The pathos with which he said it, and the look of stony despair in his eyes, made Editha’s heart ache for him. “Do you not regret that your life has been so full of wrong, and such a failure?” she asked. “Yes, indeed, miss,” he replied, earnestly; “I’m bitter sorry, and I’ve thought it all over and over again the long nights I’ve had to lie awake here with the cough, but I couldn’t see any way out of it.” “_Jesus_ is the way, the truth, and the light,” came involuntarily from Editha’s lips. “Yes, I’ve heard that more times than I can count, but I can’t understand it, some way,” he said, with a perplexed look. Editha sighed. What could she say to comfort him? And the thought came to her that, after all, she would rather be in Earle’s place, who had patiently and innocently suffered a great wrong, even though the cloud which now overshadowed him should never be dissipated until that day when all things shall be revealed, than to be lying here like this guilty one, upon the borders of eternity, with no hope beyond, even though his life of sin had escaped all worldly chastisement. “If you were in some dark and dangerous place,” she said again, and speaking very slowly and earnestly, “and I should tell you to take my hand, for I knew the way, and would lead you safely out, would you refuse to do as I asked you?” “Truth, no, miss; and you would not have to ask me more than once, either. But the future is mighty dark to me, and _you_ can’t lead me through _that_.” “No; but the Friend of sinners can.” “_Friend_ of sinners!” he repeated, feebly. “That sounds pleasant.” “That is just what Jesus Christ is,” Editha answered, eagerly. “Put your hand in His; it is always held out to all who _need_ help; and He will lead you safely out of all danger.” Another deep-drawn sigh was all the reply she received to this; and, after waiting a moment, she said again: “I must not stay longer now, but I will come and see you again soon.” “You’ll not find me here, miss, I fear,” he said, with a wistful look at her, as if to see her again would do him good; “but _they’ll_ be here, and you have said you’ll be good to them,” indicating by a glance his wife and child, who were both now heavily sleeping. “Yes; I will see that they are made comfortable, and I will leave this, so that if you need anything you can send Milly for it.” Editha put a five-dollar note in his wasted hand as she spoke, and then, with a kind good-night to him, she aroused his wife, after which she went away alone into the dark and dismal night. CHAPTER XX MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE It was quite dark in the street, she found, when she had groped her way down the rickety stairs to it, and a fine, chill rain was falling.