‘Farewell, father; I will not stay until you curse me, for I fear it may come to that. May God forgive both you and me! I have done wrong, and most bitterly have I suffered for it.’
She caught his hand, pressed it to her lips, which were hot as fire, and left the cell.
That was the last time that the father and daughter ever met.
The gaoler soon afterward brought in a light, and asked Rust if he wanted any thing; and on being answered in the negative, went out.
The night wore on heavily. Rust heard the clock, as its iron tongue struck the successive hours from his life. At last the hour of midnight sounded. He took out his watch, wound it up, and set it.
‘Your life will last longer than mine,’ said he, as he held it to the light, and examined the face. He then placed it on the table, and leaning his head on his hand, contemplated it for a long time. Time was hurrying on; for while he was sitting thus, the clock struck—one. He looked about the room; went to the door, and listened; then resumed his seat, and thrusting his hand in his bosom, drew out a small vial, containing a dark liquid. He held it to the light; shook it; smiled; and applying it to his lips, swallowed its contents.
‘I’ll disappoint the sight-seers,’ said he. He raised the light; took a long and earnest survey of the room; undressed himself; sat on the edge of his bed, for a moment, apparently in deep thought; then got into bed and drew the cover closely about him.
‘Now, then,’ said he, ‘the dream of life is past. I’ll soon know whether there is any waking from it.’
These were his last words; for when the cell was opened in the morning, he was dead in his bed. As in life, so in death, his own evil acts clashed with his interests; for at an early hour in the morning a messenger arrived with a pardon. In consideration of the heinous nature of the provocation, which had led to the commission of Rust’s crime, and of the inadequate punishment inflicted by the laws for such offences, the governor had remitted his sentence.