It is Never Too Late to Mend. Charles Reade Reade

the chaplain, sitting down opposite. “I found it worse than uncomfortable. First there was a terrible sense of utter impotence, then came on racking cramps, for which there was no relief because I could not move.”

      “Oh!”

      “What?”

      “Nothing, sir! mum—mum—dear guinea!”

      “The jagged collar gave me much pain, too; it rasped my poor throat like a file.”

      “Why the dickens didn't you tell me all this before, sir,” said Evans ruefully; “it is no use now I've been and gone into the same oven like a fool.”

      “I had my reasons for not telling you before; good-by for the present.”

      “Don't stay over the half hour, for goodness' sake, sir.”

      “No! adieu for the present.”

      He did not go far. He listened and heard the plucky Evans groan. He came hastily in.

      “Courage, my fine fellow, only eight minutes more and the guinea is yours.

      “How many more minutes, sir?”

      “Eight.”

      “Then, oh! undo me, sir, if you please.”

      “What! forfeit the guinea for eight minutes—seven, it is only seven now.”

      “Hang the guinea, let me down, sir, if there's pity in you.”

      “With all my heart,” said the reverend gentleman, pocketing the guinea, and he loosed Evans with all speed.

      The man stretched his limbs with ejaculations of pain between every stretch, and put his handkerchief on very gingerly. He looked sulky and said nothing. The other watched him keenly, for there was something about him that showed his mind was working.

      “There is your guinea.”

      “Oh, no! I didn't earn it.”

      “Oh, if you think that (putting it to the lips of his pocket), let me make you a present of it” (handing it out again). Evans smiled. “It is a good servant. That little coin has got me one friend more for these poor prisoners. You don't understand me, Evans. Well, you will. Now, look at me; from this moment, sir, you and I stand on a different footing from others in this jail. We know what we are doing when we put a prisoner in that thing; the others don't. The greater the knowledge, the greater the guilt. May we both be kept from the crime of cruelty. Good-night!”

      “Good-night, your reverence!” said the man gently, awed by his sudden solemnity.

      The chaplain retired. Evans looked after him, and then down into his own hand.

      “Well, I'm blowed!—Well, I'm blest!—Got a guinea, though!!”