George Leatrim

by Susanna Moodie

'He placed his aching head upon her faithful breast, he wound his trembling arms around her slender neck, and poured into her sympathizing ear the terrible tale of his wrongs,—how he had been falsely accused of the commission of a heinous crime, his protestations of innocence disregarded, and had been sentenced by his father to receive a punishment more galling to him than death; that he had been tempted to rebel against his father's authority, and curse the hand that smote him—to hate where he had loved with such fond idolatry.

'The good mother listened attentively, and weighed every circumstance. The frankness of his unreserved confession convinced her of its truth. When all the sad tale was told, she took him in her pitying arms, and told him that, though all the world should believe him guilty, she felt that he was innocent from her very soul.

'"God bless you, dearest, best mother," sobbed the poor boy, covering her hand with kisses. "I knew you would not condemn me. I never have, nor ever will give you cause to be ashamed of me. But my father—it seems unnatural, monstrous that he should believe me guilty at once. I shall never get over it. It crushes my heart; it presses out my life. If I could only convince him of my innocence I could die in peace."

'"Don't talk of dying, George. Leave your cause to God. He can bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and make the black cloud that now envelopes you as clear as the noonday. Let me go to your father, George; I think I can convince him of your innocence, and that he has acted too hastily."

'Exhausted as he was, George grasped his mother's hand, and held her fast. "I could not see him again while this conflict is going on in my mind—not while he looks upon me as a felon, a disgrace to his name and family. The brand must be removed from my brow before I meet him face to face. I want to love him as I once loved him. I feel as if I never could love him again."

'Again the voice became choked and hoarse and the lad gave way to a fresh agony of tears. After a while he grew calmer, and said in a whisper: "Mother, pray for me—pray with me, that I may bear this cross with Christian fortitude, and be taught to forgive my enemies—yes, as He, the dear Master, forgave them," he continued, reverently folding his hands together, "and gave His life for sinners like me, and died, the just for the unjust."

'They prayed long and earnestly, that sorrowful mother and son. At length a light broke over the pallid countenance of the youth; he raised his head slowly and with difficulty from that dear mother's supporting arms, and gazed into her tearful eyes with a look of unutterable love. "Mother, blessed mother," he whispered, "the agony is over; I feel calm and happy now. Our prayers are accepted; the divine peace which Christ bestowed upon His disciples, His last, best gift, is filling my heart, and the anger I felt at my dear father's unjust suspicions is lost in pity and love. My sorrows are over; his, alas! are to come. To you, dearest mother, I leave the task of reconciliation. You will vindicate my memory, and teach him to respect me in death. And that miserable old man—tell him to deal gently with him for my sake. Tell him that I forgive him, that he must forgive him also, and lead the sinner back to God." He paused, and panted for breath. "George," cried the terrified mother, "you are ill; let me send for Dr. Aldis, and call your father."

'"Too late! who can heal a broken heart? It will soon be over. God is dealing very gently with me, beloved mother. Let the thought console you that you have a son in heaven. But my father, my dear, unhappy father, may God comfort him! It grows very dark; I cannot see your sweet face, mother, but all around is joy and peace."

'A shade passed over the noble young face, a tremor shook the slight frame of the dying boy, and the enfranchized spirit, throwing off the last coil of clay, followed the unseen messenger to the land of the hereafter.

'A shriek, a loud, piercing shriek, rang through the silent house. Dr. Leatrim started from his knees and rushed up-stairs. The next moment he was standing beside the bed of his son, upon which his wife was sitting with the head of the dead boy in her lap.