ose of Geoffrey of Coutances, that he was about to die as a
patriot, and not as a sacrilegious incendiary.

It was the object of this worthy prelate to save the soul, where he
had failed to save the body, and to direct the thoughts of the
condemned one to Him, who Himself hung like a criminal between
earth and heaven, that He might save all who would put their trust
in Him.

The great obstacle in Wilfred's mind was his inability to forgive.
This his visitor soon perceived, and by the example of those dying
words, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," he
gently impressed upon the penitent the duty of forgiving those who
had wronged him--however deeply.

"But how can I forgive the murderers of my mother?"

"Thou believest that mother is in Paradise?"

"Indeed I do."

"Dost thou not wish to be with her at last?"

"As the hart desireth the water brooks."

"Then ask thyself what she would have thee do. Canst thou hope for
the pardon of thine own grievous sins, unless thou dost first
forgive all who have offended thee?"

"I will try. See me again tomorrow, father."

"I will do so: I remain at St. Frideswide's for--a day or two."

Wilfred understood the hesitation.

A different scene transpired simultaneously in the dungeons below,
which, with their accustomed ruthless policy, the Normans had
hollowed out of the soil.

The Jew, Abraham of Toledo, was resting uneasily, full of
fears--which experience too well justified--as to his personal
safety in this den of lions, when he also heard steps, this time
descending the stairs, and Geoffrey of Coutances was ushered in.

"Leave the cell," said the bishop to the gaoler, "but remain in the
passage. Close the door; I would speak with this penitent, as I
trust he will prove, in private."

"Never fear, your holiness," said the gaoler with somewhat undue
familiarity; "I care little for a Jew's patter, and this fellow
will need a long shrift before they make a roast of him--for that,
I suppose, will be the end of it."

The door slammed.

It was a miserable cell, composed of rough stones, lately put
together, oozing with the moisture from the damp soil around, for
the river was close by and the dungeon beneath its level.

"Art thou prepared to meet thy fitting end?"

"What crime have I committed to deserve death?"

"Thou hast knowingly and wilfully abetted, not one but many
poisoners, and the stake is the fitting doom for thee and them."

"Oh!