Then the old woman covered up her face with her apron and was silent.  I waited a minute or two, and then I again spoke to her.

“Will you not answer my question, mother?  Your son has but an hour perhaps to live, and he dies penitent not only for his conduct to you, but for his lawless and wicked life; but he feels his treatment of you to be worse than all his other crimes, and he has sent me to beg that you will forgive him before he dies.  Answer me, mother.”

“Jack,” said Nanny, removing the apron from her face, “I feel as if it was I who ought to ask his pardon, and not he who should ask mine.  Who made him bad?—­his foolish mother.  Who made him unable to control his passions?—­his foolish mother.  Who was the cause of his plunging into vice—­of his intemperance, of his gaming, of his wild and desperate career—­which might have ended, as I supposed it had done, on the gallows—­but a foolish, weak, selfish mother, who did not do her duty to him in his childhood?  It is I who was his great enemy—­I who assisted the devil to lead him to destruction—­I who, had he been hanged, had been, and have felt for years that I was, his executioner.  Can I forgive him!  Can he forgive me?”

“Mother, his time is short—­I will come to you again, and tell you much more.  But if you knew how earnest he is to have your forgiveness before he dies, you would at once send me away to him.”

“Then go, my child—­go, and may you often be sent on such kind missions!  Go, and tell my poor James that his mother forgives him—­begs to be forgiven—­still dotes upon him—­and God knows with how much pleasure would die for him!  Go quick, child—­the sands of the glass run fast—­quick, child—­the dying cannot wait—­quick—­quick!”

Nanny had risen from her stool and taken me by the arm; when we were clear of the threshold she loosed me, and sank down to the earth, whether overcome by her feelings, or in a state of insensibility, I did not wait to ascertain—­I fled to execute my mission before it was too late.

In a few minutes I was at the hospital—­breathless, it was true.  I went in, and found Spicer still alive, for his eyes turned to me.  I went up to him; the nurse, who was standing by him, told me he was speechless, and would soon be gone.  I told her I would remain with him, and she went to the other patients.  I gave him his mother’s message, and he was satisfied; he squeezed my hand, and a smile, which appeared to illumine like a rainbow his usual dark and moody countenance, intimated hope and joy; in a few seconds he was no more, but the smile continued on his features after death.

I then returned to old Nanny, who, I found, had been put into bed by some neighbors, and at her bedside was Mrs. St. Felix, who had been passing by and had observed her situation.  She was now recovered and quiet.  As soon as they had left her I entered into a more full detail of how I became acquainted with the circumstances which led to the discovery.  I did not conceal from her that it was her own son who had attempted the robbery; and I wound up by stating that he had died, I really believed, not only penitent, but happy from having received her forgiveness.