“I commend me to your Lordship’s kind thoughts,” said Bernard. “Meantime, as I take all the blame of the outrage to myself, I would pray your Lordship to do me a grace therein so far, as to suffer the innocent prisoner to be visited by his daughter.” The minister hesitated a moment. Then, with more composure, he caught up a slip of paper from the table, and, laying it down before him, proceeded to write thereon. After he had crossed it with a few lines, he folded it in the form of a letter, and (for he had wax and a lighted taper ready at hand), sealing it up, superscribed it to the Governor of Newgate. This done, he presented it to Bernard. “Here is a pass for her,” he said. “And remember thee,” he added, in a significant tone, “thou art in great peril thyself. No more! we will talk on’t to-morrow.” Bernard, thus admonished, made no reply, but accepted the letter in silence. Thrusting it into his vest, he dropped a humble bow to the premier, and turned from the chamber. Having passed out of the chamber, he did not linger without, but pushed forward, under the guidance of the servant, who was in waiting there, to the hall, and thence to the street. The bitter passion which he had felt on entering the mansion of the minister, as described heretofore, had passed away, and his heart was weighed down no longer. Indeed, he felt more cheerful and composed than he had been for many years. He was still melancholy, but his melancholy was more rational, and less despondent, and nearer to that which arises from ordinary causes, than was its wont. The world seemed to open to him a new and more material sphere. The cloud that had so long pressed on his spirit, overshadowing and distorting every perception, was now dispelled, and, in the light which it unveiled, he discerned every individual object in its own proper colours. Nevertheless, he was not altogether free from anxiety. It is true, he felt comparatively easy concerning Sir Edgar de Neville, as he conceived, however prematurely, that he had quite cleared that personage from the crime and purposes imputed to him. But in achieving this vindication, on which he raised such a promising and felicitous perspective, he had brought great danger on himself. Though he had rendered Burleigh such important services, he was not so sure that, in a case like the present, they would receive that consideration which was necessary to his safety, as to feel perfectly confident respecting the issue. But if, in this respect, his solicitude was painful, the consciousness that it was the effect of an act of reparation was soothing, and, in the “exceeding great reward” of an appeased conscience, he was strengthened against the evil of the impendent consequence.