Chapter II

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"'In private? and in an assembly room?--he must be mad. Tell him to call upon me to-morrow morning.'

"'I said so, my lady,' answered the man, 'but he desired me to give you this paper.'

"She undid the billet, which was curiously folded and sealed. It only bore the words, 'ON BUSINESS OF LIFE AND DEATH,' written in a hand which she had never seen before. Suddenly it occurred to her that it might concern the safety of some of her political friends. She therefore followed the messenger to a small apartment where the refreshments were prepared, and from which the general company was excluded. She found an old man, who, at her approach, rose up and bowed profoundly. His appearance indicated a broken constitution, and his dress, though sedulously rendered conforming to the etiquette of a ballroom, was worn and tarnished, and hung in folds about his emaciated person. Lady Bothwell was about to feel for her purse, expecting to get rid of the supplicant at the expense of a little money, but some fear of a mistake arrested her purpose. She therefore gave the man leisure to explain himself.

"'I have the honour to speak with the Lady Bothwell?'

"'I am Lady Bothwell; allow me to say that this is no time or place for long explanations. What are your commands with me?'

"'Your ladyship,' said the old man, 'had once a sister.'

"'True; whom I loved as my own soul.'

"'And a brother.'

"'The bravest, the kindest, the most affectionate!' said Lady Bothwell.

"'Both these beloved relatives you lost by the fault of an unfortunate man,' continued the stranger.

"'By the crime of an unnatural, bloody-minded murderer,' said the lady.

"'I am answered,' replied the old man, bowing, as if to withdraw.

"'Stop, sir, I command you,' said Lady Bothwell. 'Who are you that, at such a place and time, come to recall these horrible recollections? I insist upon knowing.'

"'I am one who intends Lady Bothwell no injury, but, on the contrary, to offer her the means of doing a deed of Christian charity, which the world would wonder at, and which Heaven would reward; but I find her in no temper for such a sacrifice as I was prepared to ask.'

"'Speak out, sir; what is your meaning?' said Lady Bothwell.

"'The wretch that has wronged you so deeply,' rejoined the stranger, 'is now on his death-bed. His days have been days of misery, his nights have been sleepless hours of anguish--yet he cannot die without your forgiveness. His life has been an unremitting penance--yet he dares not part from his burden while your curses load his soul.'

"'Tell him,' said Lady Bothwell sternly, 'to ask pardon of that Being whom he has so greatly offended, not of an erring mortal like himself. What could my forgiveness avail him?'

"'Much,' answered the old man. 'It will be an earnest of that which he may then venture to ask from his Creator, lady, and from yours. Remember, Lady Bothwell, you too have a death-bed to look forward to; Your soul may--all human souls must--feel the awe of facing the judgment-seat, with the wounds of an untented conscience, raw, and rankling--what thought would it be then that should whisper, "I have given no mercy, how then shall I ask it?"'