This terrible charge brings the culprit round. He sinks upon the topmost rung of the ladder, as if overcome, and pulls his cap over his eyes, evidently to avoid recognition. Says Susan to herself: ‘He is ashamed, poor creature!’ and seeing the abject attitude of the wretch, she grows bolder, and presses the wondering Jacky to her side, and tells him to take courage. This poor man will not kill them. No—no, indeed. ‘Yes, stealing,’ repeats she, her fair, beautiful face uplifted to the sinner’s above her. There is a second pause, during which, perhaps, the sinner takes note of it. ‘I——’ begins he, then pauses. Susan’s eyes are looking into his, and Susan’s face, implacable and austere, no doubt has daunted him. But Susan tells herself that conscious guilt has rendered him silent. After awhile, however, he makes another attempt. ‘I——’ says he again, and again stops. It is contemptible! Susan turns a scornful glance upon him. ‘It is not to be defended,’ says she. ‘To steal from a garden like this! From a garden that the owner has so kindly left open to many people—who has besides been so kind, and who has helped all the poor in the district. He has given forty blankets where another has given ten, and coals without restriction everywhere. And these beautiful gardens, too—he has given these as a recreation to some who have no lovely gardens of their own; and now you take advantage of a day like this, when all the servants are away, to defraud this kind, kind man and steal his cherries. Oh, how can you bear to be so bad?’ ‘If you would hear me!’ begins the man on the top of the ladder, in a low tone. He is evidently immensely touched by the scorn of the young evangelist below, because his voice is very low and uncertain. ‘There is nothing to be said,’ says Susan, her eyes gleaming with honest disgust. ‘There is no excuse for you. You are here stealing Mr. Crosby’s cherries, and, as I said before, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.’ ‘Still, miss, if you would listen a moment!’ He has pulled his cap even closer over his brows. ‘You needn’t do that,’ says Susan. ‘Poor creature! you need not be afraid of me; I will not give you up to justice!’ ‘Thank you kindly, miss,’ comes from the wretched creature behind the cap. He is evidently struggling with emotion. ‘I don’t want you to thank me,’ says Susan, who is feeling inclined to cry. She has often read of thieves, but never met one until now, and it seems to her, all at once, that they are decidedly interesting, so ready to hear—to receive admonition, too. ‘I want you to promise me that for the future you will abstain from—from thieving of any sort.’ ‘I’ll promise you, miss—I will indeed. I’d promise you anything.’ Poor thing! he seems quite overcome. ‘But, miss, I wasn’t really stealing just now.’