My Aunt Margaret's Mirror

“‘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?”’

“‘Man, whosoever thou mayest be,’ replied Lady Bothwell, ‘urge me not so cruelly. It would be but blasphemous hypocrisy to utter with my lips the words which every throb of my heart protests against. They would open the earth and give to light the wasted form of my sister, the bloody form of my murdered brother. Forgive him? – never, never!’

“‘Great God!’ cried the old man, holding up his hands, ‘is it thus the worms which Thou hast called out of dust obey the commands of their Maker? Farewell, proud and unforgiving woman. Exult that thou hast added to a death in want and pain the agonies of religious despair; but never again mock Heaven by petitioning for the pardon which thou hast refused to grant.’

“He was turning from her.

“‘Stop,’ she exclaimed; ‘I will try – yes, I will try to pardon him.’

“‘Gracious lady,’ said the old man, ‘you will relieve the over-burdened soul which dare not sever itself from its sinful companion of earth without being at peace with you. What do I know – your forgiveness may perhaps preserve for penitence the dregs of a wretched life.’

“‘Ha!’ said the lady, as a sudden light broke on her, ‘it is the villain himself!’ And grasping Sir Philip Forester – for it was he, and no other – by the collar, she raised a cry of ‘Murder, murder! seize the murderer!’

“At an exclamation so singular, in such a place, the company thronged into the apartment; but Sir Philip Forester was no longer there. He had forcibly extricated himself from Lady Bothwell’s hold, and had run out of the apartment, which opened on the landing-place of the stair. There seemed no escape in that direction, for there were several persons coming up the steps, and others descending. But the unfortunate man was desperate. He threw himself over the balustrade, and alighted safely in the lobby, though a leap of fifteen feet at least, then dashed into the street, and was lost in darkness. Some of the Bothwell family made pursuit, and had they come up with the fugitive they might perhaps have slain him; for in those days men’s blood ran warm in their veins. But the police did not interfere, the matter most criminal having happened long since, and in a foreign land. Indeed it was always thought that this extraordinary scene originated in a hypocritical experiment, by which Sir Philip desired to ascertain whether he might return to his native country in safety from the resentment of a family which he had injured so deeply. As the result fell out so contrary to his wishes, he is believed to have returned to the Continent, and there died in exile.”

So closed the tale of the MYSTERIOUS MIRROR.