There was no hope, and her only share in Edith’s grandeur would be a costly coffin and a great funeral, when many would look upon her face, never dreaming that they had seen it before. That was all, and she knew it now, and as earth began to fade away, and the realities of the next world loomed darkly in the distance, remorse came hand in hand with the shadow of death, and filled her heart with horror and anguish when she remembered the past and her sad, wasted life. It was no comfort to her now that the baptismal waters had once bedewed her head, and she been numbered outwardly with the children of God. To her there had never been any reality in religion. Everything was done for effect, and because it was respectable. For her there was no efficacy in Jesus’ blood, no heart yearnings after His presence, or tears because she could not feel Him with her. Even her praying had only been in public when it was the proper thing to do, for by herself she never prayed, never till now, when she stood face to face with death, and felt her burden of guilt and sin rolling over her like a mountain, and crushing her to the earth. Then conscience awoke, and like David she cried: “My sin is ever before me.” Oh, that one particular sin! How it haunted her day and night, seeming so much larger than all the rest, and making her shrink away from Edith’s presence and cover her head with the bed-clothes, so as not to see the face bending so kindly over her. For many long years she had slighted the Holy Spirit, and trampled on her conscience, until it would almost seem that the one was hard as a rock and the other flown forever. But God’s mercy is infinite, and He was giving her another chance, and leading her back to Himself through the thorny path her own deeds had made for her feet to walk in. At last when she could bear the anguish no longer, and must speak to some one, she said to Gertie, who was sitting with her that night: “Gertie, are you a Christian? Do you ever pray?” The question was very abrupt, and Gertie’s face flushed, and she waited a little before answering: “Yes, I pray, and hope I am a Christian in the sense you mean. And _you_ are a Christian, too?” she added, after a pause; and Mrs. Barrett said quickly: “No, never. There was nothing real; all was for effect, and now it is like so many scorpions stinging me to madness, and one act hurts me worse than all the rest. Gertie, if you had done something very wicked years ago, something which nobody in the wide world knew besides you, but which concerned another very, very much, _what_ would you do? you, who pray and hope you are a Christian?” Ordinarily Gertie would have thought herself too young and inexperienced to offer advice to one so much her senior, and whom she had believed so good a woman, but now words seemed put into her mouth, and she answered unhesitatingly: