North, coming out of the prison, did not notice the absence ofthe gaoler; indeed, he was not in a condition to notice anything.Bare-headed, without his cloak, with staring eyes and clenched hands, herushed through the gates into the night as one who flies headlong fromsome fearful vision. It seemed that, absorbed in his own thoughts, hetook no heed of his steps, for instead of taking the path which led tothe sea, he kept along the more familiar one that led to his own cottageon the hill. "This man a convict!" he cried. "He is a hero--a martyr!What a life! Love! Yes, that is love indeed! Oh, James North, howbase art thou in the eyes of God beside this despised outcast!" And somuttering, tearing his grey hair, and beating his throbbing temples withclenched hands, he reached his own room, and saw, by the light of thenew-born moon, the dressing-bag and candle standing on the table as hehad left them. They brought again to his mind the recollection of thetask that was before him. He lighted the candle, and, taking the bag inhis hand, cast one last look round the chamber which had witnessed hisfutile struggles against that baser part of himself which had at lasttriumphed. It was so. Fate had condemned him to sin, and he must nowfulfil the doom he might once have averted. Already he fancied he couldsee the dim speck that was the schooner move slowly away from the prisonshore. He must not linger; they would be waiting for him at the jetty.As he turned, the moonbeams--as yet unobscured by the rapidly gatheringclouds--flung a silver streak across the sea, and across that streakNorth saw a boat pass. Was his distracted brain playing him false?--inthe stern sat, wrapped in a cloak, the figure of a man! A fierce gustof wind drove the sea-rack over the moon, and the boat disappeared, asthough swallowed up by the gathering storm. North staggered back as thetruth struck him.
He remembered how he had said, "I will redeem him with my own blood!"Was it possible that a just Heaven had thus decided to allow the manwhom a coward had condemned, to escape, and to punish the coward whoremained? Oh, this man deserved freedom; he was honest, noble, truthful!How different from himself--a hateful self-lover, an unchaste priest,a drunkard. The looking-glass, in which the saintly face of Meekin wassoon to be reflected, stood upon the table, and North, peering into it,with one hand mechanically thrust into the bag, started in insane rageat the pale face and bloodshot eyes he saw there. What a hateful wretchhe had become! The last fatal impulse of insanity which seeks relieffrom its own hideous self came upon him, and his fingers closedconvulsively upon the object they had been seeking.
"It is better so," he muttered, addressing, with fixed eyes, his owndetested image. "I have examined you long enough. I have read yourheart, and written out your secrets! You are but a shell--the shell thatholds a corrupted and sinful heart. He shall live; you shall die!" Therapid motion of his arm overturned the candle, and all was dark.
For the Term of His Natural Life Page 95