’Lina was very much excited—so much so, indeed, that Alice could not talk with her then; and for days this was the burden of her remarks. She could not forgive her mother nor Adah, and until she did, there was no use for her or any one else to pray. But the prayers she could not say for herself were said for her by others, while Alice omitted no proper occasion for talking with her personally on the subject she felt to be all important. Nor were these efforts without their effect, for the bitter tone ceased at last, and ’Lina became gentle as a child. Taking Mrs. Worthington’s hand one day, she said, “I’ve given you little cause to love me, and I know how glad you must be that another, and not I, is your real daughter. I did not know what made me so bad, but I understand it now. I saw myself so plainly in that man’s eyes; it was his nature in me which made me a second Satan—so bad to you, so hateful to Hugh. Oh, Hugh! the memory of what I’ve been to him is the hardest part of all, for I want him to think kindly of me when I’m gone!” and covering her face with the sheet, ’Lina wept bitterly; while Hugh, who was standing behind her laid his warm hand on her head, smoothing her hair caressingly, as he said, “Never mind that, ’Lina; I, too, was bad to you—provoking you purposely many times, and exposing your weakness just to see how savage you would be. If ’Lina can forgive _me_, I surely can forgive ’Lina.” There was the sound of convulsive sobbing; and then, uncovering her face, ’Lina raised herself up, and laying her head on Hugh’s bosom, answered through her tears, “I wish I had always felt as I do now. We should have been happier together, and it would not be so great a relief to you’all to have me gone, never to come back again. Hugh, you don’t know how bad I’ve been. You remember the money you sent to Adah last summer in mother’s letter. I kept the whole. I burned the letter, and mother never saw it. I bought jewelry with Adah’s money. I did so many things, I—I—it goes from me now. I can’t remember all. Oh, must I confess the whole, everything, before I can say, ‘Forgive us our trespasses?’” “No, ’Lina. Unless you can repair some wrong, you are not bound to tell every little thing. Confession is due to God alone,” Alice whispered to the agitated girl, who looked bewildered, as she answered back, “But God knows all now, and you do not; besides, I can’t feel sorry towards Him as I do towards others. I try and try, but the feeling is not there—the sorry feeling, I mean, as sorry as I want to feel.” “God, who knows our feebleness, accepts our purpose to do better, and gives us strength to carry them out,” Alice whispered, again bending over ’Lina, on whose pallid, distressed face a ray of hope for a moment shone.