se I ought to
have been horrified with his story, but, strange to say, I was not. It
certainly is not pleasant to be made the recipient of the confidence
of a murderer, but this poor fellow seemed to have had, not only so
much provocation, but so much self-denying purpose in his deed of
blood that I did not feel called upon to pass judgment upon him. My
purpose was to comfort, so I spoke out with what calmness I could, for
my heart was beating fast and heavily:

'You need not despair, Jacob Settle. God is very good, and His mercy
is great. Live on and work on in the hope that some day you may feel
that you have atoned for the past.' Here I paused, for I could see
that deep, natural sleep this time, was creeping upon him. 'Go to
sleep,' I said; 'I shall watch with you here and we shall have no more
evil dreams tonight.'

He made an effort to pull himself together, and answered:

'I don't know how to thank you for your goodness to me this night, but
I think you had best leave me now. I'll try and sleep this out; I feel
a weight off my mind since I have told you all. If there's anything of
the man left in me, I must try and fight out life alone.'

'I'll go tonight, as you wish it,' I said; 'but take my advice, and do
not live in such a solitary way. Go among men and women; live among
them. Share their joys and sorrows, and it will help you to forget.
This solitude will make you melancholy mad.'

'I will!' he answered, half unconsciously, for sleep was overmastering
him.

I turned to go, and he looked after me. When I had touched the latch I
dropped it, and, coming back to the bed, held out my hand. He grasped
it with both his as he rose to a sitting posture, and I said my
goodnight, trying to cheer him:

'Heart, man, heart! There is work in the world for you to do, Jacob
Settle. You can wear those white robes yet and pass through that gate
of steel!'

Then I left him.

A week after I found his cottage deserted, and on asking at the works
was told that he had 'gone north', no one exactly knew whither.

Two years afterwards, I was staying for a few days with my friend Dr.
Munro in Glasgow. He was a busy man, and could not spare much time for
going about with me, so I spent my days in excursions to the Trossachs
and Loch Katrine and down the Clyde. On the second last evening of my
stay I came back somewhat later than I had arranged, but found that
my host was late too. The maid told me that he had been sent for t