All was quiet as could be in the little street or lane down which he now made his way. Knocking at the door of the neat but humble dwelling where his sister lived, she herself answered the summons. "Oh! is it you, Amos?" she cried, clasping her hands passionately together. "Oh, I am so glad, so glad! I want to tell you all, it has been so terrible; come in, come in." Amos entered the little parlour and looked round. He had himself furnished it with a few extras of comfort and refinement. "O Amos, dear, dear Amos," cried his sister, throwing her arms round his neck and weeping bitterly, "it has been so dreadful. Oh pardon me, pray pardon me!" "What for, dearest Julia?" he asked. "Why, for writing that last part of the letter. He stood over me; he made me do it. He stood over me with a whip; yes, he struck me over and over again--look at my neck here--he struck me till the blood came, when I refused at first to write as he dictated. But oh! I hope no harm came of that letter?" "None, dear sister, none. No; the Lord took care of me and delivered me.--But the children--what of them?" "Oh, I don't know, I'm sure; but I rather think he doesn't mean to move them after all." "And where is he himself--I mean your--" "My husband, as he calls himself," she said bitterly. "Oh, he is anywhere and everywhere; sometimes here for a day or two, and then absent for weeks. Indeed, he hardly dares stay for any length of time in any one place, for fear of the police getting hold of him." "My poor sister!" exclaimed Amos with a sigh; "but, at any rate, _all_ is not dark," he added. "I am bringing a little gladness with me. My dear father sends you his love--" "What--what, Amos!" she exclaimed, interrupting him with almost a shriek. "Oh, say it again! Oh, can it really be?--my father send me his love! Oh, dearest Amos, was it really so?" "Yes; he knows nearly all now, and his heart has opened to you, and he bids me tell you there is a place for you in the old home still." Sinking on the ground, the bewildered, agitated creature clasped her hands across her forehead, as though the swollen veins would burst with the intensity of her emotion. At last, yielding to her brother's tender caresses, she grew calmer, and allowing him to draw her close to him, she wept a full flood of tears, which brought with them a measure of peace in their flow. "Oh! can it be?" she cried again, but now more hopefully--"a place for me yet in the dear old home, and my father's smile on me once more." Then she added in a scared, hoarse whisper, "But that doesn't include _him_?" "No, not your unhappy husband; my father could not receive him." "Of course not, Amos. Oh that I had never married him! Every spark of love for him has died out of my heart now. I hate him, and I loathe myself." "Nay, nay, dear sister," said Amos soothingly, "don't say so. He has sinned, greatly sinned, but all may yet be well."