"God! God! if I have sinned in this I pray for pardon, it is for my son's sake, oh God, not for my own."
Fearfully she looks at the frozen face, cold and still in the glimmering light of the candles; the dead has not seen, the dead has not heard--her crime is unknown to anyone on earth, but involuntarily she looks upward as though dreading to see the all-seeing eye of God burning menacingly through the gloom. Then with an effort she betakes herself once more to prayer.
"Oh God, pardon me for my sins, and pardon those of this poor soul who has of late gone into Thy presence."
One sinner fresh from the committal of a crime praying for the soul of another sinner.
Oh, the irony--the irony of the prayer.
[CHAPTER XXIV.]
MR. BEAUMONT WINS HIS CASE.
In truth he had a silver tongue
Whose mild persuasive accents rung
Like music in her ear;
Despite her dread, despite her hate.
She ever let him rule her fate
And change her heart from joy elate