After the pause which followed, the judge said:—
“Mr. Johnston:—the Court respects your feelings, and regrets to detain you longer or put you to any additional pain. But it may materially aid the decision of this very peculiar case, if you will answer another question. You are aware that, all other evidence being wanting, the prisoner can only be judged by his own confession. Do you believe, on your oath, that this confession is true?”
“I do. I am bound to say from my intimate knowledge of the prisoner, that I believe him to be now, whatever he may have been in his youth, a man of sterling honour and unblemished life; one who would not tell a lie to save himself from the scaffold.”
“The Court is satisfied.”
But before he sat down, your father turned, and, for the first time that day, he and I were face to face.
“I am a clergyman, as I said, and I never was in a court of justice before. Is it illegal for me to address a few words to the prisoner?”
Whether it was or not, nobody interrupted him.
“Doctor Urquhart,” he said, speaking loud enough for every one to hear, “what your sentence may be I know not, or whether you and I shall ever meet again until the day of judgment. If not, I believe that if we are to be forgiven our debts according as we forgive our debtors, I shall have to forgive you then. I prefer to do it now, while we are in the flesh, and it may comfort your soul. I, Henry Johnston's father, declare publicly that I believe what you did was done in the heat of youth, and has ever since been bitterly repented of. May God pardon you, even as I do this day.”
I did not see your father afterwards. He quitted the court directly after sentence was given—three months' imprisonment—the judge making a long speech previously; but I heard not a syllable. I heard nothing but your father's words—saw no one except himself, sitting there below me, with his hands crossed on his stick, and a stream of sunshine falling across his white hairs—Theodora—Theodora—I cannot write—it is impossible.
Granton got admission to me for a minute, after I was taken back to prison. He told me that the “hard labour” was remitted, that there had been application made for commutation of the three months into one, but the judge declined. If I wished, a new application should be made to the Home Secretary.