“It is but a wreck, a hideous ruin, black with sins; but such as I am, my future, my all, I lay at your feet!  If there is any efficacy in bitter repentance and remorse; if there is any mercy left in my Maker’s hands; if there be saving power in human will, I will atone!  I will atone!”

The strong man trembled like a wave-lashed reed, as he sank on one knee at the minister’s feet, and buried his face in his arms; and spreading his palms over the drooped head, Mr. Hammond gently and solemnly blessed him.

For some time both were silent, and then Mr. Murray stretched out one arm over the slab, and said brokenly: 

“Kneeling here at Murray’s tomb, a strange, incomprehensible feeling creeps into my heart.  The fierce, burning hate I have borne him seems to have passed away; and something, ah! something, mournfully like the old yearning toward him, comes back, as I look at his name.  Oh, idol of my youth! hurled down and crushed by my own savage hands!  For the first time since I destroyed him, since I saw his handsome face whitening in death, I think of him kindly.  For the first time since that night, I feel that—­that—­I can forgive him.  Murray!  Murray! you wronged me! you wrecked me! but oh! if I could give you back the life I took in my madness! how joyfully would I forgive you all my injuries!  His blood dyes my hands, my heart, my soul!”

“The blood of Jesus will wash out those stains.  The law was fully satisfied when He hung on Calvary; there, ample atonement was made for just such sins as yours, and you have only to claim and plead his sufferings to secure your salvation.  St. Elmo, bury your past here, in Murray’s grave, and give all your thoughts to the future.  Half of your life has ebbed out, and yet your life-work remains undone, untouched.  You have no time to spend in looking over your unimproved years.”

“‘Bury my past!’ Impossible, even for one hour.  I tell you I am chained to it, as the Aloides were chained to the pillars of Tartarus! and the croaking fiend that will not let me sleep in memory!  Memory of sins that—­that avenge your wrongs, old man! that goad me sometimes to the very verge of suicide!  Do you know, ha! how could you possibly know?  Shall I tell you that only one thought has often stood between me and self-destruction?  It was not the fear of death, no, no, no!  It was not even the dread of facing an outraged God! but it was the horrible fear of meeting Murray!  Not all eternity was wide enough to hold us both!  The hate I bore him made me shrink from a deed which I felt would instantly set us face to face once more in the land of souls.  Ah! a change has come over me; now if I could see his face, I might learn to forget that look it wore when last I gazed upon it.  Time bears healing for some natures; to mine it has brought only poison.  It is useless to bid me forget.  Memory is earth’s retribution for man’s sins.  I have bought at a terrible price my conviction