<h2>CHAPTER XLII.</h2>
<p>A few momentary cessations from the pangs of a guilty
conscience were given to William, as soon as he had despatched a
messenger to the jail in which Agnes had been communed, to
inquire after the son she had left behind, and to give orders
that immediate care should be taken of him. He likewise
charged the messenger to bring back the petition she had
addressed to him during her supposed insanity; for he now
experienced no trivial consolation in the thought that he might
possibly have it in his power to grant her a request.</p>
<p>The messenger returned with the written paper, which had been
considered by the persons to whom she had intrusted it, as the
distracted dictates of an insane mind; but proved to William,
beyond a doubt, that she was perfectly in her senses.</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“TO LORD CHIEF
JUSTICE NORWYNNE.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My Lord</span>,—I am Agnes
Primrose, the daughter of John and Hannah Primrose, of
Anfield. My father and mother lived by the hill at the side
of the little brook where you used to fish, and so first saw
me.</p>
<p>“Pray, my lord, have mercy on my sorrows; pity me for
the first time, and spare my life. I know I have done
wrong. I know it is presumption in me to dare to apply to
you, such a wicked and mean wretch as I am; but, my lord, you
once condescended to take notice of me; and though I have been
very wicked since that time, yet if you would be so merciful as
to spare my life, I promise to amend it for the future. But
if you think it proper I should die, I will be resigned; but then
I hope, I beg, I supplicate, that you will grant my other
petition. Pray, pray, my lord, if you cannot pardon me, be
merciful to the child I leave behind. What he will do when
I am gone, I don’t know, for I have been the only friend he
has had ever since he was born. He was born, my lord, about
sixteen years ago, at Anfield, one summer a morning, and carried
by your cousin, Mr. Henry Norwynne, to Mr. Rymer’s, the
curate there; and I swore whose child he was before the dean, and
I did not take a false oath. Indeed, indeed, my lord, I did
not.</p>
<p>“I will say no more for fear this should not come safe
to your hand, for the people treat me as if I were mad; so I will
say no more, only this, that, whether I live or die, I forgive
everybody, and I hope everybody will forgive me. And I pray
that God will take pity on my son, if you refuse; but I hope you
will not refuse.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“<span class="smcap">Agnes
Primrose</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>William rejoiced, as he laid down the petition, that she had
asked a favour he could bestow; and hoped by his protection of
the son to redress, in some degree, the wrongs he had done the
mother. He instantly sent for the messenger into his
apartment, and impatiently asked, “If he had seen the boy,
and given proper directions for his care.”</p>
<p>“I have given directions, sir, for his
funeral.”</p>
<p>“How!” cried William.</p>
<p>“He pined away ever since his mother was confined, and
died two days after her execution.”</p>
<p>Robbed, by this news, of his only gleam of
consolation—in the consciousness of having done a mortal
injury for which he never now by any means could atone, he saw
all his honours, all his riches, all his proud selfish triumphs
fade before him! They seemed like airy nothings, which in
rapture he would exchange for the peace of a tranquil
conscience!</p>
<p>He envied Agnes the death to which he first exposed, then
condemned, her. He envied her even the life she struggled
through from his neglect, and felt that his future days would be
far less happy than her former existence. He calculated
with precision.</p>
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