years; now he must suffer," said Mrs. Randolf, coldly. Her cruel nature was returning. She had no pity for the man who had ever been happy! She cared not what misery she inflicted on a kind, innocent, tender-hearted fellow creature. She would ruin him for the sake of a murderer! Merciless woman! But Foster shook his head. 66 Say no more," he cried. "It is but right he should know the truth," Mrs. Randolf continued. "Tell him." Foster turned from her, and rushed away ! CHAPTER VII. FOSTER, YOU HAVE SAVED ME! "Per me si va nella cittá dolente, Per me si va nell' eterno dolore, DANTE. MR. FOSTER had intended going to see his mother the day after he had the good (or bad) fortune to learn from Mrs. Randolf the secret of his birth. His mother! How strange it seemed to have a mother, after all these many years of supposed orphanage. How would she receive him? This was the question he asked himself not once, not twice, not a dozen, but a hundred times. Would she dare deny that he was her son? No, surely she would confess what she had done, and demand, nay, implore, forgiveness-forgiveness from a murderer! Could he forgive her? Could he bring himself to say, Mother, your son forgives you; live on in happiness, and forget what is past!" No, he felt he could not do 66 this. But those who have need of forgiveness should themselves forgive. Yes, it must be So. He must forgive her, if she repent and express regret for her conduct, and if she do not-well-well-what matter? The time will come when she will suffer remorse, and that will be a punishment, and more than a punishment. The beginning of February he journeyed. once more northwards. He travelled by the morning train, and reached Leeds about the hour that is generally termed luncheon time. He felt so knocked up after this few hours' journey, that he determined to stay at Leeds that night, and, if necessary, the following day. How terribly does a guilty conscience affect the health and strength of the whole body! Here was a man in the prime of life, who, six months before, could, to use his own words, "have stood anything." His guilty conscience had reduced him to such a delicate, feeble state, that a short journey in a railway carriage completely knocked him up. Is it not then certain that when the mind is diseased, the whole body must suffer, or rather, to speak more correctly, a guilty conscience affects the system more surely and more disastrously than the most subtle slow poison. Had not Foster's general health been fearfully impaired, he would have thought no more of a journey from one end of England to the other, than a lady thinks of a quiet stroll in the garden, or a gentleman of a canter in the park. But a few weeks, a few days even, of the agonies of remorse suffice to undermine the strongest constitution, nay, more, to destroy life in many, very many cases. Foster felt so utterly miserable, so despondent, and so broken in health the following morning, that he did not attempt to continue his journey, even though half-an-hour at the most would have sufficed to have completed it. He did not leave his room till past midday, when he had a "light breakfast" (as a small roll, an atom of butter, and a cup of weak tea, with or without sugar, may be termed). In the afternoon he went out for a stroll, hoping that the fresh air (in Leeds the air is better than in many of our northern manufacturing towns) would revive him, and so far restore his weak, fainting condition as to enable him to visit Mrs. Waining on the morrow. He strolled along the broad thoroughfare that leads from the station through the main part of the town to the top of the hill, and as he was returning to the hotel, having been out about half-an-hour, he suddenly felt a hand laid on his shoulder. An icy chill ran through him. Surely it was a detective arresting him for his crime? He felt his legs sinking under him. Surrounding objects seemed to dance before his eyes, and in his ears he fancied voices whispered, "Murderer! murderer!" In a moment he was lying prostrate on the pavement. He remembered no more. When he came to himself, he was lying on a bed in a strange room, his friend Brookes beside him, and with him an unknown gentleman, whom he at once guessed was a doctor. "Where am I?" he gasped, as soon as he was able to speak. 66 Hush, hush!" said Brookes. fear; you are in safe custody." "Never "Great God, in custody! Save me! Mercy! I will escape!" he cried, starting up. The doctor and Brookes caught hold of |