"Mr. Everope," Rereworth said, gravely and sadly, "what you have this day done, shows that all is not lost for you. No man who lives is lost. And I, sir, trust that this is your beginning of a new existence. Are you not already in some measure comforted? Do you not feel some relief? Trust me comfort and relief will come. And do not underrate your service. It is not only Mr. Trevethlan you have benefited, but also his gentle sister, living in the apprehension of want."
"Spare me," the spendthrift cried, covering his face with his hands, "I once had sisters of my own."
"For their sake, then," Seymour said, "for the sake of everything that was ever dear to you, and may be again, arise from this unmanly despair. Will you not leave this miserable haunt? Will you not come with me?"
Everope shook his head, without raising it from his hands.
"Not now," he muttered, "not in the day-light. Wait till the darkness. Then perhaps I may seek my old abode."
"Well, well," Rereworth continued; "I will not urge you now. But this statement must be prepared for verification. You will give it me in writing."
The spendthrift assented with a nod. Paper, pen, and ink, were procured. Everope made an attempt to write, but his nerves failed him.
"Take the pen," he said; "I will dictate and sign."
Seymour complied, and took down the confession at considerable length. His wretched informant traced the whole history of his connection with Michael Sinson; the means by which he had been entrapped into the first step; the journey to Cornwall; the concoction of the evidence; his examination by Mr. Truby; his appearance at the trial. Thus, if his present tale were believed, it would entirely reverse the effect of his former testimony.
"That is all," he said, as he signed his name. "To-night I will return to my old residence. That is, if I am still free; for this Sinson holds notes of mine, on which he might cast me into the Fleet. It is what he has often threatened."