What a fall! what an end! The gay gallant young soldier, the ardent lover, what had he come to? first abductor, then murderer, escaping from prison and just doom—not to repent, not to reform, but to sink, step by step, to descend bar by bar, the ladder of infamy till he was now on the very ground, a condemned felon. And this is my brother still, and he is cold, and in prison, and I have come to visit him, and must speak.
"L'Estrange," said he at last, "I grieve to find you here."
The convict started up to a sitting posture; his wild eyes dilated, his hair seemed to stand, his whole frame shook, and as he clanked his gyves together the Earl thought he had never seen anything so dreadful, or any picture so like Apollyon bound.
"Ha!" cried the wretched man; "it only wanted this to complete the sum of misery; you are come to glory over my fall, to reproach me for my base attempts on Ellen, to throw my crimes in my teeth; but hear me before God—the God I have scoffed at, and all my life offended—I wished not to slay your brother, I knew not what I did; and yet it was he who brought me here—he who led me on from folly to sin, from sin to vice, from vice to crime—he who has destroyed me soul and body. Yes, abuse me for abusing friendship, mock at my woe, I have deserved it well."
"I have not come to reproach you, nor taunt you with crimes which, had it not been for a restraining Providence, I might have done myself. I came to tell you I forgive you, as I hope to be forgiven, and to see what I can do for you, to treat you as a brother, as you are."
"To treat me as a brother!" said the unhappy man, with a look of extreme surprise. "No, no, no; do not treat me as a brother, that were worse still. Taunt me with my crimes, I can bear it; with my ingratitude to you,—to you who were ever a friend; crush the viper who stung his benefactor beneath your feet, but treat me not as a brother, I cannot bear that; leave me to perish as I deserve."
"Listen, Edward L'Estrange, I speak not allegorically, I speak plainly. I come to treat you as a brother, because you are my brother; you may have striven to hurt me, but you have really done me no harm, I have no cause for feeling angry. I regret your unhappy life, I mourn over your many and deep crimes, I hate the sin, I can love the sinner: take my hand, my brother, for I feel sure I shall prove you to be so—take it as it is given."
"I cannot," replied the wretched man, "I cannot do so; you are the first who has spoken a kind word for years; the first who has cared for the outcast. I honour, I love you for it, but I cannot take your hand, it would be defilement to you, agony to me; let light and darkness embrace first."
"The sinless One—our great example and guide—ever sought sinners; take my hand, I intreat you, and forgive me as I forgive you from my heart. I know unintentionally I have been the prime cause of your stumbling, let me be the first to recover you, and lead you back to virtue. Now listen to me—I have much to say to you, and when you have heard all you will take the hand you still refuse; first answer me a few questions—do you know who was your father?"
"I never saw him,—my birth is wrapt in mystery. I have heard he was some great man, and I was the unrecognized son of some one of rank in England; my early life I have told you. One only clue, or what might be a clue to the secret I have got, it is this." As he spoke he drew out a small steel casket. "It is locked; when I received it I swore never to open it till on my death bed. I am on my death bed now but I have not yet opened it; there is the key, you may unlock it."