"Speak frankly," said the Blackamoor.
"Well, sir—I have tried to recollect a prayer; and last night when I repeated it, I thought that the spectre gradually grew less and less plain to the view, and at all events seemed less horrible. I was praying again when you came just now—and I shall pray presently—for I know that there is some consolation in it."
"You do well to pray, Timothy," observed the Blackamoor. "Would you not like to be able to read some book?"
"If I only had a candle and a Bible, sir," exclaimed the man, speaking under the influence of feelings deeply excited but unquestionably sincere, "I think I should even yet be happy in this dreadful dungeon."
"What makes you fancy that the Bible would render you happy?" enquired the Black.
"Because I used to read it when I was a lad, and I remember that it contains many good sayings," answered Splint. "Besides, it declares somewhere that there is hope for sinners who repent; and I should like to keep my eyes fixed at times upon God's own promise. I am sure that my mind would be easier; for though I know that the promise is given, yet I feel a desire to repeat it over and over again to myself—and also to learn whether God ever forgave any one who was so bad as I am."
"You shall have a light and a book," said the Blackamoor.
"Oh! you are jesting—you are deceiving me!" cried Splint. "But that would be so cruel, sir, on your part——"
"I am not jesting—the subject is too serious to be treated lightly," was the answer: then, making a sign to Wilton to step forward, he took from the basket which that dependant carried, a lamp already trimmed and a couple of books. "There is a volume of Tales—and there is the Bible," he continued: "take whichever you prefer."
"The Bible, if you please, sir," cried Splint, eagerly, while his countenance denoted the most unfeigned joy. "I know not how to thank you enough for this kindness!"—and tears again started from his eyes.