[73 THE HOSPITAL OF ST. JOHN. 



living man ; I will never ask a blessing from any, here or hereafter !" 

 " My son, my son, v said Eustace, " it is no disgrace to ask the bless- 

 ing of an old man ; it is no humiliation to human pride to be found 

 at the throne of Mercy, in prayer or in praise. It is the aim of our 

 holy religion to save and not to slay, to win and not to lose the soul. 

 It is the aim of our faith to succour the feeble, to heal the broken and 

 contrite heart, and to promise a rest above for the lowly and sincerely 

 penitent. " " Sir Priest, " exclaimed the stranger fiercely, * a murrain 

 on you and on your religion ; and out upon you for a sly and med- 

 dling knave. " Father Eustace turned to him with a look of mingled 

 pity and sorrow, and answered not. After a brief pause, the stranger 

 thus resumed : " Henry Trevanion ! Marvel not that I know you ! 

 [ have treated you with ingratitude and harshness, and here on m\ 

 bended knee which has never yet bowed to any living man, I implore 

 forgiveness. " lie seized the old man's hand, and dropt upon it a 

 burning solitary tear, and then continued ; " Do not shrink from me 

 because I am an outcast, do not spurn me from you berause 1 am 

 irreclaimable. You see before you the wreck of ambition, pride, and 

 sin ! Despised by all, pitied by none> I have lived a wanderer for ten 

 unhappy summers ; and now that my time approaches, I kneel before 

 one of my thousand victims, and ask forgiveness. Trevanion ! Kne\N 

 you ever Matilda Robson ? " Father Kustace tore his hand from tin 

 iron grasp which held it, and covering his face with his thin and shri- 

 velled finger?, wept in very bitterness of spirit. " Matilda Kobson ! 

 Oh ! my own, my dearest Matilda ! my fondest and my best beloved ! 

 How can I forget thee ever? " " Henry Trevanion, said the stranger 

 "hark to me. Vengeance is at hand. The being who tore her from 

 thy heart will soon meet with his reward, and in a few short hours the 

 earth will be rid of its blackest stain ! 



" Sir," said Eustace, " I comprehend you not. You speak in 

 teries. " " which will soon want no explanation, " rejoined the other. 

 Hark to my tale, and let me \YA\ e no sympathy to link me longer with 

 a life which I abhor. It was when Sir Sidney Rob?on's prosperity 

 \vas at its prime, that I was admitted to the society of his lovely 

 daughter. She had \vt-alth, and beauty. I saw her and loved her; 

 but I felt that within me which laughed at love, an unbounded 

 passion for riches and gaiety a desire that she should figure in my 

 Father's halls not in her own charms nor in my affections, but that 

 she should minister to my selfish amusements, and form a part in the 

 fabric of my covetous pleasures. It was at that time, Trevanion, thai 

 1 heard of your plighted troth. I saw that you were favored : and de- 

 termined, with a villain's art, to defy your power. My task was tor> 



