“Don’t weep so, Rosa,” said the prisoner, for your tears go much more to my heart than my approaching fate, and you know, the less guilty a prisoner is, the more it is his duty to die calmly, and even joyfully, as he dies a martyr. Come, there’s a dear, don’t cry any more, and tell me what you want, my pretty Rosa.”
She fell on her knees. “Forgive my father,” she said
“Your father, your father!” said Cornelius, astonished.
“Yes, he has been so harsh to you, but it is his nature, he is so to every one, and you are not the only one whom he has bullied.”
“He is punished, my dear Rosa, more than punished, by the accident that has befallen him, and I forgive him.”
“I thank you, sir,” said Rosa. “And now tell me—oh, tell me—can I do anything for you?”
“You can dry your beautiful eyes, my dear child,” answered Cornelius, with a good-tempered smile.
“But what can I do for you, for you I mean?”
“A man who has only one hour longer to live must be a great Sybarite, still to want anything, my dear Rosa.”
“The clergyman whom they have proposed to you?”
“I have worshipped God all my life, I have worshipped Him in his works, and praised Him in his decrees. I am at peace with Him, and do not wish for a clergyman. The last thought which occupies my mind, however, has reference to the glory of the Almighty, and indeed, my dear, I should ask you to help me in carrying out this last thought.”
“Oh, Mynheer Cornelius, speak, speak!” exclaimed Rosa, still bathed in tears.
“Give me your hand, and promise me not to laugh, my dear child.”
