"Crime, then, if you will call it so. But I do not wonder at it. May God in his infinite mercy forgive him!" fervently prayed Claudia.

"Amen!" deeply responded the judge.

"Papa, they say that suicides are never forgiven--can never be forgiven--because their sin is the last act of their life, affording no time for repentance. Yet who knows that for certain? Who knows but in the short interval between the deed and the death, there may not be repentance and pardon?"

"Who knows, indeed! 'With God all things are possible.'"

"Oh, papa, I hope he repented and is pardoned!"

"I hope so too, Claudia."

She dropped her head once more upon the bosom of Lady Hurstmonceux, in pity and in awe; but not in sorrow, for his death was an infinite relief to her and to all connected with him. After a little while she raised her head again, and in a low, hushed voice, inquired:

"Papa, at what hour did he die?"

"Between four and five o'clock this morning, my dear."

"Between four and five o'clock this morning! Good Heavens!"

exclaimed Claudia and Berenice simultaneously, starting and gazing into each other's faces.

"What is the matter?" gravely inquired the judge.

"That was the very hour in which Claudia was awakened by her strange dream!" replied Lady Hurstmonceux.

"Oh, papa! that was the very hour in which I saw Lord Vincent standing at the foot of my bed!" exclaimed Claudia, with a shudder.

"How passing strange!" mused the judge.

"Oh, papa! can such things really be? can a parting spirit appear to us the moment it leaves the body?" inquired Claudia, in an awe- struck manner.

"My dear if anyone had related to me such a strange circumstance as this, of which we are all partly cognizant, I should have discredited the whole affair. As it is, I know not what to make of it. It may have been a dream; nay, it must have been a dream; yet, even as a dream, occurring just at the hour it did, it was certainly an astonishing and a most marvelous coincidence."

Again Claudia dropped her head upon the supporting bosom of Lady Hurstmonceux, but this time it was in weariness and in thought that she reposed there.

A few minutes passed, and then, without lifting her head, she murmured:

"Tell me all about it, papa; I must learn some time; as well now as any other."

"Can you bear to hear the story now, Claudia?"

"Better now, I think, than at a future time; I am in a measure prepared for it now. How did it happen, papa?"

The judge drew closer to his daughter, took her hand in his, and said:

"I will tell you, as McRae told me, my dear. You must know that from the time Lord Vincent read the published confession of Frisbie, in the afternoon papers, he became so much changed in all respects as to excite the attention, then the suspicion, and finally the alarm of his keepers. At six o'clock after the turnkey, Donald, had paid his last visit to his prisoner, and locked up the cell for the night, he reported the condition of Lord Vincent to the governor of the jail. Mr. Gra'ame, on hearing the account given by Donald, determined to curtail many of the privileges his lordship had hitherto, as an untried prisoner, enjoyed. Among the rest he determined that nothing more should be carried to his lordship in his cell that he, the governor, had not first examined, as a precautionary measure against drugs or tools, with which the prisoner might do himself a mischief."

"I should think they ought to have taken that precaution from the first," said Claudia.

"It is not usual in the case of an untried prisoner; but, however, the governor of Banff jail seemed to think as you do, for he farther determined to make a special visit to the prisoner that night, to search his cell and remove from it everything with which he might possibly injure himself. And accordingly the governor, accompanied by the turnkey, went to the cell and made a thorough search. They found nothing suspicious, however. But in their late though excessive caution they carried away, not only the prisoner's razor, but his pen-knife and scissors. And then they left him."

"And after all, left him with the means of self-destruction,"

exclaimed Claudia.

"No, they did not. You shall hear. About eight o'clock that night, as the watchman of that ward was pacing his rounds, he heard deep groans issuing from Lord Vincent's cell. He went and gave the alarm.

The warden, the physician, and the turnkey entered the cell together. They found the viscount in the agonies of death."

"Great Heavens! Alone and dying in his cell!"

