All of a sudden he was crying, as if with a loud voice
from the bottom of his heart, though never a sound
rose through his throat, “Oh thou who didst
make me, if thou art anywhere, if there be such a one
as I cry to, unmake me again; undo that which thou
hast done; tear asunder and scatter that which thou
hast put together! Be merciful for once, and kill
me. Let me cease to exist—rather,
let me cease to die. Will not plenty of my kind
remain to satisfy thy soul with torment!”
Up towered a surge of shame at his poltroonery; he
prayed for his own solitary release, and abandoned
his fellows to the maker of their misery!
“No!” he cried aloud, “I will not!
I will not pray for that! I will not fare better
than my fellows!—Oh God, pity—if
thou hast any pity, or if pity can be born of any
prayer—pity thy creatures! If thou
art anywhere, speak to me, and let me hear thee.
If thou art God, if thou livest, and carest that I
suffer, and wouldst help me if thou couldst, then I
will live, and bear, and wait; only let me know that
thou art, and art good, and not cruel. If I had
but a friend that would stand by me, and talk to me
a little, and help me! I have no one, no one,
God, to speak to! and if thou wilt not hear, then
there is nothing! Oh, be! be! God, I pray
thee, exist! Thou knowest my desolation—for
surely thou art desolate, with no honest heart to
love thee!”
He thought of Barbara, and ceased: she
loved God!
A silence came down upon his soul. Ere it passed
he was asleep, and knew no more till the morning waked
him—to sorrow indeed, but from a dream of
hope.
On a few-keyed finger-board, yet with multitudinous
change, life struck every interval betwixt keen sorrow,
lethargic gloom, and grayest hope, and the days passed
and passed.
TO BE REDEEMED, ONE MUST REDEEM.
The moment he received his wages from his father at
the end of the week, Richard set out for Everilda
street, Clerkenwell, a little anxious at the thought
of encountering the dreadful mother, but hoping she
would be out of the way.
When he reached the place, he found no one at home.
He could not go back with his mission unaccomplished,
and hung about, keeping a sharp watch on each end
of the street, and on the approaches to it that he
passed in walking to and fro.
He had not waited long before Arthur appeared, stooping
like an aged man, and moving slowly He was in the
same shabby muffler as of old. His face brightened
when he saw his friend, but a fit of coughing prevented
him for some time from returning his salutation.
“When did you have your dinner?” asked
Richard.
“I had something to eat in the middle of the
day,” he answered feebly; “and when Alice
comes, she will perhaps bring something with her; but
we don’t care much about eating.—We’ve
got out of the way of it somehow!” he added
with an unreal laugh.
