ction can there be in taking the life of so degraded
and abject a creature?"

"There is satisfaction in justice," replied Pomp, quietly smiling.

"O, but the satisfaction there is in mercy is infinitely sweeter!
Forgiveness is a holy thing, Pomp! It brings the blessing of Heaven with
it, and it is more effective than vengeance. This man has a wife; he has
children; think of them!"

These words, and many more to the same purpose, Penn poured forth with
all the earnestness of his soul. He pleaded; he argued; he left no means
untried to melt that adamantine will. In vain all. When he finished,
Pomp took his hand in one of his, and laying the other kindly on his
shoulder, said in his deepest, tenderest tones,--

"I have heard you because I love you. What you say is just. But another
thing is just--that this man should die. Ask anything but this of me,
and you will see how gladly I will grant all you desire."

"I have done."--Penn turned sadly away.--"It is as I feared. Deslow, I
will not flatter you. There is no hope."

Then Deslow, regaining somewhat of his manhood, drew himself up, and
prepared to meet his fate.

"Soon?" he asked, more firmly than he had yet spoken.

"Now," said Pomp. He lighted a lantern. "You must go with me. There are
eyes here that would not look upon your death." He took his rifle. "Go
before." And he conducted his victim into the recesses in the cave.

They came to the well, into the unfathomable mystery of which Carl had
dropped the stone. There Pomp stopped.

"This is your grave. Would you take a look at it?" He held the lantern
over the fearful place. The falling waters made in those unimaginable
depths the noise of far-off thunders. Half dead with fear already, the
wretch looked down into the hideous pit.

"Must I die?" he uttered in a ghastly whisper.

"You must! I will shoot you first in mercy to you; for I am not cruel.
Have you prayers to make? I will wait."

Deslow sank upon his knees. He tried to confess himself to God, to
commit his soul with decency into His hands. But the words of his
petition stuck in his throat: the dread of immediate death absorbed all
feeling else.

Pomp, who had retired a short distance, supposed he had made an end.

"Are you ready?" he asked, placing his lantern on the rock, and poising
his rifle.

"I cannot pray!" said Deslow. "Send for a minister--for Mr. Villars!--I
cannot die so."

"It is too late," answered Pomp, sorrowful, yet stern. "Mr