My Dear Young Master:—Have no fear about me. I have sworn, in soul, before Almighty God, to keep all that is within me a secret forever. No law and no blame shall ever reach you through me. Oh, that my eyes had been struck blind before they saw your face that night, when you shot me down! I would have groped in darkness to my grave, rather than have seen what I did. Sometimes I think it must have been all a dream. But it haunts me so—it haunts me so. Your father saved my life once. Maybe I am saving his now. I hope so. Do not fear about me. I shall not be more silent in death than I am in life.
William Jessup."
Many a misspelt word did this short epistle contain. Many an uncouth letter that linked sentences running riot with each other; but the spirit of a high resolve was there, and the good man exhausted the little strength left to him in writing it.
"You will seal this," he whispered, hoarsely, giving her the paper to fold and direct. "Some one will take it to him."
"Yes, I will go. He shall get it. How, I do not know; but if he is well enough to read it, the paper shall reach him."
"And no one else. Remember that."
"I will remember. Oh, father, what is this terrible thing?"
"Be silent, Ruth. I will not have you question me."
"Forgive me, father."
"Yes, yes."
The poor man spoke in painful gasps. The old Bible seemed to bear him down; he struggled under the weight, but could not remove it.