He became sensible of his need of a Saviour; and never after forsook the help he found in his necessity, but became useful and exemplary, and even the means, by the blessing of God, of saving others of his comrades and companions. He died on the 17th of December, 1836, after affording to all around him, a Christian example of patience under suffering affliction. He was interred in the churchyard at Sutton, and a stone at the head of his grave contains the following inscription:-- IN MEMORY OF EDWARD CATCHPOLE, A NATIVE OF IPSWICH, IN THE COUNTY OF SUFFOLK, AND LATE CHIEF OFFICER OF THE COASTGUARD STATIONED AT THIS PLACE, WHO DIED DECEMBER THE 17TH, 1836, AGED 58 YEARS. _Sutton-in-the-Marsh_, Jan. 1847.] CHAPTER XXV THE ESCAPE Margaret had not heard of the capture of Laud; and he, even in his then degraded condition, looked upon it as a thing not to be desired that she should hear of. She had been engaged in washing for Mrs. Ripshaw. At that time the large linen-horses belonging to the gaol stood in the passage between the debtors' and felons' yards. Margaret had occasion to remove those horses into the drying-ground. For this purpose she had to pass through the governor's apartment into the thoroughfare between these two yards. A strong palisade of oak, with sharp tenter-hooks on their tops, stood on each side of this stone passage, leading from the turnkey's lodge to the governor's rooms at the centre of the prison. As Margaret was in the act of removing one of these horses, she saw a sailor standing by the wall on the debtors' side. A sailor in prison would interest her at any time; but this sailor looked so very like Will Laud that she stood still with astonishment. He evidently saw her, and as he approached toward the place where she stood, her heart was convulsively beating, and a tremor came over her limbs. He came nearer: it was Laud. She saw him again after the lapse of years; him whom her earliest and warmest feelings had acknowledged as her lover. She had never in her heart deserted him for an hour; yet he had hardly ever been constant to anything. He approached, however, and Margaret, pretending to be engaged in removing the linen-horses, felt her hands and feet tremble exceedingly. She heard the well-known voice, which sounded like music in her ears, say, "Margaret, is that you? How are you, Peggy?" She tried all she could to summon courage to speak, but her heart was so full, her breast heaved so rapidly, that she could not utter a word; tears stood in her eyes, and she tried to smile through them; but, in the act of lifting one of those great horses off the pegs, her hands and knees could not support the weight, but down fell the horse upon her,