within him—­such was our labourer, penitent in prison; and when he contrasted his peaceful, pure, and Christian course those forty years of poverty, with his blasphemous and infidel career for the one bad week of wealth, he had no patience with himself—­only felt his fall the greater; and his judgment of his own guilt, with a natural exaggeration, went the length of saying—­I am scarcely less guilty before God and man, than if, indeed, my hands were red with murder, and my casual finding had been robbery.  He would make no strong appeals to the bar of justice, as an innocent condemned; not he—­not he:  innocent, indeed? his wicked, wicked courses—­(an old man, too—­gray-headed, with no young blood in him to excuse, no inexperience to extenuate), these deserved—­did he say hanging? it was a harsher syllable—­hell:  and the contrite sinner gladly would have welcomed all the terrors of the gibbet, in hope to take full vengeance on himself for his wicked thirst for gold and all its bitter consequences.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

GOOD COUNSEL.

BUT Grace advised him better.  “Be humbled as you may before God, my father, but stand up boldly before man:  for in his sight, and by his law, you are little short of blameless.  I would not, dearest father, speak to you of sins, except for consolation under them; for it ill becomes a child to see the failings of a parent.  But when I know at once how innocent you are in one sense, and how not quite guiltless in another, I wish my words may comfort you, if you will hear them, father.  Covetousness, not robbery—­excess, not murder—­these were your only sins; and concealment was not wise, neither was a false report befitting.  Money, the idol of millions, was your temptation:  its earnest love, your fault; its possession, your misfortune.  Forgive me, father, if I speak too freely.  Good Mr. Evans, who has been so kind to us for years, (never kinder than since you were in prison,) can speak better than I may, of sins forgiven, and a Friend to raise the fallen:  it is not for poor Grace to school her dear and honoured father.  If you feel yourself guilty of much evil in the sight of Him before whom the angels bow in meekness—­I need not tell you that your sorrow is most wise, and well-becoming.  But this must not harm your cause with men:  though tired of life, though hopeless in one’s self, though bad, and weak, and like to fall again, we are still God’s servants upon earth, bound to guard the life he gives us.  Neither must you lightly allow the guilt of unrighteous condemnation to fall upon the judge who tries you; nor let your innocent blood cry to God for vengeance on your native land.  Manfully confront the false accuser, tell openly the truth, plead your own cause firmly, warmly, wisely:—­so, God defend the right!”

And as Grace Acton said these words, in all the fervour of a daughter’s love, with a flushed cheek, parted lips, and her right hand raised to Him whom she invoked, she looked like an inspired prophetess, or the fair maid of Orleans leading on to battle.