“And yet it may be, Agnes! or they may spare my life, and doom me to wear out long years of imprisonment, and then send me out into the world a blighted and ruined man! That is the best I can hope for; and but for the disgrace which would come upon me, I should say the sudden end is better.”
“And what of the future after that, Lewie? for that, after all, is the great concern.”
“The eternal future you mean, Agnes. Ah! my sister, the prospect there is darker and more dreary still. I know enough of religion to feel assured that my short life has not been spent in the way to prepare me for a future of happiness; and I am not yet so hardened as to pretend not to dread a future of misery.”
“God grant such may not be your fate, dear brother. Whether life be long or short, happy or sorrowful, our future depends upon heart-felt repentance here, and faith in the ‘sinner’s Friend.’ You have now time for quiet and reflection. Oh! improve it dear Lewie, in so humbling yourself before Him whom you have offended, and in so seeking for pardon, that He will bless you and grant you peace.”
“I see, Agnes,” said her brother, with a sad smile, “you want me to follow in the footsteps of all other offenders and criminals, who, after doing all the mischief possible, and living for their own selfish gratification while abroad in the world, spend the time of their imprisonment in acts of penitence and devotion, and go out of the world, as they all invariably do, in the full odor of sanctity, in peace with God, and in charity with men.”
“Is my advice to you in any way different, my dear brother, from what it was when you were free and unrestrained? Indeed, so much did I dread the effect of your undisciplined temper, and so assured did I feel that for you the grace of God was peculiarly necessary, that I have feared I sometimes made my presence unwelcome by my constant warnings and admonitions.”
“Never, Agnes—never, dearest sister! I always thanked you from my inmost heart for your kind, loving, tender counsel; and though apparently I turned it off lightly and carelessly, yet it often sank deep in my heart; and when parted from you, I often thought what a miserable wretch I was not to give better heed to it.”
“Yet, Lewie dear, I will not deny that I think the need more urgent than ever for repentance and pardon now. I do not wish to harrow up your feelings, dear brother; but, oh! it is an awful thing to send a fellow-creature into eternity!”
“And do you think that thought ever for a moment leaves me, Agnes? Indeed, I think that while I have been skulking and hiding, hunted and pursued from one place to another, and since I have been shut up in these walls, every harrowing thought that could possibly be brought before my mind, has been dwelt upon till it seemed sometimes as if I should go mad. I have mourned for Cranston as if I had no hand in his death; I have thought of him in all his hope and promise; I have thought of his poor mother and sisters, till the tears have rained from my cheeks; and I believe I have been sincere in my feeling, that if by suffering an ignominious death, I could restore my murdered friend to life, I should be glad to be the sacrifice. And then when I thought of myself as the cause of all this suffering, it seemed as if it ought not to be a matter of wonder or complaint if the verdict should be, that such a wretch should cumber the earth no longer. And yet, Agnes, in the eye of Him who looketh only on the heart, I believe I was as much a murderer when I struck down my school-mate in the play-ground as now. For in the height of my passion then, I think I should have been glad to have killed him. But the thought of murder did not enter my heart when I struck poor Cranston; it was a sort of instinctive movement; the work of a moment; and had not the murderous weapon been in my hand, the effects of the blow would have been but slight.”
Many such conversations as these passed between the young prisoner and his sister, during those two months preceding the trial—every day of which, except during church hours on Sunday, Agnes passed with him from morning till night, almost as much a prisoner as he, except that hers was not compulsory. This time was faithfully improved by Agnes, in endeavoring to lead her brother to right views upon the subject of his own condition in the sight of a Holy God. He was very gentle and teachable now, and before the day of trial came, Agnes hoped that her brother was a true penitent, though his own hopes of pardon were faint and flickering.