"Ah, my friend, there is no triumph in my soul. In its deepest sanctuary, I feel that God will pardon my sins, and accept my death as in obedience to my conscience. But, O! I have not sought it: life is still sweet to me."
"You shall not die,—you must not! you will not leave me! Edith, have you forgotten our moments of bliss,—our dreams of happiness to come,—the quiet home, the peaceful fireside, where we hoped to pass our lives together? Have you forgotten how long, how truly, how fervently, I have loved you? and is this to be the close of all?"
Edith's hand trembled in his, but she answered cheerfully: "The close! ah, no: look upward. God has tried us both with grievous trials. Mine will cease first. Yours is the hardest to bear: to linger here—to do God's work alone. Let me be to you like one departed a little while before you, that would not be mourned, but remembered always."
They were both silent for some moments; Seymore contending with unutterable regret, oppressed with an emotion that was almost the agony of remorse.
Edith understood his contending emotions. "Think," she said, "that you have been the instrument of Providence to lead me to heaven. I do not regret to die early: God has permitted me to solve the mystery of life. I see his hand even from the moment when that child was committed to my care. Thank God, I can now submit to his will; and, although life were sweet with you, my death may bring you nearer to heaven."
"Edith," he said at last, "I have been deceived. Such faith, such divine forgiveness, such noble fortitude, cannot be the work of evil spirits. Your faith is purer and stronger than mine,—your reason more enlightened. I have erred, dreadfully erred."
A bright smile illumined her face, and she pressed his hand in hers.
"I have done most dreadfully wrong," he said; "I sinned from ignorance."
"God will forgive you," said Edith; "and I,—I cannot forgive, for I could not blame."
He started up. "It is not too late to repair this dreadful evil: it will be easy for you to escape. If I cannot gain a reversion of the sentence, we can escape: we will leave this country of delusion and error; we will go home—to England. There, O Edith—"