  'George Leatrim's first thought was to go to his mother; but then she was ill, and happily unconscious of what had taken place. Besides, like his father, she might believe the evidence that Ralph had witnessed against him, and he had not the fortitude to bear that. As his passion subsided, he had courage to recall the painful events of the past hour, and to acknowledge that the circumstances by which he was surrounded were suspicious enough to condemn him in any court of law, and must be maddening to a proud, sensitive man like his father. Struggling with the shame and agony of his position, he could not recognise this before, or admit that both his father and Ralph might be deceived. 'He had never felt the severe corporeal punishment during its infliction. His mind was in too violent a state of agitation to care for bodily suffering; but now that he was alone, the fiery indignation that had upheld his spirit in the hour of his humiliation flickered and went out, and the sense of degradation and intolerable wrong alone remained. 'He remembered how his father had spurned him from his feet, had called him a thief and a liar, and witnessed unmoved the infliction of a cruel punishment, administered by the hand of the menial who had accused him of the crime; and had ordered him from his presence without one word of pity or affection. 'These after-thoughts were terrible. George felt that he had not deserved this severity, and the tears which pride had restrained while under the weight of Ralph Wilson's unsparing hand now burst forth in a torrent, and he wept until the lamp of life flickered to extinction in his panting breast. 'The mother whom he wished to save from the knowledge of his degradation awoke suddenly from a short and disturbed sleep. She heard the sobs and moans in the adjoining room, and recognised the voice of her son. The next moment saw her seated upon his bed, her arms around the weeping boy. All sense of her own sickness, of her weak state, was gone. She was only conscious of his intense mental agony. 'He placed his aching head upon her faithful breast, he wound his trembling arms around her slender neck, and poured into her sympathizing ear the terrible tale of his wrongs,—how he had been falsely accused of the commission of a heinous crime, his protestations of innocence disregarded, and had been sentenced by his father to receive a punishment more galling to him than death; that he had been tempted to rebel against his father's authority, and curse the hand that smote him—to hate where he had loved with such fond idolatry. 'The good mother listened attentively, and weighed every circumstance. The frankness of his unreserved confession convinced her of its truth. When all the sad tale was told, she took him in her pitying arms, and told him that, though all the world should believe him guilty, she felt that he was innocent from her very soul. '"God bless you, dearest, best mother," sobbed the poor boy, covering her hand with kisses. "I knew you would not condemn me. I never have, nor ever will give you cause to be ashamed of me. But my father—it seems unnatural, monstrous that he should believe me guilty at once. I shall never get over it. It crushes my heart; it presses out my life. If I could only convince him of my innocence I could die in peace." '"Don't talk of dying, George. Leave your cause to God. He can bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and make the black cloud that now envelopes you as clear as the noonday. Let me go to your father, George; I think I can convince him of your innocence, and that he has acted too hastily." 'Exhausted as he was, George grasped his mother's hand, and held her fast. "I could not see him again while this conflict is going on in my mind—not while he looks upon me as a felon, a disgrace to his name and family. The brand must be removed from my brow before I meet him face to face. I want to love him as I once loved him. I feel as if I never could love him again." 'Again the voice became choked and hoarse and the lad gave way to a fresh agony of tears. After a while he grew calmer, and said in a whisper: "Mother, pray for me—pray with me, that I may bear this cross with Christian fortitude, and be taught to forgive my enemies—yes, as He, the dear Master, forgave them," he continued, reverently folding his hands together, "and gave His life for sinners like me, and died, the just for the unjust." 