfully from the bed.

The movements of the dying man were too slow and weak to convey any
adequate expression of the tempest raging in his soul. It was incredible
that a tragedy was real