His old companions soon came to see him; not from any real care for himself or his sufferings, but partly to coax and partly to threaten him into silence, so that he might not reveal the names of his companions in the attempt on Foster. But Ned's wife soon gave them to understand that her husband had already had more than enough of their company; that they needn't trouble themselves to call again; and that she hoped, if he was spared, that he would have nothing more to say to any of them as long as he lived. So his old companions in evil, taking this "broad hint" as it was meant, left him in peace, and he had leisure to look a little into the past, and to ponder his sin and folly. He was a man, like many others of his class, not without kindly feelings and occasional good intentions; but these last had ever been as "the morning cloud and the early dew," and like all good resolutions repeatedly broken, had only added fresh rivets to the chains of his evil habits. And so he had plunged deeper and deeper into the mire of intemperance and ungodliness, till scarce the faintest trace of the divine image could be discerned in him. But now his conscience woke up, and he was not left without helpers. Thomas Bradly visited him on the day after his accident, and saw that he was properly cared for. William Foster also called on him in a day or two, and assured him of his hearty forgiveness. The poor unhappy man was deeply touched at this, and, hiding his face in his hands, sobbed bitterly. He was indeed a pitiable object as he lay back on his ragged bed, partly propped up with pillows, his head bound round with a cloth, his left eye half closed, and one arm lying powerless by his side. "William," he said, when he could manage to get the words out, "I don't deserve this, kindness from you of all men in the world; it cuts me to the heart, it does, for sure. I think I heard the parson say once, when he were preaching in the open-air at the market-cross one summer's evening, summat about heaping coals of fire on a man's head as has wronged you, by returning him good for evil. I'm sure, William, you've been and heaped a whole scuttleful of big coals on my head, and they're red-hot every one on 'em." "Well, well," said Foster, much touched by this confession, "it will be all right, Ned, as far as I'm concerned, and I hope you'll soon be better.--I've come to learn," he added in an undertone, and with strong emotion, "my own need of forgiveness for all I've done against my Saviour in days gone by, and it would be strange and wrong indeed if I couldn't heartily forgive a fellow-sinner." "The Lord bless you for that word," said the other; "and let me tell you, William, bad as I've been agen you and poor Jim Barnes, I've never liked this job; and as for that Sharples, I knew as he was the meanest rascal to treat you as he did, and I only wish as I'd had the sense and courage to keep out of the business altogether."