Lacy was quite overcome: he sat down, covered his face, and wept. Even Mary spared a look of kindness from her dying husband to the awakened sinner. The clergyman had been sent for, and now came in: he looked with concern on poor Connor, who forgot his own sufferings, and pointing to Lacy, said, “Comfort him,” then whispered Mary to send for Susan. The clergyman touched Lacy’s shoulder, and said, “My friend, raise yourself, and behold the instructive scene—the death-bed of a Christian.” He obeyed, and came near the bed with those who had arrived to visit their dying neighbour; for Connor was loved, or at least respected by all who knew him. “Sir,” said Connor to the clergyman, “I trust that my sins, which are many and great, are forgiven.” “The blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin,” replied the clergyman, “only believe, and thou shalt see the glory of God.” “It is so,” cried Connor, “I feel it, I leave my wife and children; but my Saviour I cannot leave; to him I cling.” “And he will support you,” replied the clergyman, “through the dark valley of the shadow of death. This is no late death-bed repentance; you, my brother, sought the Lord and he was found of you: you came to Jesus for help, when health and strength were your own, and he will not leave nor forsake you now in your distress.” “Yet I cannot help feeling some anxiety,” said Connor, “when I remember that the years I passed in sinful blindness of heart, are far more than the days in which I strove to walk with God.” “It is the gracious promise of our God,” replied the Clergyman, “to his believing people, that their sins and iniquities he will remember no more.” Susan now came in, but was too much shocked to speak. “My dear,” said Connor to Mary, “cherish that poor couple, and with God’s help strive to assist them in their way to heaven.” He was now going apace: they all kneeled down and joined the clergyman in prayers for the dying man. Connor uttered some faint sounds—Mary bent to hear them; his words were, “I know that my Redeemer liveth,” and they were his last. The poor widow arose: dreadful was the struggle between the repinings of nature and pious resignation, but the latter prevailed: she raised her clasped hands and said, “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord!” Susan looked at her: she recollected her own sinful passion and resentment on her late trifling loss; she condemned herself, she knew that she could never make her own peace with God, and for the first time in her life she felt the want of a Mediator.