"Brazey, why have you haunted me thus, and done me this great wrong?"
"I cannot tell. When I thought how you took her from me, it made me crazy when I thought about it. I wanted to take her from you, but I wouldn't have dared to do that if you hadn't struck me. I wanted revenge then."
"What have you done with her?"
"She is gone, I haven't seen her since the day after I seized her, when a band of Indians took her from me, and went up north with her. They have got her yet, I know, for I have kept watch over her, and she is safe, but is a close prisoner." This he said with great difficulty.
"Brazey, you are dying. I forgive you. But does your heart tell you you are at peace with Him whom you have offended so grievously?"
"It's too late to talk of that now. It might have done years ago, when I was an honest man like yourself, and before I became a vagabond, bent on injuring one who had never really injured me."
"It is never too late for God to forgive—"
"Too late—too late, I tell you! There!" He rose upon his elbow, his eyes burning with insane light and his hand extended. "I see her—she is coming, her white robes floating on the air. Oh, God, forgive me that I did her the great wrong! But, she smiles upon me—she forgives me! I thank thee, angel of good----"
He sunk slowly backward, and Harvey Richter eased the head softly down upon the turf. Brazey Davis was no more.