“I thought her dead, long dead. God, I thank Thee that I did not the deed; and, Jack, I am really grateful to you for having prevented it. Poor old woman!—yes, she did love me, and how cruelly I treated her!—and she is then still alive, and thinks that I was hanged—yes, I recollect now, she must think so. Oh! my brain, my brain!”
“Spicer, I must leave you now.”
“Don’t leave me, Jack—yes, do,—come to-morrow morning.”
“Spicer, will you do me a favour?”
“Yes.”
“Will you see Anderson, and talk with him?”
“Yes, if you wish it; but not now: this evening I will, if he’ll come.”
I left Spicer well satisfied with what had passed, and hastened to Anderson, to communicate it to him.
“A strange and providential discovery, Tom, indeed,” said he, “and good use it appears to me you have made of it: his heart is softened, that is evident. I will certainly go to him this evening.”