"One thing more, my dear Lucy: I parted with your aunt Bernard, as you know, in great anger,—not without just cause. But it is my duty to pardon all, even as I would myself be pardoned. I would not appear before God save in charity with all men. I therefore desire that you will convey to my sister Bernard the assurance of my full and free forgiveness, in such way as Cousin Deborah may think best; and I also desire that you, Lucy, will forgive her for the wrongs she has done you. Cease not to pray for your father, my child; and may the God of the fatherless be your support if I am taken from you!" Lucy listened to this letter with quiet tears rolling down her face and dropping in Cousin Deborah's apron. "Oh," she thought, "if I only dared tell her all about the thimble! If only it were not for those dreadful things the woman spoke of!" "Now, Lucy, how shall we manage to convey your father's message to Aunt Bernard?" asked Cousin Deborah. "Will you go and carry it to her?" "Oh, Cousin Deborah, I dare not!" said Lucy, turning pale. "I dare not speak to Aunt Bernard. You don't know how afraid I am of her." Cousin Deborah put her arm round Lucy, and felt that she was trembling at the very idea of facing her aunt. A feeling of indignation crossed her mind as she thought what the tyranny must have been, which so affected the child that the mere notion of speaking to Mrs. Bernard was dreadful to her. She forbore to urge Lucy any further. "Suppose, then, Lucy, you copy this message of your father's in your own handwriting, and add some words of your own. I think that will be the best course. And, my dear, I am sure you will not forget, in your own secret prayers, to beseech God's protection for your dear father in the perils to which he is exposed." "Do you suppose there has been a battle, Cousin Deborah?" asked Lucy. "Of course I cannot tell, my love. You see, your father himself did not know. Great generals are not accustomed to tell their plans until they are ready to act; and I have heard that the Duke of Marlborough is remarkable for keeping his own counsel. But, even if there has been no battle, your father may be in danger. Many soldiers are slain who are not killed in battle." "Then perhaps my papa may be dead already," said Lucy. "Oh, Cousin Deborah, suppose I should be an orphan even now!" And Lucy burst into tears, and wept bitterly. "My dearest child," said Cousin Deborah, taking Lucy upon her lap, and wiping away the tears which fell from her own eyes, "we cannot tell what may have happened; but, Lucy, you must try to remember that God is in Bavaria as well as here, and to trust in him to take care of your dear father. 'God is love,' you know St. John says in the verses we read this morning." "But God will not love me, because I am a naughty girl," sobbed Lucy. "Aunt Bernard said God hated me and would send his judgments to destroy me."