“Ah!” replied Spicer, “and pray what do you know? Perhaps you can tell me all the sins I have committed.”
“No, Spicer, but perhaps I can tell you of sins which you yourself are not aware of. But first answer me—you know that you cannot live long, Spicer; will you acknowledge that what I state is correct, should it really be so?”
“I give you my word, that if you tell me anything about me which is true, I will freely acknowledge it; so now, Mr Fortune-teller, here’s my hand—it may be useful, you know, in helping your discovery.”
“I do not want your hand, Spicer;—now hear me. Is not your name James?—and were you not born at Tynemouth?”
Spicer started. “How did you find that out? Well, Tom, it is so, and what then?”
“As you told me yourself, although I knew it before, your father was lost at sea about the time that you were born. Spicer, I know how you left your mother, and how you returned from you know where—how you robbed her of every farthing, and left her again destitute and in misery. Is there nothing to repent of in that, Spicer?”
“Who the devil—”
“Nay, Spicer, the devil has had nothing to do with the discovery.”
“Strange, strange indeed,” muttered Spicer; “but still, it is true.”
“Spicer, you know best how your life was passed from that time until you came into the hospital; but it was to be hoped, that when laid up to rest in this haven, after such a stormy life, you would have amended your life; but what have you done?”