“Scarce eats a morsel, and his bed’s all awry in the morning, as if he’d done nought but toss about all the night; I think he sleeps none, or very nigh. I never speak to him without he first doth, and that’s mighty seldom.”
Banks hesitated a moment. Then he went forward, and opened the door of the dining-room.
“Mr Benden!” he said.
The room was in semi-darkness, having no light but that of the moon, and Banks could see only just enough to assure him that something human sat in the large chair at the further end. But no sound answered his appeal.
“I am but now arrived from Canterbury.”
Still no answer came. John Banks went on, in a soft, hushed voice—not in his own words. If the heart of stone could be touched, God’s words might do it; if not, still they were the best.
“‘She shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light upon her, neither any heat. For the Lamb that is in the midst of the Seat hath fed her, and hath led her unto fountains of living water; and God hath wiped away all tears from her eyes.’”
He paused a moment, but the dead silence was unbroken.
One word more. “The Lord have mercy on thy soul, thou miserable sinner!” Then Banks shut the door softly and went away.
There we leave Edward Benden, with the black silence of oblivion over his future life. Whether the Holy Spirit of God ever took the stony heart out of him, and gave him a heart of flesh, God alone knows. For this, in its main features, is a true story, and there is no word to tell us what became of the husband and betrayer of Alice Benden.