The scream of delight with which Ruth opened her arms, and clasped her to her breast, crying out, “_Agnes Elwyn!_—my dear, dear Agnes!” convinced her that in heart at least her old school-mate was unchanged. Ruth immediately took Agnes to her own room, that they might be undisturbed, for she guessed at once her purpose in coming; and then Agnes opened to her her burdened heart; relating all her brother’s history; telling her of his naturally strong passions, and saying all that was necessary to say, in justice to her brother, of the injudicious training he had received; at the same time treating her mother’s memory with all possible delicacy and respect. “And now, dear Ruth,” she said, “I do not come to ask that my young brother shall be permitted to walk forth to do like evil again;—there would be no danger of that, even if he were not greatly changed, as I solemnly believe he is, in heart and temper; for his doom is sealed; consumption is wasting his frame;—we only ask that we may carry him forth to die and be buried among his kindred. Oh! how he pines for the free air and the blue sky, and longs to die elsewhere than in a condemned cell! If I might be permitted to remove him to my uncle’s kind home, where he could have comforts and friends about him, I could close his eyes, it seems to me, with thankfulness, for I do believe that the Christian’s hope is his.” Ruth’s sympathizing tears had been flowing down her cheeks, as, with her hand clasping that of Agnes, she had listened to her sad story. She now rose, and said she would go to her husband, who was slightly indisposed, and confined to his room, and prepare him to see Agnes. “And do, Agnes, talk to him just as you have done to me,” she said. “He is called a stern man; but he has tender feelings, I can assure you, if the right chord is only touched.” Ruth was gone a long time, and Agnes walked the floor of her room in a state of suspense and agitation only equalled by that of the night after the trial. At length Ruth returned: she looked sad and troubled.