"At first," added Mr. Angus, "I used to pity myself; but when I had received forgiveness of my heavenly Father, my pity was for her. I remembered that the unforgiving cannot receive forgiveness of God. I felt that my life was rendered desolate, but I was willing to receive that as a chastisement. My prayer was, 'Lord, let her forgive that she may be forgiven.' The idea of her suffering from poverty never occurred to me. Of late, when I have witnessed the happiness of home life,—fathers and mothers with their children growing up around them,—I have thought that, had my life been different, I might have been blessed with a paradise of a home." "All the sadness is over now," murmured Marion, softly. "Do you think a man with such a past as mine has a right to ask any one to share his future?" What Marion might have answered had there not been a knock at the door, I cannot tell. James entered, and carried to his mistress a note on a salver. "I told you I could see no one to-night." "Yes, miss, but the messenger persists. He's from the Home for the Sick." CHAPTER XVI. STELLA'S CONFESSION. MRS. ASBURY was sitting at work in her room when she heard the outer door open and a quick step on the stairs. "Who can that be?" she asked, somewhat surprised. "No one but Mr. Angus has a key, ma." "He never steps like that, Annie. Open the door and see." Before she could do so, the step came down again and Mr. Angus came into the sitting-room holding out his hand as he greeted them. Both mother and daughter started up to meet him, and Ethel, hearing his voice, came running in, and stood for a moment gazing in wonder. In her childish way she gave expression to their thoughts. "It's a new Mr. Angus." "Yes, it is, darling," he said, catching her in his arms. "That other Mr. Angus has gone away, and I hope never to see him any more." Turning to Mrs. Asbury, he said, "God has been very good to me, and sent me the best of news from an absent friend. I have long mourned her as dead; now I learn that she died in faith, trusting in the blood of Christ to wash away all her sins." "I am truly glad for you," was her earnest reply. "The intelligence I have received renders it necessary for me to go to England for a short time. I want to ask your husband's advice concerning arrangements for my pulpit during my absence." "How long shall you be away?" "Probably three months." "You have six weeks' vacation. Why not include those, and get a supply for the rest?" "Thank you for the suggestion. It is my wish to leave as soon as possible." This was all the explanation he gave as to the change in his conduct, a change recognized by every one in the parish. His voice, his step, his manner, were cheerful even to buoyancy. His smile was more frequent, and had lost forever the sadness which formerly often accompanied it.