Had he done that deed and yet was he not guilty? Did he stand in the position of the manslayer, for whom God's stern law of olden vengeance, in one of those exquisite shadings of mercy, which mark the unchanging unity of our Gospel Lord and Saviour--ordained through ancient Palestine, the sacred cities of refuge? Had he shed this blood unawares? and whence then came the terrible mist which had gathered in his memory about the deed? Was it possible that he could be uncertain of himself?--that he could have forgotten those momentous circumstances? or had his long-diseased brooding over them made imagination and fact stand in his remembrance side by side? At last, the weary day declined. Christian Lillie came to her at sunset, and with few words, bade her follow to the sick room again. Anne obeyed. It was very near now, that awful peace of Death. The emaciated face was sharp and fixed--the stamp was upon his forehead. A little time now, and all earthly agony would be over for him. But there was a tranquil shadow on his face, and the large caverns of Christian's eyes were full of dew, which did not fall, but yet had risen to refresh the burning lids which had kept watch so long. The manuscript was upon the table still--the thin arm lay quietly on the coverlet. A slight shudder passed across his frame as Anne entered; an involuntary thrill of that coward fear which had overwhelmed his nature. Then he turned his eyes upon her with a steadfast, melancholy, lingering look, failing sometimes for a moment as the slow blood crept coldly to his heart in another pang of terror; but renewed again--a sorrowful look of lingering, clinging tenderness, as though he saw in her face the shadow of another--the generous glance of one dearly beloved long ago, who had given up name, and wealth, and honor for his sake. "Christian," he said, "Christian, it comes. I feel that I am entering the dark valley. What I have to do, let me do quickly.--Raise me up." She lifted him in her arms--in her strong devotion she might have borne a threefold weight--the dying man was like an infant in her hands. He took the pen she offered him into his unsteady fingers, and began, in feeble characters, to trace his name at the bottom of the manuscript. While he did so, he murmured broken words. "I am guilty--I am guilty! I only. Lord, Thou knowest who hast saved me! Only his tenderness, like Thine--only his gracious heart, Thy true follower, has screened me, a miserable sinner, from the doom of the slayer! It is I only--my Lord, Thou knowest it is I!" He had signed his name. Christian laid him back tenderly upon the pillow. With a firm hand she placed her own signature at the side of the document, and then gave the pen to Anne. The sister of the man who had done the deed, and the sister of him who had suffered for it--it was meet their names should stand together. Anne added hers. She could form some idea, of what this paper was. She signed it as a witness.