“But you must, my boy,” cried the old man. “I lay awake all last night, Luke, and I prayed humbly for guidance to do what was right, and it seemed to me that the good counsel came.”
“Father!” exclaimed Luke, gazing in the old man’s face.
“It will be painful, my boy, but we must not shrink from our duty because it is a difficult one to perform. I am a weak old fellow, and very ignorant, but I know that here my son will be a minister of justice against a bad and wicked man. For he is a bad—a wicked man, my boy, who has stopped at nothing to gratify his own evil ends.”
“But how can I proceed against him, father?”
“Because it is your duty; and, feeling what you do against him, you will guard your heart lest you should strike too hard; and it is better so. Luke, my boy, you will be just; while, if another man prosecutes him, he will see in him only the forger and the cheat, and fight his best to get him condemned.”
It was true, and Luke sat back thinking.
“Yesterday, my boy, I prayed you to undertake this man’s defence; I withdraw it all now: take back every word, and I will go and tell poor Sage Mallow why.”
“No, no, father,” cried Luke; “if I cannot defend, neither will I prosecute.”
“You must, my boy—you have given your word. If you drew back now I should feel that it would go worse against this man.”
“But mine, father, should not be the hand to strike him down,” cried Luke.