This young stranger--the son of a scorn'd race--coming
to the court-room to perform an unhappy duty, with the intention
of testifying to what he had seen, melted at the sight of Philip's
bloodless cheek, and of his sister's convulsive sobs, and forbore
witnessing against the murderer. Shall we applaud or condemn him? Let
every reader answer the question for himself.
That afternoon Philip left New York. His friendly employer own'd a
small farm some miles up the Hudson, and until the excitement of
the affair was over, he advised the young man to go thither. Philip
thankfully accepted the proposal, made a few preparations, took a
hurried leave of Esther, and by nightfall was settled in his new
abode.
And how, think you, rested Philip Marsh that night? _Rested_ indeed!
O, if those who clamor so much for the halter and the scaffold to
punish crime, could have seen that sight, they might have learn'd a
lesson then! Four days had elapsed since he that lay tossing upon the
bed there had slumber'd. Not the slightest intermission had come to
his awaken'd and tensely strung sense, during those frightful days.
Disturb'd waking dreams came to him, as he thought what he might do to
gain his lost peace. Far, far away would he go! The cold roll of the
murder'd man's eye, as it turn'd up its last glance into his face--the
shrill exclamation of pain--all the unearthly vividness of the
posture, motions, and looks of the dead--the warning voice from
above--pursued him like tormenting furies, and were never absent from
his mind, asleep or awake, that long weary night.
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