e
defied God by my life; and now he wishes me to mock that inscrutable
Being, on the eve of death, by words without sense, meaning, or truth!"

"No, no, no!" ejaculated the reverend gentleman. "I exhorted you to true
repentance, to peace, charity, to"--

"True repentance, peace, charity!" broke in the prisoner, with a scornful
burst; "when my heart is full of rage, and bitterness, and despair! Give
me _time_ for this repentance which you say is so needful--time to lure
back long since banished hope, and peace, and faith! Poh!--you but flout
me with words without meaning. I am unfit, you say, for the presence of
men, but quite fit for that of God, before whom you are about to
arrogantly cast me! Be it so--my deeds are upon my head! It is at least
not my fault that I am hurled to judgment before the Eternal Judge
himself commanded my presence there!"

"He may be unworthy to live," murmured the scared chaplain, "but oh, how
utterly unfit to die!"

"That is true," rejoined Justin Arnold, with undiminished vehemence.
"Those, if you will, are words of truth and sense--go you and preach them
to the makers and executioners of English law. In the meantime I would
speak privately with this gentleman."

The reverend pastor, with a mute gesture of compassion, sorrow, and
regret, was about to leave the cell, when he was stayed by the prisoner,
who exclaimed, "Now, I think of it, you had better, sir, remain. The
statement I am about to make cannot, for the sake of the victim's
reputation, and for her friends' sake, have too many witnesses. You both
remember Jane Eccles?" A broken exclamation from both of us answered him,
and he quickly added--"Ah, you already guess the truth, I see. Well, I do
not wonder you should start and turn pale. It _was_ a cruel, shameless
deed--a dastardly murder if there was ever one. In as few words as
possible, so you interrupt me not, I will relate _my_ share in the
atrocious business." He spoke rapidly, and once or twice during the brief
recital, the moistened eye and husky voice betrayed emotions which his
pride would have concealed.

"Jane and I were born in Hertfordshire, within a short distance of each
other. I knew her from a child. She was better off then, I worse than we
subsequently became--she by her father's bankruptcy, I by my mo--, by
Mrs. Barton's wealthy marriage. She was about nineteen, I twenty-four,
when I left the country for London. That she loved me with all the
fervor of a tru