Alexander looked on with awe for an instant, and then turned away his head; he could not bear to see such abject grief.
At length, with an effort, Everage gained a mastery over his passion and raised his head, and with a look of anguish still upon his face, and in a voice still vibrating with intense emotion, he said:
“You ask me what is the matter? Remorse is killing me! Remorse! and now your kindness!”
“‘Remorse,’ Everage?” exclaimed Alexander, in consternation.
“Yes, remorse! I am a criminal of the darkest dye! I am not worthy to live!”
“A criminal!—You!”
“Yes, I!—a God forsaken criminal.”
“God never forsakes the greatest criminal, being penitent. But you, Everage! I cannot understand! I cannot believe you to be a criminal,” answered Alexander, unable to recover from his consternation, and mentally running over the sins most likely to be committed by a poor gentleman under the influence of overpowering temptation. Was it embezzlement? swindling? No, he could have had no opportunity of dabbling in either of these. Was it forgery? Yes, it was most likely forgery. The poor usher had probably, under the pressure of terrible want, forged his employer’s name to a check, or a note, or something of the sort, and was now dying of remorse and shame, and perhaps also of terror. And Alick resolved to help him, if help were possible.
“Everage,” he asked kindly, “do you wish to confide in me?”
“I wish to CONFESS to you, since the offense was committed against you,” groaned the heart-broken man.