ssion between his conscience and his guilt was torn away. The past
rushed upon his memory with dreadful rapidity and truth, and horrible
conviction flashed upon his soul, as he unwillingly acknowledged himself
to be the murderer of his wife and child. Remorse, as usual, followed,
treading upon the heels of conviction--such remorse, that, in a short
space, the agony became insupportable.

After an ineffectual struggle of pride, he seized the line which was
attached to the bell-rope, and, when his summons was obeyed, desired
that the vicar might be immediately requested to come to him.

Acquainted with the admiral's situation, the vicar had anxiously waited
the summons which he was but too well aware would come, for he knew the
human heart, and the cry for aid which the sinner in his fear sends
forth. He was soon in the presence of the admiral, for the first time
since the day that he quitted the house with the letter of the
unfortunate Peters in his possession. The conversation which ensued
between the agitated man, who had existed only for this world, and the
placid teacher, who had considered it (as he inculcated) as only, a
preparation for a better, was too long to be here inserted. It will be
sufficient to say, that the humbled and terrified wretch, the sufferer
from disease, and greater sufferer from remorse, never could have been
identified with the once proud and over-bearing mortal who had so long
spurned at the precepts of religion, and turned a deaf ear to the mild
persuasions of its apostle.

"But that letter!" continued the admiral, in a faltering voice--"what
was it? I have yet one child alive--Oh, send immediately for him, and
let me implore his forgiveness for my cruelty."

"That letter, sir, was written but one hour previously to his death."

"His death!" cried the admiral, turning his eyes up to the ceiling.
"God have mercy on me! then I have murdered him also. And how did he
die? Did he starve, as I expressed in my horrid--horrid wish?"

"No, sir; his life was forfeited to the offended laws of his country."

"Good God, sir!" hastily replied the admiral, whose ruling passion--
pride--returned for the moment, "you do not mean to say that he was
hanged?"

"Even so; but here is the letter which he wrote--read it."

The admiral seized the letter in his tremulous hand, and devoured every
word as he perused it. He let it fall on his knees, and said, in a
subdued voice, "My God!--my God!--and