“A turnkey, with loaded blunderbuss on his arm, leaned against the cell door, which he opened for Mr Hylton in silence, as he approached; disclosing poor Ayliffe sitting on his bench, double-ironed, his head buried in his hands, his elbows supported by his knees. He did not move on the entrance of Mr Hylton, as his name had not been mentioned by the turnkey.
“‘Adam! Adam!—the Lord be with you! Amen!’ solemnly exclaimed Mr Hylton, gently taking in his hand one of the prisoner’s.
“Ayliffe suddenly started up, a gaunt figure, rattling in his irons, and grasping in both his hands that of Mr Hylton, carried it to his heart, to which he pressed it for some moments in silence, and then, bursting into tears, sunk again on his bench.
“‘God bless you, Adam! and lift up the light of His countenance upon you! Put your trust in him: but remember that he is the all-seeing, the omniscient, omnipotent God, who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity!’
“Ayliffe wept in silence, and with reverent affection of manner pressed to his lips the still-retained hand of Mr Hylton.
“‘Come, Adam! speak! Speak to your pastor—your friend—your minister!’
“‘You seem an angel, sir!’ said Ayliffe, looking at him with a dull, oppressed eye, that was heart-breaking.
“‘Why an angel, Adam? I bring you,’ said Mr Hylton, shaking his head, and sighing, ‘no earthly good news whatever; nothing but my unworthy offices to prepare you for hereafter! Prepare! prepare to meet thy God, for he draweth near! And who may abide the day of his coming!’
“‘I was readier for my change when last I saw you, sir, than now,’ said Ayliffe, with a suppressed groan, covering his face with his manacled hands.
“‘How is that, poor Adam?’