“That it has cured me, Jacob, I can safely assert; but it has also killed me as well as him. But I wish not to live; and I trust, in a few short months, to repose by his side.”
“I hope you will have your wish, Mary, very soon, but not in death.”
“Merciful heavens! what do you mean, Jacob?”
“I said you were not the destroyer of poor Tom—you have not been; he has not yet suffered; there was an informality, which has induced them to revise the sentence.”
“Jacob,” replied Mary, “it is cruelty to raise my hopes only to crush them again. If not yet dead, he is still to die. I wish you had not told me so,” continued she, bursting into tears; “what a state of agony and suspense must he have been in all this time, and I—I have caused his sufferings! I trusted he had long been released from this cruel, heartless world.”
The flood of tears which followed assured me that I could safely impart the glad intelligence. “Mary, Mary, listen to me.”
“Leave me, leave me,” sobbed Mary, waving her hand.
“No, Mary, not until I tell you that Tom is not only alive, but—pardoned.”
“Pardoned!” shrieked Mary.
“Yes, pardoned, Mary—free, Mary—and in a few minutes will be in your arms.”