"Yes; and suffering even more distress of mind than of body. When it was too late, he regretted his rash deed. For he freely confessed that being driven to despair and almost if not quite to madness, by the desperate state of his affairs, he had procured laudanum through the agency of his servant, having persuaded the old man that he merely wanted the medicine to allay pain."

"Poor, poor soul!"

"Cuthbert, simple and unsuspicious, and as easily deceived as a child, brought the laudanum to him and bid him adieu for the night.

And it was in the interval between the last visit of the turnkey and the special visit of the governor that the prisoner drank the whole of the laudanum. And then to prevent suspicion he washed the label from the bottle and poured in a little ink from his inkstand. So that when the governor made his visit of inspection, although he actually handled that bottle, he took it for nothing else but a receptacle for ink."

"Oh, how dreadful! how dreadful, that anyone should exercise so much calculation, cunning, and foresight for the destruction of his own soul!" moaned Claudia.

"Yes; he himself thought so at last; for no sooner did the poison begin to do its work, no sooner did he feel death approaching, than he was seized with horror at the enormity of his own crime, and with remorse for the sins of his whole life. It would seem that in that hour his eyes were opened for the first time, and he saw himself as he really was, a rampant rebel against all the laws of God and on the brink of eternal perdition. It was the great agony of mind produced by this view of himself and his condition that forced from him those deep groans that were heard by the night-watch, who brought the relief to him."

"Then he must have repented. Oh! I hope that God forgave him!"

prayed Claudia, with earnest tones and clasped hands.

"You may be sure that God did forgive him if he truly repented!

Certainly it seemed that he repented; for he begged for antidotes, declaring that he wished to live to atone for the sins of his past.

Antidotes were administered, but without the least good effect. And when he repeated his earnest wish to be permitted to live that he might 'atone by his future life for the sins of his past,' the physician, who is a good man, sent for the chaplain of the jail, a fervent Christian, who told the prisoner how impossible it was for him, should he have a new lease of life, to atone, by years of penance, for the smallest sin of his soul; but pointed him at the same time to the One Divine Atoner, who is able to save to the uttermost. The chaplain remained praying with the dying man until half-past four o'clock this morning, when he breathed his last. That is all, Claudia."

"Oh, papa, you see he did repent; and I will hope that God has pardoned him," said Claudia earnestly; but she was very pale and faint, and she leaned heavily upon the shoulder of Lady Hurstmonceux.

"My dearest Claudia, let me lead you to your room; you require repose after this excitement," said the countess, giving her arm to the new widow.

Claudia arose; but the judge gently arrested her progress.

"Stay, my dear! One word before you go. The business of McRae here was not only to announce the death of Lord Vincent, but also the approaching trial of Faustina Dugald. It comes on at ten o'clock to- morrow morning. You are summoned as a witness for the prosecution.

Therefore, my dear, we must leave Edinboro' for Banff by the afternoon express train."

"Oh, papa! to appear in a public court at such a time!" exclaimed Claudia, with a shudder.

"I know it is hard, my dear. I know it must be dreadful; but I also know that the way of Justice is like the progress of the Car of Juggernaut. It stops for nothing; it rolls on in its irresistible course, crushing under its iron wheels all conventionalities, all proprieties, all sensibilities. And I know also, my daughter, that you are equal to the duties, the exertions, and the sacrifices that Justice requires of you. There, go now! take what repose you can for the next few hours, to be ready for the train at six o'clock," said the judge, stooping, and pressing a kiss upon his daughter's brow, before the countess led her away.

"Ishmael," said the judge, as soon as they were alone, "do you know what you and I have got to do now?"

"Yes, sir," said the young man solemnly, "I know."

"That poor, unhappy man in yonder prison has no friend or relative to claim his body, his father being absent; and if we do not claim it, it will be ignominiously buried by the prison authorities within the prison walls."

"I thought of that, but waited for your suggestion. If you please I will see the proper authorities to-morrow and make arrangements with them."

"Do, my dear young friend," said the judge, wringing his hand as he left him.