“No, Jem, no; I will not do it.  Let me die, but I will not sin against God.”

Exhausted by the effort he had made, he burst into a violent fit of weeping, alarming Jem greatly, who feared for the results.  But tears were soothing to the sick boy; for tears are said to make the depth of grief seem less, and prove a balm to the soul.  None are wholly evil, and some touch of nature now smote the heart of the reckless journeyman for a moment, as he once more recognised the holy majesty of virtue exhibited in a child.  But how many thoughts can flash upon the soul in an instant!  In that short space a picture of his own life was placed before his mental vision; and as he contrasted his own course with that of the sufferer before him, he felt, for the moment, willing to change places with him.  He waited until the strong burst of feeling had passed over, and his intended victim once more lay still and death-like before him.  He dared venture no further, and his eyes were something moist, and his voice assumed a softer tone, as he rose to take leave for the night.

“Billy,” said he, “you are a good boy; I wish I was half as good, but I know I need not try.  But I still am of the mind that if I had found that money I would have a right to spend it; but I won’t say any more, for I see you are very weak.  Can I do anything for you before I go?”

“You can,” replied William; “ask Thomas—­no, he is not at home—­tell Mrs. Burton to send him in the morning.”

“I believe the old man is your spiritual adviser,” returned Jem; “but I will do as you wish, and come again in the morning; so good-night.”

Left to himself, the sick boy almost immediately fell asleep, or rather into the heavy stupor produced by exhaustion, and which does not shut out the sense of painful realities which surround.  Feverish startings and tossings proved that the soul was not sharing the body’s rest, and dreams, which are said to be of real events the forms and shadows, disturbed him with dark and monstrous images, the fitful phases of which, as they changed, grew yet more fearful and torturing.  His mother, pale and anxious as she looked before her death,—­purses, money, prisons, and judgment-halls,—­all came up in disjointed medley together.  Beads of sweat standing upon his brow showed how great was the suffering, which still increased until, with a start, he awoke.

Oh, what a relief it was to find all only a dream!  The piece of candle left by Mrs. Walters had long since burned out; but the room was not dark, for the bright moon poured in her soft rays, and through the little window he saw the stars, looking calm, as though they were the eyes of angels keeping watch over the slumbering earth.  He knew not the hour, but, dreading to fall asleep again, endeavoured to keep himself awake by recalling those events which his sickness had made him partially forget.  The purse, the temptation to keep the money, the resolution to do right, and the dread of being obliged to yield to Jem Taylor’s persuasions, were the agitating subjects that occupied him.