Thou find'st me here a poor condemned criminal, unable to provide for thy future wants--nay, I can yet do a little for thee, too.

This bag contains gold.

It has been sent to me by a relative, thinking it might be of service in averting the punishment that awaits me.

For that purpose it is now useless; with thy simple habits, however, it will render thy life easy and above care." Ghita, with streaming eyes, steadily put aside the gold, though she pressed the cross to her bosom, kissing it fervently again and again.
"Not that--not that, grandfather," she said; "I want it not--wish it not.

This is enough; and this will I keep to my own last moment.