“I saw him die a felon’s death upon the gallows.”
“No, no!” cried Reuben in distress—one might have supposed he
had been told of a brother’s shameful death. “Oh! no, father.”
“It was a just punishment,” the priest replied.
“No, no!” cried Reuben. “You do not know this place. They do not have helps here like other people, or like me. Oh! but God saved his poor soul at the last?”
“He spoke to me,” said the priest, “of a woman named Esther Armstrong, to whom he had done a great injury. Was not that true?”
“He did not understand,” said Reuben with sorrowful compassion—“I am sure he did not understand what harm he did, because, you know, he couldn’t have hurt her. And he did not see good women here; they have such hard times here, poor things.”
“He said he could not forget her—that something always reminded him of her. He begged me to find her out and ask her to forgive him.”
“She died,” said Reuben softly. “She forgave him. She prayed for him a great deal, I think.”
“God answered her, then,” the priest said. “I trust that he repented truly.”