“Oh!” said Agnes, shuddering, and covering her eyes, as if to shut out some horrid spectacle, “it cannot be!  I cannot bring myself to contemplate it for a moment!”

“And yet it may be, Agnes! or they may spare my life, and doom me to wear out long years of imprisonment, and then send me out into the world a blighted and ruined man!  That is the best I can hope for; and but for the disgrace which would come upon me, I should say the sudden end is better.”

“And what of the future after that, Lewie? for that, after all, is the great concern.”

“The eternal future you mean, Agnes.  Ah! my sister, the prospect there is darker and more dreary still.  I know enough of religion to feel assured that my short life has not been spent in the way to prepare me for a future of happiness; and I am not yet so hardened as to pretend not to dread a future of misery.”

“God grant such may not be your fate, dear brother.  Whether life be long or short, happy or sorrowful, our future depends upon heart-felt repentance here, and faith in the ‘sinner’s Friend.’  You have now time for quiet and reflection.  Oh! improve it dear Lewie, in so humbling yourself before Him whom you have offended, and in so seeking for pardon, that He will bless you and grant you peace.”

“I see, Agnes,” said her brother, with a sad smile, “you want me to follow in the footsteps of all other offenders and criminals, who, after doing all the mischief possible, and living for their own selfish gratification while abroad in the world, spend the time of their imprisonment in acts of penitence and devotion, and go out of the world, as they all invariably do, in the full odor of sanctity, in peace with God, and in charity with men.”

“Is my advice to you in any way different, my dear brother, from what it was when you were free and unrestrained?  Indeed, so much did I dread the effect of your undisciplined temper, and so assured did I feel that for you the grace of God was peculiarly necessary, that I have feared I sometimes made my presence unwelcome by my constant warnings and admonitions.”

“Never, Agnes—­never, dearest sister!  I always thanked you from my inmost heart for your kind, loving, tender counsel; and though apparently I turned it off lightly and carelessly, yet it often sank deep in my heart; and when parted from you, I often thought what a miserable wretch I was not to give better heed to it.”

“Yet, Lewie dear, I will not deny that I think the need more urgent than ever for repentance and pardon now.  I do not wish to harrow up your feelings, dear brother; but, oh! it is an awful thing to send a fellow-creature into eternity!”