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Автор: Charles Dickens

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"It could not be otherwise," said the prisoner. "All things have
worked together as they have fallen out. It was the always-vain
endeavour to discharge my poor mother's trust that first brought
my fatal presence near you. Good could never come of such evil, a
happier end was not in nature to so unhappy a beginning. Be
comforted, and forgive me. Heaven bless you!"
As he was drawn away, his wife released him, and stood looking
after him with her hands touching one another in the attitude of
prayer, and with a radiant look upon her face, in which there was
even a comforting smile. As he went out at the prisoners' door,
she turned, laid her head lovingly on her father's breast, tried
to speak to him, and fell at his feet.

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