hurriedly--

"And that stain, that blot, father? Is there mercy in heaven to wash its
darkness from my soul, or must it linger there forever preying on my
spirit, dashing e'en its highest hopes and noblest dreams with poison,
whispering its still voice of accusation, even when loudest rings the
praise and love of men? Is there no rest for this, no silence for that
whisper? Penitence, atonement, any thing thou wilt, let but my soul be
free!" Hastily, and with step and countenance disordered, he traversed
the chamber, his expressive countenance denoting the strife within.

"It was, in truth, a rash and guilty deed, my son," answered the abbot,
gravely, yet mildly, "and one that heaven in its justice will scarce
pass unavenged. Man hath given thee the absolution accorded to the true
and faithful penitent, for such thou art; yet scarcely dare we hope
offended heaven is appeased. Justice will visit thee with trouble--sore,
oppressing, grievous trouble. Yet despair not: thou wilt come forth the
purer, nobler, brighter, from the fire; despair not, but as a child
receive a father's chastening; lean upon that love, which wills not
death, but penitence and life; that love, which yet will bring thee
forth and bless this land in thee. My son, be comforted; His mercy is
yet greater than thy sin."

"And blest art thou, my father, for these _blessed_ words; a messenger
in truth thou art of peace and love; and oh, if prayers and penitence
avail, if sore temptation may be pleaded, I shall, I shall be pardoned.
Yet would I give my dearest hopes of life, of fame, of all--save
Scotland's freedom--that this evil had not chanced; that blood, his
blood--base traitor as he was--was not upon my hand."