“'When I say I am sorry for you, it is because I think it must be dreadful for you to be going round with the blood of a fellow-creature on your hands. It must be awful for you in the stillness of the night season to hear the voice of the Lord saying, “Cain, where is thy brother?” and you saying, “Lord, I have slayed him dead.” It must be awful for you when the pride of your wrath was surfitted, and his dum senseless corps was before you, not to know that it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay,” saith the Lord. . . . It was no use for you to say, “I never heard that before,” remembering your teacher and parents. Yet verily I say unto you, “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be washed whiter than snow,” saith the Lord--Isaiah i. 18; and “Heart hath no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.”--My hymn book, 1st Presbyterian Church, page 79. Mr. Corbin, I pity your feelins at the grave of my pore dear cousin, knowing he is before his Maker, and you can't bring him back.' Umph!--er--er--very good--very good indeed,” said the Colonel, hastily refolding the letter. “Very well meaning and--er”-- “Go on,” said Corbin over his shoulder, “you haven't read all.” “Ah, true. I perceive I overlooked something. Um--um. 'May God forgive you, Mr. Corbin, as I do, and make aunty think better of you, for it was good what you tried to do for her and the fammely, and I've always said it when she was raging round and wanting money of you. I don't believe you meant to do it anyway, owin' to your kindness of heart to the ophanless and the widow since you did it. Anser this letter, and don't mind what aunty says. So no more at present from--Yours very respectfully, SALLY DOWS. “'P. S.--There's been some troubel in our township, and some fitin'. May the Lord change ther hearts and make them as a little child, for if you are still young you may grow up different. I have writ a short prayer for you to say every night. You can coppy it out and put it at the head of your bed. It is this: O Lord make me sorry for having killed Sarah Dows' cousin. Give me, O Lord, that peace that the world cannot give, and which fadeth not away; for my yoke is heavy, and my burden is harder than I can bear.'” The Colonel's deliberate voice stopped. There was a silence in the room, and the air seemed stifling. The click of the billiard balls came distinctly through the partition from the other room. Then there was another click, a stamp on the floor, and a voice crying coarsely: “Curse it all--missed again!” To the stranger's astonishment, the Colonel was on his feet in an instant, gasping with inarticulate rage. Flinging the door open, he confronted the startled bar-keeper empurpled and stertorous.