"'Oh, I'm safe enough not to go at that rate,' was her reply.
"But she was mistaken. David had been persuaded to put his conscience to sleep by the resolution that it should only be for once, just to see for himself how it worked really, for good or evil. He was more than half inclined to retract his consent, when he learnt that his sister was to be of the party, but the tempter having got his victims into the net, did not let them off.
"David and Maggie found a church near the river, and went to morning service. Their evil adviser accompanied them on condition that the afternoon should be spent in the woods.
"It was not difficult to get separated in the many paths, and when the steamer's warning bell was heard, amid the hurried rush onboard, David did not discover till too late that, amongst several missing, were Maggie, and also his master's son. No entreaty could induce the captain to put back.
"Some fresh passengers had come on board, showing views and engravings, and David, glad to divert his attention from self-reproach, amused his mind with looking through their collection, for he now repented bitterly that he had ever come—still more that he had brought his sister, and then allowed her to slip out of his charge. One of the new comers was especially friendly, explaining the views to 'cheer up his spirits.'
"When within ten minutes of landing, a boat came alongside with two or three police in plain clothes, and soon arrested, as well-known pickpockets, two of the fresh passengers, whilst all were advised to see what they had lost. Much of the booty was found on the prisoners, but not all, which led to a general search of the passengers. On my poor son, in his coat-pocket, was discovered the rest of the missing plunder, which had doubtless been slipped in by his friendly entertainer when he saw the police on board. David's protestations of innocence were all unavailing. The contents of his pockets were then and afterwards deemed conclusive proof of his guilt. All efforts to save him were in vain. He never breathed free air again in this life. His sentence placed him among convicts at Portland, where his health broke down under grief and disgrace. The tidings of his death reached me after I had moved here, in a kind letter from the chaplain, sending this precious relic [taking a well-worn Testament from his breast], with its marked verses of comfort and a few lines from my poor boy—all I have left of him."
A folded sheet of paper, yellow from age and tender from frequent handling, lay between the leaves of the little Book. The old man handed both to his guest. In the touching farewell to his father were the words, "You and mother know I've suffered innocently, and it's now nearly over, and I shall soon be free and with Jesus, whose precious blood has cleansed me from all sin. But, dear father, never cease to warn the young of the fearful cost of a broken Sabbath."
The aged man wiped away some falling tears.
"I shall see my boy soon," he continued. "I've tried to keep his injunction, and, by tract given or word spoken, not to let a Sabbath go by without some warning. His mother scarcely held up her head after his trial, and did not survive her first-born many weeks, and I was left alone with our youngest—my Mary. That broken Sabbath had lost Maggie her place and character. The doors were locked against her that night, and no explanation would be accepted next day. She wrote us word she'd got another situation at a distance through a friend. We never saw her more in the old house, and lost all traces of her. Our other boy, Ned, came to us soon after his brother's trial, and, asking our consent and forgiveness for going away, said he could not hold up his head in the village, and must go to sea. We let him go, hoping time and change of scene would heal the wound, and he'd come back to us to a fresh home, for I felt like himself, that I could not stay on in the factory, and resigned my post and came here, hoping our Davie might soon be free to join us also; but the Lord set him free to go to a better mansion in the skies.
"Four years after we came here, I had a letter from a neighbour who lived hard by in the old place. What Mary had often secretly feared, came to pass. Maggie had come back, to find no home left; but the widow over the way had seen in the dusk a woman go and return, repulsed from the old door, and sit down to weep by the road-side. She brought the wanderer to her own fireside. I fetched her away, and we nursed the poor, worn, wasted one tenderly, but she had only come home with the prodigal's cry, to die—'Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee.'