He took her hand and looked up. “Forgive me, Alice, I have been very hard and wicked. I have thought it over, what you said that evening. Ever since, I have been sorry, and yet I could not give way. I had so longed, I had so prayed that I might have vengeance, that I was blinded and mad. I know now I was wrong. What am I, a poor dying cripple, that I should carry my vengeance to the grave? I feel now that you were right, Alice: she would have forgiven, and I forgive now for her. I could not do it before—I could not do it while he was in England. I could not have borne to have seen him; but now that I know he has sailed, I can do it. It is a grudging forgiveness, you will say. It is, Alice. I have had a very hard fight with myself, and I think I could have gone down to the grave without doing it, if it had not been for your words. If it is any satisfaction to you, Alice, it is you who have won it. He can come back again if he likes, when he arrives out there. I shall be gone long before he can even get the letter.” Alice bent over him and kissed him again. “Thank you, James; you have made me very happy.” When Captain Bradshaw came in, Alice, with a glance at the invalid, rose to leave the room; but he said, “No, please stay, Alice. Grandfather, you love me, do you not?” “Yes, indeed, my boy, I do,” the old man said, earnestly. “Grandfather, you would like to know I died happy?” Captain Bradshaw nodded affirmatively, he could not trust himself to speak. “I shall not die happy unless you grant my prayer, Alice’s prayer and mine. Frank Maynard sailed to-day for Australia. Write and tell him to come back again. I let him go, because I could not have borne to have seen him; but tell him to come back,—tell him that you and Alice forgive him; tell him that I, who loved Carry so much,—that I feel that I can speak in her name, forgive him too—fully and wholly. Will you do this, grandfather? Do it for my sake.” “Yes, my boy,” the old man said, his voice trembling; “I forgive him for your sake.” “Write kindly, grandfather; he has suffered enough. Send him plenty of money to come home at once, and tell him my place here is vacant for him. Take him again to your heart. I cannot but think with Alice that, except in this one great sin, he is good and honest. And now, please, I should like to be quiet a little while.” The next morning James went out as usual in his chair, Alice Heathcote walking alongside. They went down to the beach, and there stopped awhile, James looking out over the sea. “How quiet and how beautiful it is, Alice! I am very, very glad that I have been able to see it. I think I should have known about the country from books, but no book could give me an idea of the sea. Shall we go back now?” The chair was turned homewards, until, passing a small circulating library, Alice said, “I want some note paper, James; do you mind stopping a minute while I get it?”