University of Virginia Library

CONCLUSION.

Ten years had rolled away when one
day a meek looking and plainly dressed
stranger on horseback was seen, with a
hesitating air, turning into the same yard
where the closing scene of our tale took
place. A large two story building with
corresponding out houses, now occupied
the former site of Martin's dwelling. A
sturdy young farmer, of perhaps twenty-five,
was in the now improved and handsome
yard teaching two ruddy faced little
boys, of the probable ages of six and
eight years, how to shoot with bow and
arrow.

`May I ask who at present resides here?'
timidly asked the stranger.

`Judge Ashley,' was the free reply.

`And these pretty boys—are they his?'

`They are, Sir.'

`I once knew something of the people

of this valley—and I trust I shall be excused
for making some enquiries concerning
them. How is Mr Ashley esteemed
in the world?'

`Esteemed—humph!—the very first
man in the country!'

`And your name—may I ask it!'

`Certainly—David Butler—never ashamed
to tell it in my life.'

`And have you not a farm too, by this
time, from your own earnings?'

`Hardly—from my own earnings—and
yet I have a lot of the finest wild land in
the settlement, and I'll tell you how queerly
I got it. You know, that is if you've
heard of it, that about ten years ago there
was a sort of upturning here, and change
of owners. Well, Mrs Ashley that now
is, God bless her noble heart! gave me
this lot outright for services she fancies
I did her at the time of this fracas—I
could tell you all about it, but I suppose
you have heard of the money digging affair,
and what then happened?'

`I have—what happened at the time,
but not after.—What became of the old
occupants who then lost their farms?'

`Why Martin, you see, being the best
judge of what he deserved, like a sensible
man, cut his throat on the spot; and
the judge and his wife thought, considering,
it would be no more than a fair
shake to take his farm, after helping off
his sweet widow—two of the money diggers
ran away more scared than hurt,
and their farms were also taken; and as
to the rest, the judge let them off easy,
paying them for their betterments[1] as much
as their whole farms were worth, 'twas
said. Well he could afford to do it, for
all the wild lands of the valley fell to him,
besides his father in law, dying soon after,
left him all his property—that is about
half of it, giving the rest to the charities.—And
now sir, seeing you have rather

a free nack of asking questions yourself,
supposing I ask you one? What is
your name?'

`Do you not recollect me?'

`Why—no—and yet seems to me I've
seen your mortal phiz somewhere.'

`You once had good reason to remember
me—and I wish I could say with you
that I have never been ashamed of my
name—I am Gow.'

`Gow! Gow! that same Gow?
who—o—o—rah! Yes, that I have had
reason to remember you—your coming
brought me that righteous lot of land
which I would be at work on to-day, if
the Judge would consent to let me leave
him. Yes, yes, you made my fortune if
the devil did send you—but what in all
nature has brought you back again?'

`Better motives, Mr. Butler, I trust,
than those which once led me here. Are
Mr. and Mrs. Ashley in the house? I
would see them at the door for one moment.'

`Halloo! halloo the house! Judge
Ashley and lady, halloo!'

A middle aged gentleman with a political
newspaper in his hand and looking
a little testy at being interrupted in his
reading, hastily came to the door. A
handsome young matron some years
younger than her husband, with a chubby
black eyed infant in her arms, made
her appearance a little in the rear of the
latter.

`What now, David? is the house on
fire, or what, that you make such an outcry?'

`Why here is one of the seven wonders
of the world!—do you know that
gentleman?'

The lady shuddered, and shrinking
back a step, whispered something in her
husband's ear.

`It cant be!' said the latter, a slight
frown passing over his brow.

`My name is Gow,' said the stranger,
riding up to the door without offering to

dismount. `You are Mr and Mrs Ashley,
I believe. She I perceive knows
me; and well may she remember me
and my former injuries. And for that
reason have I presumed to call at your
door. I ask not to enter for I am unworthy—and
yet for myself, perhaps, I
should be thankful that I was once directed
to this spot, for the lesson here received
in the awful death of my associates
in crime, and my long imprisonment that
followed, were the means I trust of plucking
me as a brand from the burning.—
For many years I have been an unworthy
preacher of the gospel, laboring in
the far west. Returning once more and
for the last time, to visit my native New
England, I have come some distance out
of my course to see you—to perform a
duty to you and to my own soul—to ask
that forgiveness which my God, I humbly
hope, has extended to one so utterly
unworthy of his mercies. Can you, sir,
forgive all the injuries I intended to you?'

`Freely!' replied Ashley, visibly touched
at the deep abasement of the other,
`freely, from my heart, most freely!'

`And you, dear lady, you, who have
yet more to forgive?'

`If you, sir,' said she, `have the forgiveness
of God and my husband, it shall
not long be said that you lack the forgiveness
of Mrs. Ashley for an offence
committed against May Martin—you
have it sincerely.'

`Dismount sir,' said the Judge, `walk
in and dine with us.'

`Nay, it may not be—it may not be,
worthy people. However we may forgive,
or even respect, there may yet be
associations connected with individuals
which must render their presence forever
painful. It were better that I tarried
not; but ere I leave,' he continued, riding
up close to the door step on which
the couple now stood, and extending his
hands, `I would take a hand of each in
token of peace, and as the seal of forgiveness.'

His request being complied with, he
lifted his tearful eyes to heaven and ejaculated
in broken utterance—

`O my Father above, who could forgive
me, the vilest of the vile, and bless
one so utterly sinful and lost, wilt thou
bless and prosper these thy servants—
their little ones and all that is theirs—not
only in the things of this life, but in that
light and love which is here our only durable
happiness, and hereafter our heaven.'

Casting one long and mournful look
on the happy pair, and bowing a mute
farewell, he slowly rode away and was
seen no more.