“I remained at home a day or two, hiding from the sight of men,” Mr. Huntington replied, “and then one night I went away, thinking to make for my family a home in the distant West, where you would never find me. But no spot could be home to me with that load upon my mind, so at last I determined to see you myself, and beg for your forgiveness. They think me far away, my wife and Adelaide, for I only paused a moment at their door. Looking through the half-closed blind I saw your daughter there, and knowing that you must be alone I hastened on, entering your dwelling while you slept, and now it remains for you to do with me what you will.” “Nothing, William, I shall do nothing—only raise me up, my breath is going from me,” Mr. Warren gasped. The faintness he had experienced once before had returned again, brought on by the excitement of what he had heard, and Mr. Huntington, when he saw the corpse-like pallor stealing over his face, feared that he was dying. He was not afraid of death, but the world, he knew, was a suspicious one, and he would rather the man he had so wronged should not die alone with him. Just then he heard without, a footstep coming near, and thinking it must be Alice, he hurried to the door, exclaiming: “Be quick! your father, I fear, is dying!” In a moment the person thus addressed stood at Mr. Warren’s bedside, and when the fainting man came back to consciousness he whispered softly: “God bless you, Mr. Howland, for coming here again.” It was Richard Howland who stood there side by side with one whom he readily recognized as the stranger who had saved the life of Alice Warren. He had started for the party, going through the hollow as the shortest route, and was passing Mr. Warren’s gate, when the words, “Be quick! your father, I fear, is dying,” arrested his attention, bringing him at once into the presence of the blind man whom he had so long neglected. “I did not know you were so ill,” he was about to say, when Alice entered the room. “Father,” she cried, bounding to his side, “are you worse?” and then, as her eyes fell upon Mr. Huntington, the hot blood stained her face and neck, for she knew who he was, and marveled much that he was there. “Alice,” said Mr. Warren, “I have forgiven William Huntington because he saved your life, though he dared not let us know it then, for Adelaide had said I thirsted for revenge. He has suffered much, my child, and you, I am sure, will sanction my forgiveness.” It was in vain that Alice attempted to speak, so astonished was she at what she had heard, and, misinterpreting her silence, Mr. Huntington advanced toward her, saying, imploringly: “Hear, me, young lady, and you will perhaps be willing to forgive.”