Year: 1877

reference, when l was allOwcu In the
| intervals of work to read. And so
by degrees a new interest was awak-
ened in my brain, and in draggled,
broken-winged fashion l began to
live again. What l read in the day ]
thought over at night, until | knew
all that the books had to teach me-
The doctor brought more books, and l
read them, and he taught me things
| not to be learned in books. Thus l
became in some sort physician and
a surgeon. Once when / showed the
doctor what knew, he startled me
into long-forgotton hope. when
your time is out" he said .you
might become an apothecary; they al
ways want them in the cody ships"
Time out! 1 felt sudden giddi-
ness as the blood rushed to my mead.
Time out! All! when? For there
were fifteen years yet to serve, and
even with ticket of leave there were
nine years before me. Twenty of age
when l was sentenced; twenty-five
when the doctor spoke those kindly
words of forecast; | might be forty be-
fore my release could be counted on,
for they are hard on forgers. What
sort of life was there beyond that for
tieth year for man who has to begin
over again, and carry such burden
of disgrace as mine.


Enough about the convict time. /
received in due course full remission
of the remaining period. When /
came away the governor offered to
shake hands with me, because, he said
l was brave man. l asked him to
shake hands With me because | was
An innocent man. and he shook his
head. Then l thanked him, but re-
fused to take the proffered hand; for
the sense of my innocence came back
to me strongand clear on the morning
of my release. Then the chaplain re-
buked me, and rightly. Why should
the governor-why should any one
believe me inocent? Only the doctor
stood my friend. II have read your
case" he said, "and it's the clearest
case l ever did read. Either you are
the forger or the devil; and since you
have worked for me, Warneferd, be-
| lieve upon my honor that it was the
devil. But no one else will ever be-
lieve that. Good-by, my lad, and God
prosper YOU" So that had my lit
tie mite of comfort, In this great
world there was one man who thought
my assertions true. Stay; there was
| another man-one who not only be-
lieved, but knew me innocent. The
man who did it. But who was he.
For had no enemy in the world, and
there was no one whom could reas-
onably suspect.


left the prison with an angry
heart, when I ought to have been
most grateful, for realized most bit
terly, when l breathed the free air
again, that for the rest Of my misera-
BILE life was TO be marked man.
Go where l would, fly to the utermost
parts Of the earth, there was no spot
so retired, no place so remote, but
that some echo of the past might visit
it, breathing my name and my story;
there would be no moment when
should feel safe from the fear that
some finger might reach forth from
the crowd and point me out as Warne-
ford the Forger-W Warneford the Con-
Wet. Why, the governor said that
the papers were ringing with my
"heroic deed" So much the worse
for me, because it would make con
cealment, more difficult. Grateful? ?
| Why should be grateful, l asked,
for being delivered from an unjust
bondage with the stigma of dishonor
branded on my brow, plain for all
men to read? Time enough to think
of gratitude when I could plead be-
fore the world proved and manifest
innocence.


The city of Sydney in those days
was quiet and peaceful place, not on
the way to get rich, and with little to
talk about. They wanted to make
much of me and my exploit; offers of
employment came in; people reason
ed with me, that if I staid there,
should certainly get on; they pointed
out other men who had worked their
term and staid in the settlement, and
were now flourishing and respected
citizens. But could not stay; there
was no rest possible for me till | was
back in London. wanted to see the
old place again. thought If could
have quiet three months on board a
ship, could put things together in
my mind better than could do in the
prison, and perhaps ret clue; be-
cause, you see, never had been able,
from the very beginning, to put things
clearly to myself Before the trial I
had but one thing to say-I did not
do it; of that alone l was certain
When my case came on, l stood like
one in a dream, while the circum-
stantial evidence piled itself up, and
even my counsel could find nothing
for me. After the sentence was a
man as a man who is stunned.


And then another thought came
over me AS stood outside the prison
walls, thought which should have
softened any heart-the thought OF
little Ruth. She was ten years old
when left her-fifteen now. What
was become of her? 1t had been my
earnest wish to bring her up to be a
gentlewoman, like her mother before
her-a sweet Christian maid, as her
dead mother was before her-and
strong in goodness, as her dead father
had been. Now-what had become
of her? And whose fault-whose
fault? 1t was mocking grace of sun
shine and sweetness of spring, it was
bitterness of beauty in flowers and
tender grasses wet with dew, that
saw for the first time for many years.