A minute before, he had indulged in bright dreams of more than restoration to favor--of his brother's delight--of his father's and mother's approbation--of his grandfather's satisfaction--and Hamilton's friendly congratulations.

And to give up this! it was surely too much to expect.
During his silence, Ferrers kept squeezing, and even kissing, his now cold hand, and repeating, "Dear Louis--be merciful--will you pity me ?--think of all--I don't deserve it, I know." And though the meanness and cowardliness were apparent, Louis looked at little else than the extreme agony of the suppliant.
"Don't kiss my hand, Ferrers--I can't bear it," he said at length, drawing his hand quickly away; and there was something akin to disgust mingled with the sorrowful look he gave to his companion.
"But Louis, will you ?" "Oh Ferrers! it is a hard thing to ask of me," said Louis, bitterly.
"Just for a little longer," implored Ferrers, "to save me from a lasting disgrace." Louis turned his head away--it was a hard, hard struggle: "I will try to bear it if God will help me," he said; "I will not mention it at present." "Oh! how can I thank you! how can I! how shall I ever be able!" cried Ferrers: "but will Alfred tell ?" "He does not know," replied Louis, in a low tone.
"But will he not mention what has passed ?" "I will warn him then," said Louis.
Ferrers then in broken sentences renewed his thanks, and Louis, after hearing a few in silence, as if he heard nothing, turned his full moist eyes on him with a sorrowful beseeching look, "You have done a very wicked thing, Ferrers.

Oh do pray to God to forgive you." "I will try to do any thing you wish," replied Ferrers.
"A prayer because _I_ wished, could do you no good.

You must feel you have sinned against God.

Do try to think of this.