He persisted that he was innocent; that though he had been talking to the men as was alleged, he knew nothing of their real character or intentions; that he had been acquainted with them formerly, but only in the way of business; that they knew he had separated from them, at seven o’clock that evening, to proceed several miles in a contrary direction, to the burial-ground of his people, where he had been engaged to watch beside the grave of one that day interred; the person who had been engaged to do so having been suddenly taken ill, and asked him, Levison, to watch in his stead. How could he prove this? he was asked.
The unhappy man groaned aloud for answer—he had no proof. Some one, a gentleman, had indeed visited the grave at break of day, had demanded who he was, and why he was there instead of the person engaged; and he answered, giving his full name. The gentleman had thrown him money, and hastily departed; but who or what he was, except a Jew, as himself, Levison did not know.
Of course, such a tale, and from such a person, was not to be believed, and he was committed to Newgate, with his supposed accomplices, to take his trial.
It was with great difficulty Sarah gained admittance to his cell; but it was not till in his presence, till the door was closed upon her for a specified time, that the energy which supported her throughout gave way.
She could but throw herself on her knees before him, but fling her arms round him, and sob forth, “Father!” the convulsions of agony and fear which shook her every limb depriving her at once of power and of voice.
The effect of her presence on Levison was terrible. He gave vent to a wild, shrill cry, then catching her to his bosom, gasped forth, “My daughter! oh, my daughter! the God of wrath and justice will withdraw His hand, if you are near,” and then sunk back in a strong convulsive fit. Perhaps it was as well that the poor girl was thus compelled to exertion. Terrified as she was, she knew to call for help was useless, for who could hear her? But by unloosening his collar, and the application of cold water, which happened to be in the room, after a few minutes of intense terror, she saw the convulsive struggles gradually give way, and he lay sensible but exhausted. It was then she saw the ravages either illness or imprisonment had made; it seemed as if even death itself was upon him. He had never quite recovered the illness which had originally called her to London, and the last few days seemed to have brought it back with increase of suffering and complete prostration of physical power. His black hair had whitened, and his form was bent, as if a burden of many years had descended upon him; his features were contracted, and wan as death.
“Sarah, Sarah, I thought God had forsaken me; but I see you, and I know He has not. Miserable and guilty as I am—guilty of many sins, as I know, I feel now—but not of this: no, no, no; my child, my child, I am innocent of this. I turned away from vice and sin for your sake. I made a vow to try and become worthy of such an angel child; and see, see what has come upon me! I have been deceiving and dishonest in former days, but even then I never, never turned aside to steal—to join a gang of thieves. Sarah, Sarah, I thought to make you happy at last; and I shall be but your curse, your misery. Perhaps you too will not believe me, but I am innocent of this crime; my child, my child, I am indeed!”
It was long ere Sarah’s gentle soothings and earnest assurances of her firm belief in his perfect innocence could calm the fearful agitation of her unhappy father. Still her presence, the pressure of her hand was such comfort, that a light appeared to have gleamed on the darkness of his despair, and he poured forth his agonizing thoughts, his terrors, alike of life and death and eternity, as if his child were indeed the ministering angel of hope and faith and comfort which his deep love believed her.
“Had I not you, my daughter, oh, there would be no hope, no mercy for one like me. I have disobeyed and profaned my God, and taken His holy name in vain, and called down on me His wrath, His vengeance; and how can I, how dare I hope for mercy? I cannot repent—I cannot seek righteousness now; it is too late, too late! Yet God has given me you; and is He then all wrath, all punishment? Tell me, tell me, there is mercy for the sinner, even now.”
“Father, dear father, there is! Has He not said it? Yes, and reiterated it in His holy book, till the most doubting of us must believe. ‘He hath no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that he should turn from his wickedness and live;’ bidding us repent and believe, and that in the day we did so our guilt should not be remembered—should not appear against us; telling us but to confess our sin, to throw ourselves on His mercy, that mercy all perfect to purify, redeem, and save—that He is merciful and gracious, long-suffering, abundant in mercy and love—showing mercy unto thousands! My father, oh, my father, there is no sin so infinite as His mercy—no sin for which repentance and love and faith in Him will not in His sight atone.”