“Confession is useless, without true repentance,” observed the Blackamoor. “Besides, all your misdeeds are known to me,--your behaviour to your half-sister, Octavia Manners, years ago--your treatment of poor Jacob Smith--your machinations to destroy Thomas Rainford----” “Then, by all this, am I convinced that you _are_ the Earl of Ellingham!” cried Old Death. “Ah! my lord,” he immediately added, in a voice which suddenly changed to a tone of earnest appeal, “do not keep me here any longer! Let me go--and I will leave London for ever! Reflect, my lord--I am an old man--a very old man,--you yourself said so just now,--and you are killing me by keeping me here. Send me out of the country--any where you choose, however distant--and I will thank you: but again I say, do not keep me here.” “When the savage animal goes about preying upon the weak and unwary, he should be placed under restraint,” said the Blackamoor. “You are not repentant, Benjamin Bones! A month have you been here--a month have you been allowed to ponder upon your enormities,--and still your soul is obdurate. Not many minutes have elapsed since you gloried in one of the most infamous deeds of your long and wicked life.” “I spoke of Tom Rain to annoy you--because I was enraged with you for keeping me here,” returned Old Death, hastily. “There have been moments,” he added, after a short pause, “when I have felt sorry for what I did in that respect. I would not do so over again--no, my lord, I assure you I would not! I wish your poor half-brother was alive now--I would not seek to injure him, even if I had the power.” “You speak thus because you have been alone and in the dark,” observed the Blackamoor, in a mournful voice: “but were you restored to freedom--to the enjoyment of the light of God’s own sun--and to the possession of the power of following your career of iniquity, you would again glory in that dreadful deed.” “No,” answered Old Death: “I am sorry for it. I know that my nature is savage and ferocious: but will you tame me by cruelty? And your keeping me here is downright cruelty--and nothing more or less. It makes me vindictive--it makes me feel at times as if I hated you.” “I shall keep you here, nevertheless, for some time longer--aye, and in the dark,” returned the Blackamoor; “because you seek not to subdue your revengeful feelings. It is terrible to think that so old a man should be so inveterately wicked. Do you know that your gang is broken up--rendered powerless? In the cells of this subterranean are Timothy Splint--Joshua Pedler--Mrs. Bunce and her husband--and your agent, Tidmarsh.” “Then I have no hope _from without_!” growled Old Death, his garments again rustling with a movement of savage impatience; and for an instant it struck the Blackamoor that he could see two ferocious eyes gleaming in the dark--but this was doubtless the mere fancy of the moment.