if I had not held my tongue.
You attempted to murder the old woman to obtain her money, and, in
escaping, you received the wound which soon will bring you to your
grave."

"What proofs?"

"Every proof: your stump struck me in the face when you rushed out--the
button was off your coat the next morning when I met you--I had every
proof, and, had I chosen, would have sworn on the Bible to your having
been the party."

"Well, I'll not deny it--why should I, when I cannot be taken out of
this bed to be tried, even if you wished? Have you more to say?"

"Yes, more."

"I doubt it."

"Then hear me. The poor woman whom you would have murdered, whom I
found at her last gasp, and with difficulty restored to consciousness,
that poor woman, Spicer, is _your own mother_!"

"God of Heaven!" exclaimed he, covering his face.

"Yes, Spicer, your fond indulgent mother, who thinks that you suffered
the penalty of the law many years ago, and whose energies have been
crushed by the supposed unhappy fate of her still loved and lamented
son. Spicer, this is all true, and have you now nothing to repent of?"

"I thought her dead, long dead. God, I thank Thee that I did not the
deed; and, Jack, I am really grateful to you for having prevented it.
Poor old woman!--yes, she did love me, and how cruelly I treated her!--
and she is then still alive, and thinks that I was hanged--yes, I
recollect now, she must think so. Oh! my brain, my brain!"

"Spicer, I must leave you now."

"Don't leave me, Jack--yes, do,--come to-morrow morning."

"Spicer, will you do me a favour?"

"Yes."

"Will you see Anderson, and talk with him?"

"Yes, if you wish it; but not now: this evening I will, if he'll come."

I left Spicer well satisfied with what had passed, and hastened to
Anderson, to communicate it to him.

"A strange and providential discovery, Tom, indeed," said he, "and good
use it appears to me you have made of it: his heart is softened, that is
evident. I will certainly go to him this evening."

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

SPICER DISCLOSES STRANGE MATTERS.

The next day, when I called to see Spicer, I found him in great pain.
Anderson had been with him, but he had been in such agony that he found
it almost impossible to converse with him. Spicer did not like that I
should leave him, although he could not talk, and I therefore remained
by his bedside, occasionally assisting him to move from one position to
another, or to take t