“If suffering is any penalty for sin,” he continued, “he has paid it, for he was fearfully wounded. I fully believe, if he had escaped unharmed from the bullet, and been arrested, convicted and sentenced, he would have grown more hardened and desperate, and been prepared for almost any evil upon the expiration of his term. But laid upon a bed of sickness, with some one to care for him and treat him as if he was a human being, he has had opportunity to think as he has never thought before. As Mr. Dalton said to-day, ‘things look very different to a man when he fears that life is slipping from his grasp than they do when he is in the full vigor of life,’ and I think Tom Drake realized that, if ever a man did. He was not easily won—he was suspicious of me and my motives for a long time, but when he found that I would take no measures against him he was completely staggered; and the shock which his hitherto benumbed conscience thus received restored it to something like its normal condition. I believe he will do well, and, as long as he does, I shall give him my support and confidence.” “But didn’t you feel the least bit triumphant when he lay there powerless before you?” Editha asked. “I cannot say that I did not experience a sense of satisfaction in knowing that at last one so deserving of justice and so steeped in crime had been arrested in his career. But my first thought was, ‘Are my hands stained with the life-blood of a fellow-being?’ It was a great relief when I discovered that he was not mortally wounded, but my anxiety returned when he was so sick and we thought he would die.” “It was a great care for you, Earle, and a noble thing for you to do after suffering all you have on his account,” Editha said, her heart swelling with pride of her noble lover. “You know the more care any one occasions us the more interest we naturally feel in that one,” he answered, smiling at her praise; “and so it was in this case. I saw the man was capable of better things; he is naturally smart, and I longed to save him despite the injury he had done me and others. If there was one thing harder than all the rest for me to forgive, it was his treatment of you. Will it be agreeable to you, dearest, to see him about the place when we go home?” he asked, seeing the shiver which crept involuntarily over her at the mention of the past. Editha flushed involuntarily at the mention of going “home,” but she said, with gentle gravity: “No, Earle; if we can save him, I can conquer the repugnance that I have hitherto felt for him; but, as I remember him, he seems perfectly hideous to me.” “He does not look nearly so repulsive since his sickness; he is, of course, much thinner and more refined in appearance, while his expression is wholly changed.” “Whether he is changed or not, I will join you heart and hand in any good thing you may wish to do for him,” she said, heartily.