Raymond turned white to the very lips. His heart became as lead. He felt that the lamp that lives within us all, when fed by Love and Youth (though it may burn but low), was suddenly extinguished, leaving all things dark; but he answered in a firm voice, nevertheless, Tell me, father.'

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE

SELF-ACCUSER.

'Do you remember a play of Shakespeare's, Raymond, where a man says to his sister, "Death is a dreadful thing," and she replies, "And shamed life a hateful"?'

"Yes, father.'

'Well, I was in that man's position. I saw before me-immediately before me—a slow and painful death, and also a way of escape by the sacrifice of another man. And I chose the way of escape. To be sure, I did so with the consent of the other.'

'That was something,' said Raymond, drawing a deep breath. 'Well, it was short of murder. I said to myself this: "I am rich, this man is poor: I enjoy life, and he has not the means to do so. It is better, therefore, if one of us is to die, that it should be he and not I."'

'It was not certain, then, that the man would die?'

'It was quite certain, though we pretended to one another-or at least I pretended to him-that there was a chance of rescue, of ransom. What I tried to persuade myself he did, was to risk his life for mine: but what I knew in my heart he did, was to sacrifice it for mine; and he did sacrifice it.'

'Oh father, was it Arthur Conway?'

"Yes, Raymond: it was my friend: I may say, indeed (for I did not know you for what you are at that time), my only friend. I took advantage of his poverty to persuade him to part with his existence.'

The cloud of distress and shame that had settled upon Raymond's brow since his father had begun to speak here lifted a little; his face, though it still wore a look of intense pity, began to clear.

'Do not deceive yourself, my lad,' said the sick man, who was regarding him attentively; I have not lost my wits, nor, alas! even my memory. What seems incredible to you, seemed to me a very natural course to take at the time, I do assure you. Circumstance is a very powerful agent in the affairs of this world, not even second to Opportunity.'

'But if Captain Conway took away the Relic from the Temple'

'He did not,' interrupted Ralph Pennicuick quietly. 'I took it.' 'You?'

Raymond involuntarily drew back a pace from his father's pillow. His face expressed repugnance as well as horror.

'You are not fit to be a priest, lad,' observed the other coldly; a priest ought to be shocked at nothing. And besides, I am not asking for absolution. That is an easy thing to give compared with what I am about to demand of you.'

6

My all is at your service, sir,' said Raymond in slow mechanical tones. What can I do for you?'

'You can make restitution.'

'I cannot give back his life to Arthur Conway.'

"That is true. But you must understand that it was a bargain. He took my guilt upon him, knowingly, and for a consideration. You would not make things worse for me than they are, lad, if you knew what was coming.'

What was coming! What could he be about to hear worse than he had already heard? His father had confessed himself guilty of all, and more, that had been vaguely laid to his charge. He had committed the crime for which another had suffered, and for which he had permitted him to suffer. How that had happened was in comparison but a small thing; it had happened.

'I was in gaol, Raymond: I had been tortured,' continued the sick man piteously; and life was so dear to me.'

'Then you were not yourself, sir,' cried the young man eagerly: you were weak and shattered; if you had had time to think

'I had plenty of time,' put in the other irritably: 'I had nothing else to do but to think, or to think of but myself. I must make a clean breast of it, lad, or tell nothing. No one shall ever accuse Ralph Pennicuick of cant-but only of Robbery and Murder.'

It was frightful to mark the smile with which he spoke, the very blossom, as it seemed, of self-contempt and cynicism: like the scorpion that turns its sting against itself when hedged in by the ring of fire, so had it happened to his bitter spirit.

'Robbery and murder!' repeated Raymond mechanically. He could no longer believe his father mad, and could hardly refuse credit to any statement he should make to his own disadvantage. These were crimes, as he thought, of which he had not as yet accused himself, and they astounded him.

'To be sure, you have not heard all,' said the sick man, perceiving his look of amazement. However, when a man steals a relic, and, being condemned to death for it, permits his friend to die for him-and to bear the disgrace as well, mark you—that is what the world would call by two ugly names. Moreover, that I murdered Arthur Conway is certain, or his ghost would not haunt me.'

6

Well, that cannot be, father,' said Raymond emphatically; 'you may imagine as much from a morbid sense of your own wrongdoing; but as to a ghost in these days—

6

'Stop!' cried the other vehemently; and then, exhausted by his own exertion, he was silent for a moment, while his son stood dumb before him. There are some things, Raymond, I never liked such as contradiction. And in this case I won't stand it. I may be mad-I begin to think I am-to have told you what I have, but I will not be held in other respects to be a madman. I saw Arthur Conway last night, as plainly and as near me as I see you now. He looked old, and wan, and white, but it was he and no other. It is as true as-well, I don't believe in many things-let us say as that I am now upon my death-bed. I was stepping into Westminster Hall, and he was the first man to meet me. He looked, as to the expression of his face, exactly as I should have expected him to look; he said—that is, his eyes said"You are a liar, a robber, and a murderer." It was too much for me-being guilty of those crimes-and as that paper said, it struck me down.'