'They prayed long and earnestly, that sorrowful mother and son. At length a light broke over the pallid countenance of the youth; he raised his head slowly and with difficulty from that dear mother's supporting arms, and gazed into her tearful eyes with a look of unutterable love. "Mother, blessed mother," he whispered, "the agony is over; I feel calm and happy now. Our prayers are accepted; the divine peace which Christ bestowed upon His disciples, His last, best gift, is filling my heart, and the anger I felt at my dear father's unjust suspicions is lost in pity and love. My sorrows are over; his, alas! are to come. To you, dearest mother, I leave the task of reconciliation. You will vindicate my memory, and teach him to respect me in death. And that miserable old man—tell him to deal gently with him for my sake. Tell him that I forgive him, that he must forgive him also, and lead the sinner back to God." He paused, and panted for breath. "George," cried the terrified mother, "you are ill; let me send for Dr. Aldis, and call your father." '"Too late! who can heal a broken heart? It will soon be over. God is dealing very gently with me, beloved mother. Let the thought console you that you have a son in heaven. But my father, my dear, unhappy father, may God comfort him! It grows very dark; I cannot see your sweet face, mother, but all around is joy and peace." 'A shade passed over the noble young face, a tremor shook the slight frame of the dying boy, and the enfranchized spirit, throwing off the last coil of clay, followed the unseen messenger to the land of the hereafter. 'A shriek, a loud, piercing shriek, rang through the silent house. Dr. Leatrim started from his knees and rushed up-stairs. The next moment he was standing beside the bed of his son, upon which his wife was sitting with the head of the dead boy in her lap. 'The Doctor staggered like a drunken man, and held to the bed-post for support. He comprehended the awful truth at a glance, but the conviction was too terrible to receive at once. It was an illusion of the senses, a ghastly vision; it was too dreadful to be a hard, everyday fact. He had poured out his soul to God; had deplored to the great Judge that his sentence had been too severe, that kindness would have done more to soften the proud heart of the boy than the violent course he had adopted. He had just made up his mind to go to George, and once more address him with love and confidence, when that horrid cry, wrung from a mother's breaking heart, closed the doors of mercy for ever, and left him desolate and childless. '"Mary," he gasped out, "do not say that he is dead! It is but sleep or exhaustion. It cannot be that he is dead?" 'His wife was quite calm now. With a mournful smile she pointed to the beautiful face of the dead. "The seal of God is on that brow. Your severity could only destroy the body; God has claimed the soul. I cannot weep for him; he is happier than his parents. Can you now look in that pure face and believe him guilty?" '"O woman, great is your faith. But the proof—how can I do away with the proof of his crime?" '"Leave that to me. I have a solemn duty to perform for my murdered son. May God give me strength for the task. Call Ralph Wilson, but do not tell him what has happened." 'Humbled and subdued, but still unconvinced of his son's innocence, the 'Mrs. Leatrim motioned to him to approach the bed. 'Rigid and immoveable, the Doctor resumed his place, still grasping the bed-post to support him from falling. Mrs. Leatrim spoke slowly and with some effort, but every word fell distinctly upon his ear. '"Ralph Wilson, this is your work!" '"I, my lady? I did not kill him! I did not strike him hard enough for that. It was the Doctor that ordered me to do it. I begged him to have mercy on the lad. O Lord! who would have thought of his taking a little beating so to heart?" 'The old man turned from the bed, and cried aloud. '"A slanderous tongue is sharper than a two-edged sword; to noble natures like his, it strikes home to the heart. Ralph Wilson, you are an old man standing on the very verge of the grave. You accused my son of theft, and declared on your word of honour as a Christian that you saw him commit the robbery!" '"Yes, my lady. A dreadful business, my lady, but too true." '"I demand, in proof of this, that you come here and lay your hands upon the brow of your victim, and swear by the living God, by your hopes of salvation through the blood of Christ, that you saw George Leatrim commit this crime." 'The man made a few steps forward. His face became livid, large drops of perspiration trickled down his forehead, his teeth chattered together, and a universal spasm convulsed his features. '"You dare not do it!" said Mrs. Leatrim, pointing to the calm, majestic face of her son. "To witness against him now were to lie in the face of God!" '"I have murdered him!" sobbed the old man, sinking on his knees at his master's feet "It was I who stole the money." '"You, Ralph?" and the Doctor tried to shake himself free from the grasp of the withered hands that clutched his garments. "Oh, my poor injured boy!" '"Yes, I did it," continued Ralph, in a tone of despair. "The devil tempted me, as he did Judas to betray his Master. I have been a hypocrite all my life. I loved gold—I worshipped it—I lost no opportunity of obtaining it when I could escape detection; but it has destroyed my miserable soul." '"But why lay the robbery