“‘And so they ought, Adam. Is there a God? Has he really revealed himself? Are the Scriptures true? Am I the true servant of a true master? If to all this you say _yea_—speak not again distrustfully. If you do—if you so think—then are you too like to be beyond the pale of mercy. I am free, Adam,—you are bound,—yet are both our lives every instant at the command and absolute disposal of Him who gave them, that we might be on trial here for a little while. For aught I know, I may even yet die before you, and with greater pain and grief; but both of us must die, and much of my life is gone for ever. As your frail fellow-mortal, then, I beseech you to listen to me! Our mode of leaving life is ordered by God, even as our mode of living in it. To some he hath ordained riches, others poverty; some pleasure, others misery, in this life; but all for reasons, and with objects best known, nay, known only to himself! Adam, you have now been four days here beyond that which had been appointed you—now that we are alone, have you aught to confide to me, as the minister for whom you have sent? What saith my Master? If you confess your sins, he is faithful and just to forgive you; but if you say that you have no sin, you deceive yourself, and the truth is not in you. And if that last be so, Adam, what shall be said of you, what can be hoped for you?’ “‘If you be thinking of that deed for which I am condemned,’ said Ayliffe, with a sudden radiant countenance, ‘then am I easy and happy. God, my maker, and who will be my judge, knoweth whether I speak the truth. Ay! ay! innocent am I of this deed as you!’ “‘It is right, Adam, that I should tell you that all mankind who know of your case, from the highest down to the lowest, do believe you guilty.’ “‘Ah, sir, is not that hard to bear?’ said Ayliffe, with a grievous sigh, and a countenance that looked unutterable things. “‘It is, Adam—it is hard; yet, were it harder, it must be borne. Here is Lord Milverstoke, who hath lost his son—his only son—the heir to his title and his vast possessions—lost him in this mysterious and horrid way: is not _that_ hard to be borne? Have you, Adam,—I ask you by your precious hopes of hereafter,—animosity towards him who believes you to be his son’s murderer?’ “There was an awful silence for nearly a minute, at the close of which Ayliffe, with an anguished face, said— “‘Oh, sir! give me time to answer you! Pray for me! I know whose example I ought to imitate; but’—he suddenly seemed to have sunk into a reverie, which lasted for some time, at the end of which,—‘Sir—Mr Hylton,’ said he desperately, ‘_am_ I truly to die on Monday week? Oh, tell me! tell me, sir! Life is sweet, I own!’ “He sprung towards Mr Hylton, and convulsively grasped his hands, looking into his face with frenzied earnestness.