"A life devoted to your service, sir, could not repay the debt which I owe you," said Kate. "And you, my dear cousin," she continued, turning towards Gibbet, who was seated next to her,—"you also have been no unimportant instrument in rescuing me from infamy and death." "Do not speak of it, Kate," said the hump-back, whimpering like a mere child. "I hope you won't scold me for watching you like a cat every evening as I did." "Scold you, John! Oh! how can you make use of such words to me—and after the service you have rendered me?" exclaimed Kate, tears also streaming down her own cheeks. "I ought to bless God—and I do—to think that your friendship towards me led you to adopt a step to see me, which has turned so wonderfully—so providentially to my advantage." "And now, Kate," said the executioner, "tell me one thing: why didn't you mention to me that evening when you called, that you were going to leave the rector's service?" "Because, my dear uncle," answered the young maiden, "you made one observation to me which showed that you were pleased at the idea of me being in Mr. Tracy's service; and as you were so dull and low-spirited, I did not like to tell you any thing that might occasion you additional vexation. You said—oh! I shall never forget your words—they made me weep as I followed you from the street door into the parlour——" "Yes—because I so seldom spoke kindly to you, poor Kate," exclaimed the executioner, as if struck by a sudden remorse. "Do not say that, dear uncle! I owe so much—so very much to you, that even if you have been harsh to me now and then, I never think of it—and then, perhaps I have deserved it," she added slowly; for the amiable girl was anxious to extenuate her uncle's self-accusation in the eyes of those present. "No—you did _not_ deserve it, Kate!" cried the executioner, with resolute emphasis; "you are a good girl—too good ever to have been in such a den as mine!" Smithers threw himself back in his chair, and compressed his lips together to restrain his emotions. But nature asserted her empire. A tear trickled from each eye, and rolled slowly down the cheeks of that man whose heart had been so brutalized by his fearful calling. Kate rose from her chair, and threw herself into his arms, exclaiming, "Uncle—dear uncle, if you speak kindly to me, I am indeed happy!" Gibbet cried, and yet laughed—sobbed, and yet smiled, in so strange a manner, as he contemplated that touching scene, that the result of his emotions presented the most ludicrous aspect. "Sit down, Kate dear," said Smithers: "I am not used to be childish;—and yet, I don't know how it is, but I don't seem ashamed of dropping a tear now. I know I'm a harsh, brutal man: but what has made me so? God, who can read all hearts, has it written down in his book that I was once possessed of the same kind feelings as other people. However—it's no use talking: what I am I must remain until the end."