He left a message for you, and I felt impelled to come and give it now, because I think you were touched by what we heard today, and in need of the help Mason tried to give you,' said the chaplain, taking the one seat and fixing his kind eyes on the grim figure in the bed.
'Thank you, sir, I'd like to hear it,' was all Dan's answer; but he forgot himself in pity for the poor fellow dead in prison, with no last look at wife or child.
He went suddenly, but remembered you, and begged me to say these words: "Tell him not to do it, but to hold on, do his best, and when his time is out go right to Mary, and she'll make him welcome for my sake.

He's got no friends in these parts and will feel lonesome, but a woman's always safe and comfortable when a fellow's down on his luck.

Give him my love and good-bye for he was kind to me, and God will bless him for it." Then he died quietly, and tomorrow will go home with God's pardon, since man's came too late.' Dan said nothing, but laid his arm across his face and lay quite still.
Seeing that the pathetic little message had done its work even better than he hoped, the chaplain went on, unconscious how soothing his paternal voice was to the poor prisoner who longed to 'go home', but felt he had forfeited the right.
'I hope you won't disappoint this humble friend whose last thought was for you.

I know that there is trouble brewing, and fear that you may be tempted to lend a hand on the wrong side.

Don't do it, for the plot will not succeed--it never does--and it would be a pity to spoil your record which is fair so far.