'You must go, ma'am, this blessed minute, for poor Ned Saunders is dying, and he says he cannot die in peace until he sees you. He has been raving crazy ever since the night he was brought to my house; but this morning he had a long sleep, and when he came out of it, his reason was all straight--but such a distressed creature you never see. He says he cannot live, and that he must see you--as he has something to tell you which he dare not tell to any one else. You don't know, Mrs. Brown, what a worry I am in; for you see Cross has charged me, by the worth of my life, to let him know the moment Ned had his reason. But I am afraid there have been some evil doings, from what Ned says; and if Cross should get there before I return, there is no telling what he might do to me.' 'Well, Margaret, wait here a minute until I put my things on.' The widow was soon in readiness; and having committed matters to the charge of David Cross, without giving any particulars further than that she had a call to a neighbor's, closed the door and went on her way, dark as was the night and gloomy the errand on which she was bound. Margaret led the way; and excited by an impulse of some terrible kind, hurried on through the dark forest with maniac impetuosity. Their path was a difficult one to traverse, for it lay through an unfrequented region, and the opening by which they went, it was almost impossible to trace by the feeble light which yet glimmered from the close of day. Guided almost by instinct, Margaret pioneered, and the widow followed with all the speed she could make. For awhile they skirted the side of a thick and tangled swamp, and then turning a little to the right, came at once upon the feeble twinkle of a pine torch from the window of a log hut. 'Anybody been here, Ned?' 'No one. Has she come?' 'She is here.' And the sick man raised his eyes to catch a glimpse of her he had wished so much to see, while a smile almost lighted up his wild and haggard countenance. 'Oh, Aunty!'--this was the familiar title by which the good woman was generally addressed--'oh, Aunty! I'm so glad you're come. I'm a'most gone.' 'I hope not, Edward.' 'Yes, I am. I thought I couldn't die till I see you. You've often talked to me, you know--and I thought it was all foolish--I don't think so now.' He had to pause, for his feelings were greatly excited, and his frame apparently near dissolution. She put her hand upon his forehead, and felt that the death-damp was gathering there. She wiped his face with a cloth, and bathed his temples with some spirit: this revived him a little, and apparently in an agony to unburden his mind, he seized the first return of a little strength. 'Oh, I have been so wicked! I shall go to hell--I know I shall.' 'Are you truly sorry, Edward, that you have sinned against God?' 'Oh, yes! I'm sorry--but what shall I do? I know I deserve to be punished; but oh, Aunty! how can I meet God?'