“My husband! my dear husband! and it was my imprudence that brought you to this!” cried Sophy, as she fell weeping upon the neck of the felon, clasping him in her arms, and kissing with passionate grief the tears from his haggard unshaven face.

“Hush! my precious lamb,” he replied, folding her in his embrace. “It was not you who betrayed me, it was the voice of God speaking through a guilty conscience. I am thankful! oh, so thankful that it has taken place that the dreadful secret is known at last! I enjoyed last night the first quiet sleep I have known for years slept without being haunted by him!”

“And with death staring you in the face, Noah?”

“What is death, Sophy, to the agonies I have endured? the fear of detection by day the eyes of the dead glaring upon me all night? No; I feel happy, in comparison, now. I have humbled myself to the dust have wept and prayed for pardon, and oh, my sweet wife, I trust I am forgiven have found peace!”

“When was this?” whispered Sophy.

“The night before last.”

“How strange!” murmured Sophy. “We were together in spirit that night. I never knew how dear you were to me, Noah, until that night. How painful it would be to me to part with you for ever!”

“It was cruel and selfish in me, Sophy, to join your fate to mine, a monster, stained with the blackest crimes. But I thought myself secure from detection; thought that my sin would never find me out, that I had managed matters with such incomparable skill that discovery was impossible, that the wide earth did not contain a witness of my guilt. Fool that I was! The voice of blood never sleeps; from out the silent dust it calls night and day in its ceaseless appeals for vengeance at the throne of God. I have heard it in the still dark night, and above the roar of the crowd in the swarming streets of London at noon-day; and ever felt a shadowy hand upon my throat, and a cry in my ear Thou art the man!

“There were moments when, goaded to madness by that voice, I felt inclined to give myself up to justice, but pride withheld me, and the dismal fear of those haunting fiends chasing me through eternity, was a hell I dared not encounter. My soul was parched with an unquenchable fire; I was too hardened to pray.”

“Noah,” said Sophy, looking earnestly into his hollow eyes, “you are not a cruel man; you were kind to your old mother have been very kind to me. How came you to commit such a dreadful crime?”

The man groaned heavily, as he replied

“It was pride, a foolish, false shame of low birth and honest poverty, that led me to the desperate act.”

“I have felt something of this,” said Sophy, and her tears flowed afresh. “I now see that sinful thoughts are but the seeds of sinful deeds, ripened and matured by bad passions. Perhaps I only needed a stronger temptation to be guilty of crimes as great as that of which you stand charged.”

“Sophy,” said her husband, solemnly, “I wish my fate to serve as a warning to others. Listen to me. In the long winter evenings after my mother died, I wrote a history of my life. I did this in fear and trembling, lest any human eye should catch me at my task, and learn my secret. But now that I am called upon to answer for my crime, I wish to make this sad history beneficial to my fellow-creatures.

After I am gone, dear Sophy, and you return to F , lose no time in taking to your home, and making comfortable, your poor afflicted mother and sister for the remainder of their days. This key” (and he drew one from his pocket) “opens the old-fashioned bureau in our sleeping-room. In the drawer nearest to the window you will find my will, in which I have settled upon you all that I possess. I have no relations who can dispute with you the legal right to this property. There is a slight indenture in the wood that forms the bottom of this drawer; press it hard with your thumb, and draw it back at the same time, and it will disclose an inner place of concealment, in which you will find a roll of Bank of England notes, to the amount of 500_l._ This was the money stolen from Mr. Carlos, the night I murdered him. It is stained with his blood, and I have never looked at it or touched it since I placed it there upwards of twenty years ago. I never had the heart to use it, and I wish it to be returned to the family.

“In this drawer you will likewise find the papers containing an account of the circumstances which led to the commission of the crime. You and Mary can read them together; and oh! as you read, pity and pray for the unhappy murderer.”

He stopped, and wiped the drops of perspiration from his brow; and the distress of his young wife almost equalled his own, as she kissed away the tears that streamed down his pale face. His breath came in quick, convulsive sobs, and he trembled in every limb.

“I feel ill,” he said, in a faint voice; “these recollections make me so. There is a strange fluttering at my heart, as if a bird beat its wings within my breast. Sophy, my wife my blessed wife! can this be death?”

Sophy screamed with terror, as he reeled suddenly forward, and fell to the ground at her feet. Her cries brought the gaoler to her assistance. They raised the felon, and laid him on his bed; but life was extinct. The agitation of his mind had been too great for his exhausted frame. The criminal had died self-condemned, under the arrows of remorse!