of the box on George?" asked Dr. Leatrim. '"But he did," returned the old man bitterly. "He never loved me. I saw it in his eye. I knew it by his manner. He believed me to be a rogue, though he dared not express his opinion in words. I hated him because he knew my character; and to ensure my own safety, I denounced him." '"And what do you think of your work?" and the Doctor turned Ralph's face towards the dead. '"Mercy! mercy!" shrieked the felon. "I would rather die upon the gallows than look in that face again." '"You will have to meet it once more, and that before long, Ralph 'With a heavy groan the old man fell down in a swoon at his master's feet. '"Deal gently with Ralph," said a low voice from the bed. "George made it his dying request. He not only forgave him his sin against himself, but charged you to do so for his sake. My dear afflicted husband," continued Mrs. Leatrim, "let us be thankful to the heavenly Father that He has cleared the stain of guilt from the memory of a beloved son, and placed him beyond the power of sin and temptation for ever."' 'And what became of the wicked old man?' said I eagerly. 'That night Mrs. Leatrim died. Her son's tragic end brought on a fatal return of her dangerous malady. When Ralph heard of her death, he went out and hung himself. What Dr. Leatrim's feelings were at this unlooked-for desolation of all his earthly hopes, one can only imagine, it is impossible to describe. One grave contained the mortal remains of the mother and son, and the sad story created for the bereaved husband and father a world-wide sympathy. 'It was some years after the occurrence of this domestic tragedy before I visited Westcliff. Time had softened the anguish of the wound, but it was still unclosed, and left the traces of a deep, incurable grief in my uncle's face. He had become a drooping, white-haired man, but was still at his post, a faithful and zealous minister of the gospel. 'Sorrow had worn smooth all the harsh angles in his character, and made him simple and affectionate as a little child. He had borne the cross and worn the crown of thorns, and, purified by self-denial and suffering, had found love a more powerful weapon than fear in bringing souls to Christ. His calamities had endeared him to his people, and he had become their pastor in the truest sense of the word. 'On the anniversary of the day when George and his mother died, Dr. Leatrim holds a solemn fast, and excludes himself from every eye, spending the long day in meditation and prayer. 'One fine summer evening last July, I was strolling through Westcliff churchyard, and found the dear old man lying on the turf that covered the remains of his wife and son. He called me to him. '"This little hillock of green sod," he said, "contains all that was once dearest to me on earth. My heart rebelled against God when my treasures were taken from me; but the Judge of all the earth knew what was best for my eternal peace. It was not until these idols were shattered in the dust that I discovered that I was poor, and blind, and naked, and not a righteous man, wiser and better than my neighbours. In my deep sorrow and humiliation I was taught the knowledge of myself; that I was still in my sins, a proud, unregenerated man. Yes; I can now acknowledge with the deepest gratitude, that, heavy and maddening as the blow was, it was necessary to bring me to God, and make me a true Christian." 'I went up to the monument. It was a simple urn of white marble, surrounded by beautiful flowering shrubs. The inscription that recorded the untimely death of his son made me start, it was so painfully characteristic of the truthfulness of the father: '"Here, repose in peace the mortal remains of George Leatrim, who died at the age of 15, of a broken heart, caused by a false accusation and the unchristian severity of his too credulous father. Reader, mourn not for the dead, but weep sore for the living." 'I saw that my uncle was watching me with his eyes full of tears. 'He told me the sad story you have just read, sitting beside that grave in the dim twilight. How much I respected the undying love of the faithful heart, that never sought to spare himself in the mournful narration. '"Ah," he said, rising from his recumbent posture, and speaking in a cheerful, hopeful voice, "How little we 'know of the spirit of which we are made.' I have reason to rejoice—ay! and I do rejoice—that God gave me such a son, and that he died a true Christian martyr, forgiving and praying for the wretched sinners that caused his death."' Produced by Barry Simpson, Juliet Sutherland, Tonya Allen, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. This file was produced from images generously made available by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions. We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, even years after the official publication date. 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