poor Mat Ruly; do you know that I think by taking him back
I might be able to reclaim him yet. The Lord has gifted him largely in
one way, I admit; but still--"

"But still your bacon and greens would pay for it. I know it all, and
who doesn't? But about your own affairs?"

"In truth, they are in a bad state--the same bacon and greens--he has
not left me much of either; he made clean work of them, at any rate,
before he went."

"But about your affairs, I'm sayin'?"

"Why, they can't be worse; I'm run to the last pass; and Freney now,
the crature, when the saddle's on him, comes to the mounting-stone of
himself, and waits there till I'm ready. Then," he added, with a deep
sigh, "to think of parting with him! And I must do it--I must;" and here
the tears rose to his eyes so copiously that he was obliged to take out
his cotton handkerchief and wipe them away.

The heart of the old miser was touched. He knew not why, it is true, but
he felt that the view he got of one immortal spirit uncorrupted by the
crimes and calculating hypocrisy of life, made the contemplation of his
own state and condition, as well as of his future hopes, fearful.

"What would I not give," thought he, "to have a soul as free from sin
and guilt, and to be as fit to face my God as that man? And yet they say
it can be brought about. Well, wait--wait till I have my revenge on this
black villain, and I'll see what may be done. Ay, let what will happen,
the shame and ruin of my child must be revenged. And yet, God help me,
what am I sayin'? Would this good man say that? He that forgives every
one and everything. Still, I'll repent in the long run. Come, Father
Peter," said he, "don't be cast down; I'll thry what I can for you; but
then, again, if I do, what security can you give me?"

"Poor Freney the Robber--"

"Well, now, do you hear this!"

"--Was a name I gave him on account of--"

"Troth, I'll put on my hat and lave you here, if you don't spake out
about what you came for. How much is it you say you want?"

The good man, who was startled out of his affection for Freney by the
tone of Corbet's voice more than by his words, now raised his head, and
looked about him somewhat like a person restored to consciousness.

"Yes, Anthony," said he; "yes, man alive; there's kindness in that."

"In what, sir?"

"In the very tones of your voice, I say. God has touched your heart,
I hope. But oh, Anthony, if it were His blessed will to soften it--to