"Jesus Christ did."
"Now for a story, father," said Helen.
Mr. Dermott smiled, and commenced.
"Very late one evening, a good clergyman was called upon to go to a house in the outskirts of his parish to visit a poor woman, who, the messenger said, was nigh unto death. The night was extremely cold, and the minister was by no means young; but he hesitated not one minute in the performance of this duty. He set out, in company with his guide, who was a lad apparently just entering his teens; and, by walking at a rapid pace, reached the spot in about twenty minutes. The boy seemed averse to conversation, and only said he was the son of a neighbor of the poor woman who was sick.
"The house, or rather hovel, seemed to be filled with people, as they approached. But the clergyman made his way inside the door, where his footsteps were arrested by the most distressing sounds he had ever heard. They seemed to be the wailings of a broken heart; and so, indeed, they were. Lying on a cot bed, in the centre of the apartment, was a poor woman, her hair pushed back from her head, and lying loosely upon the pillow. Her face was thin, while a paleness, like that of death, was spread over it. Her eyes were closed; but the rigid features and the pinched nostrils disclosed the fact that she was conscious of her sufferings. Close by her, and grasping her tightly by the hand, sat a young girl, with her face buried in the pillow; but her convulsed form and long-drawn sighs showed that she was in the deepest affliction.
"It was a long time before the minister could ascertain the circumstances connected with these poor suffering persons. The woman lying before him was a widow. Her only son had that day been convicted of forgery, and condemned to the state prison for a long course of years. He had transgressed the laws of his country, and now he must pay the penalty. The young woman, clinging so tightly to the pale sufferer, was betrothed to the son. But now her light was turned into darkness, her joy into the deepest sorrow. One of the neighbors, returning from the city, had brought the fatal news; and, ever since she heard it, the poor broken-hearted mother had seemed more dead than alive.
"'If she would only cry, now, as Malissy does,' said one of the women, 'I should have more hopes of her; but she does nothing but moan, moan, as if her heart was breaking.'
"Mr. Lawson, having requested the women to retire to the farther part of the room, drew near the couch, and placed his hand on the cold, damp forehead. There was no answering sign. He then kneeled by the side of the bed, and, in words the most compassionate and tender, he besought the mercy of God for the poor guilty son. He was a father; and he well knew how a parent's heart was wounded by the ill-doing of a child.
"The moanings ceased, and presently the features relaxed. The mother whispered a feeble response. The young girl raised her head to listen. But her grief was net wholly unselfish. The guilty man was lost to her forever. The clergyman increased in fervor. He besieged the mercy-seat, and would not be denied a blessing. A bright, red spot, on either cheek of the mother, proved that hope for her son was once more springing up in her breast.
"'O my God, be merciful to my sinful boy!' burst from her lips, as the prayer ceased. 'Let me die, if, by that means, his soul may be saved.'