Ferrers jumped up and ran up stairs with his candle, and Louis followed more leisurely to his own room, nor could any thing induce him that night to tell a story. How long and earnest was his prayer for one who had injured him so cruelly, but towards whom he now, instead of resentment, felt only pity and interest!
Ferrers, after tossing from side to side, and trying all schemes for several hours, in vain, to drown his remorse in sleep, at last, at daybreak, sank into an uneasy slumber. The image of Louis, and his mute expression of patient sorrow that evening, haunted him, and he felt an indefinable longing to be like him, and a horror of himself in comparison with him. He remembered Louis' words, “Pray to God;” and one murmured petition was whispered in the stillness of the night, “Lord have mercy on a great sinner.”
Since his disgrace, Louis generally had his brother for a companion during their walks; but the next morning Ferrers joined him, and asked Louis to walk with him to the downs. They were both naturally silent for the beginning of the walk; but on Louis making some remark, Ferrers said, “I can't think of any thing just now, Louis; I have done every thing wrong to-day. My only satisfaction is in telling you how much I feel your goodness. I can't think how you can endure me.”
“Oh, Ferrers!” said Louis, “what am I that I should not bear you? and if you are really sorry, and wish to be better, I think I may some day love you.”
“That you can never do, Louis,—you must hate and despise me.”
“No, I do not,” said Louis, kindly; “I am very sorry for you.”
“You must have felt very angry.”
“I did feel very unkind and shocked at first,” replied Louis; “but by God's grace I learned afterwards to feel very differently, and you can't think how often I have pitied you since.”
“Pitied me!” said Ferrers.
“Oh yes,” replied Louis, sweetly; “because I am sure you must have been very unhappy with the knowledge of sin in your heart—I don't think there is any thing so hard as remorse to bear.”