! under the ban
I must remain! But do not _you_, my lord duke, believe me guilty of
my master's death! Guilty of much I am! Guilty of neglect of duty, but
not of my master's death! The Heavens that hear me know it! Oh, pray,
pray try to believe it, my lord duke!" pleaded the wretch, still
kneeling, still lifting his clasped hands in an agony of appeal.

"Get upon your feet, Potts. Never kneel to any man. To do so is to
degrade yourself and the man to whom you kneel. Get up, before I speak
another word to you," said the duke.

The miserable creature struggled to his feet and stood leaning against
the bulwarks of the bridge, for support.

"Now, then, if you are not guilty, if your conscience acquits you in the
sight of Heaven of all complicity in your late master's death, why should
you feel and show such extreme distress--distress that has worn your
frame to a skeleton, and stricken your life with old age?" gravely
demanded the duke.

"Why?--oh, your grace! I loved my master as a son his father! He was more
like a father than a master to me. And he was cut off suddenly by a
bloody death! In the midst of my grief for his loss I was arrested and
accused of murdering him--my beloved master. I have seen the gallows
looming before me for the last three months. I have been shut in prison,
with no companions but my own awful thoughts. I have been put on trial
for my life. And though the jury could not convict me, it would not
acquit me! though I am set at large for the present, I am subject to
re-arrest and trial for death, if new evidence, however false, should
arise against me. Meanwhile, no one believes me innocent. All believe me
guilty. No one will ever speak to me. They made the inn too hot to hold
me. My life is ruined--my heart is broken! Is not all that enough, lord
duke, to have worn my body to a skeleton and turned my hair gray, without
remorse of conscience?" impetuously demanded the man.

"No, Potts, it is not. Nothing but remorse, it seems to me, could so
reduce a man," gravely replied the duke.

"Oh, your grace! you still believe me guilty of my good master's murder!"
passionately exclaimed the man. "Ah, Heaven! what will become of me? I
shall die unless I can have the stay of _some_ one's faith in me!"

"Potts," said the duke, in a softened tone, "I do not now think that you
had any active or conscious share in the foul murder of Sir Lemuel
Levison. But not the less do I see that you are suffering from re