'If you saw him, father, he is not dead. at Dhulang after death?'

Did you see him

'Yes. I saw his naked body pierced with ten thousand wounds tied to the post where they had hacked him to death. Milburn and one other man saw him also. You are thinking, "This is a delusion; and if a man deludes himself in one thing, he may do so in another." Dismiss that fond hope from your mind, lad. I am as sane as you are, and have told you the simple truth-unhappily, not all of it. Give me some brandy.'

'I entreat you to excite yourself no more at present, sir,' said Raymond, with whom pity had once more regained its ascendency. 'You have taken nothing to strengthen you for many hours. Let me get you a cup of coffee-something for breakfast'

"I am long past the coffee stage, lad,' murmured the sick man, whose powers of speech seemed to have almost ebbed away; 'I must have what my stomach is accustomed to. You will find the bottle in the wardrobe.'

At least, sir, spare yourself for the present,' sighed Raymond,

as he reluctantly produced the liquor. When you have had what you wish, try to sleep a little.'

'No, my lad. When one has to have a limb cut off, it is done at a single operation. I have begun, and I must go through with it. Moreover, there is no " for the present" for me, I am very sure. To-morrow--nay, an hour else may be too late. Thanks! that is life, or all that I shall know of it, till it is over.'

He lay back, with closed eyes, and was so long silent that Raymond began to hope that he had involuntarily given way to slumber; but he was in fact only rallying his feeble powers.

'You have never asked me,' he recommenced,' what it was that induced Arthur Conway to die so many deaths instead of me. It was his poverty. He wished to place his wife and child-that Nelly, my poor boy, who can never now be yours-above the reach of want-nay, in affluence. "If I lose my life for yours "-he said, for he said 'lose,' though I said 'risk'-" you must pay me 20,000l." It seemed but a small sum to me, as I lay on the floor of my wretched prison, the door of which would only open to me to be led forth to death and torture, but afterwards it seemed greater.'

Raymond groaned.

'Yes, you have guessed it. I robbed him. I bought his life and never paid the purchase-money. When one has committed murder, robbery comes quite easy-no, not easy, or I should not be lying here.'

For Heaven's sake, sir, let this money be paid to the poor girl at once; that is the first thing to be done.'

'No. You must wait till the breath is out of my body; that is the first thing I must do-to die. I have told you what a false and wretched creature lies before you, because you call him "father," but I cannot confess it to all the world. The girl can wait an hour or two, a day at furthest, since she has waited so many months already. I killed her mother too, for her husband's death, for which I am answerable, was the cause of hers. Let me leave the world without her daughter's curse.-Raymond, can you forgive me?'

'Oh sir, it is not I who have anything to forgive,' cried the young man, bursting into tears; it is our Father which is in Heaven.'

'I am not speaking to a priest, but to my son,' returned the sick man curtly. 'Do you not see that it is you whom I am wronging now, my own flesh and blood, as I have wronged these others before? It was a selfish act, like all the rest, to have told you what I have. Why did you urge me to do it in spite of my solemn warning?

Restitution can at least be made.'

'I do not regret it, father. 'Yes, but not to you. I cannot restore to you the happiness which my words have taken away. You love this girl, but how can you ever be her husband, when you know that her father's death lies at my door, and that I robbed him afterwards?'

I saw from the first, sir,' answered Raymond gently, that what you were about to say would kill my hopes.'

Then you have borne with me like a man, lad. Can you still take my hand, knowing what I am, and say, " Farewell, father"?' Raymond took the fevered fingers which the other extended towards him, in his own; then, bending down, kissed the cheek his lips had never touched since he was a little child.

6

'Hush, my lad,' for Raymond was weeping bitterly: I hear the Doctor's voice; he must not be bilked of his last fee. You will find Tatham has all your affairs at his fingers' ends; the twenty thousand pounds, that I had not the heart to part with, can be realised at once. Hatton has served me well, after his fashion. Stop! keep Green out till you have put away the brandy. Men will say hard things of Ralph Pennicuick when he's grassed over-those that were most civil to him when he was above ground, the hardest, because they feared him--but do not let them say "he drank.”

CHAPTER XLVII.

A DILEMMA.

FOR Some weeks Nelly had gone on with her studies under Mr. Pearson's superintendence, but a day or two had now passed without his making his appearance. This intermission in his visits had been by no means unexpected. She had felt sure that his failing health must needs break down sooner or later; and it had broken down rather more suddenly than she had looked for. That indisposition was the reason of his absence she had discovered by sending to his lodgings; for he had written no line about himself. He had said at Sandybeach that he could not write, that he was prevented (as he would have it appear) by some physical cause from so doing; but she was inclined to set this down to a mere eccentric disinclination. This poor man was full of eccentricities, which Nelly regarded not only with indulgence, but with favour-a sure sign that she had conceived a genuine liking for her tutor; for it is only where there is real affection that these excrescences on the character are patiently endured. He had earned her good opinion not only by his kind and gentle ways and excellent tutorship, but by the generous sympathies of his nature, which a bitter experience