Every word applied to my case. The gracious spirit of God carried home the truth to my heart, and helped me to accept his conditions of mercy. The whole room seemed filled with light. Never had I conceived such joy, such peace, as flowed in upon my soul. From trying to invent excuses for my own base conduct, I saw myself the vilest of the vile. I realize now that murder had been in my heart,—murder of a brother. I love you now. I wonder at your forbearance when I reproached you. How pityingly you used to gaze on me! I seem to see your eyes now,—eyes like our mother's, so sweet, so sad,—looking into mine as though you would say, "Stella, I want to love you. Why can't we be at peace?" O Harold, my brother, would that I could see you once more and ask your forgiveness! Aunt Sarah often said that I had driven you from home and friends. It is true. I grieve over it, and have asked God to forgive me. I pray that we may meet in heaven: you will forgive me there. Before I close, I must tell you that immediately after Will's death I went home with Aunt Sarah, and remained till she died. In the bank where father left your money, you will find my share and Will's. I have never drawn one pound. I could not, as I had made it over to you. My legacy has sufficed. I want you to accept mine (Will's is yours by right) from a sister who has learned not only to love but to admire you. I found letters from your teachers in the military school to father. They wrote of you in the highest terms. Father used to read them over and over. I did not see them till after his death. One favor I would like to ask. If you ever receive this, will you repay the faithful friend I have mentioned the amount she has expended for my lot in Greenwood,—she has promised to follow me there,—and any other expense incurred for my sickness beyond the $60 I leave in my purse? Later.—The end is drawing near. I am not afraid: Christian friends are about me. My own loved Marion will be here presently, and will not leave me till Jesus, my Saviour calls me home. I have an assurance this morning that my prayers for you will be answered. We shall meet father and mother and all our loved ones in heaven. Farewell, dear Harold, farewell! Afternoon.—God has seen fit to keep me here a little longer. I have not told you that I came to America two years ago,—after Aunt Sarah's death. I was in a boarding house with an acquaintance from home, and taught music when a sudden cold settled on my lungs. Miss Howard heard me sing once at a party given by one of my pupils and afterward called when she learned I was sick. She is a great lover of music. She has been such a friend to me as I cannot describe. This Home for the Sick has proved a paradise to many. Thank God, who sent me here. Once more, brother, farewell! Meet me in heaven. STELLA ANGUS. CHAPTER XVII. THE CRIPPLED BOY.