"As God is my judge, and on the word of a dying man. Let Queenie tell you her story and she will corroborate my words. I have pursued her pitilessly, remorselessly. I have wronged her beyond all reparation, yet she is as pure, and true, and innocent to-day as she was that fatal hour when I first met her, a happy, thoughtless girl, selling her painted fan to buy her simple ball-dress. My terrible sin against her is enough of itself to drag my soul down to the lowest depths of perdition!" added the prisoner, with a hollow groan.
"You have indeed sinned fearfully, and God will punish you," said Captain Ernscliffe, turning to go.
"A moment longer," pleaded the unhappy wretch. "Say that you forgive me before you go."
"Never in this world or in the next!" cried Captain Ernscliffe, furiously.
The grated door unclosing, let in the priest who was to spend the night with the condemned man.
He caught their parting words.
"My son, my son," he said, laying his withered hand on Ernscliffe's arm, "forgive the poor soul; he is almost beyond your resentment. Think where his soul will be to-morrow night. Give him your hand in token of pardon."
"No, no," said the listener, shuddering; "I will not touch his hand, but—but"—with a great effort—"I will forgive him."
"Tell her to forgive me, too," said Leon Vinton, looking at him with his wild, frightened face. "Tell her I am sorry—tell her that I repent. She is an angel. She will forgive me."
The door closed upon the retreating form, and the gentle priest knelt down and began to pray for the guilty soul so soon to be launched into a dread eternity.