* * * * *

----"That is my story. Let it plead with you to turn you from your
purpose, and to save her. The punishment of sin falls not upon the
sinner only. A deed once done lives in its consequence for ever, and
this tragedy of shame and crime to which my felon's death is a fitting
end, is but the outcome of a selfish sin like yours!"

It had grown dark in the prison, and as he ceased speaking, Rufus Dawes
felt a trembling hand seize his own. It was that of the chaplain.

"Let me hold your hand!--Sir Richard Devine did not murder your father.
He was murdered by a horseman who, riding with him, struck him and
fled."

"Merciful God! How do you know this?"

"Because I saw the murder committed, because--don't let go my hand--I
robbed the body."

"You!--"

"In my youth I was a gambler. Lord Bellasis won money from me, and
to pay him I forged two bills of exchange. Unscrupulous and cruel, he
threatened to expose me if I did not give him double the sum. Forgery
was death in those days, and I strained every nerve to buy back the
proofs of my folly. I succeeded. I was to meet Lord Bellasis near his
own house at Hampstead on the night of which you speak, to pay the money
and receive the bills. When I saw him fall I galloped up, but instead
of pursuing his murderer I rifled his pocket-book of my forgeries. I was
afraid to give evidence at the trial, or I might have saved you.--Ah!
you have let go my hand!"

"God forgive you!" said Rufus Dawes, and then was silent.

"Speak!" cried North. "Speak, or you will make me mad. Reproach me!
Spurn me! Spit upon me! You cannot think worse of me than I do myself."
But the other, his head buried in his hands, did not answer, and with a
wild gesture North staggered out of the cell.

Nearly an hour had passed since the chaplain had placed the rum flask in
his hand, and Gimblett observed, with semi-drunken astonishment, that it
was not yet empty. He had intended, in the first instance, to have taken
but one sup in payment of his courtesy--for Gimblett was conscious of
his own weakness in the matter of strong waters--but as he waited and
waited, the one sup became two, and two three, and at length more than
half the contents of the bottle had moistened his gullet, and maddened
him for more. Gimblett was in a quandary. If he didn't finish the flask,
he would be oppressed with an everlasting regret. If he did finish it he
would be drunk; and to b