"Do not think that I do not sympathise with you fully and entirely; it is a terrible position; he has injured you, and it has been most cruel; but, auntie, do not let him do you further injury, for there is a further injury that this may do you, a greater wrong!" Mrs. Dorriman hurriedly swept away her tears that were blinding her, and gazed at Margaret with blank astonishment. "A further injury, Margaret! What further injury can be left? I have suffered surely enough at his hands?" "Oh!" exclaimed Margaret, passionately. "Do you not see--can you not feel--that if you allow this to rankle in your mind; if you allow the sweetness of your nature to be turned to gall; if your soul suffers, and that you say it is not possible to forgive--there will be a deeper injury?" She stopped and left her, and poor Mrs. Dorriman stood looking after her, as though expecting her to return. Once before she had had a bitter struggle, and she had forgiven. She went to her room, where all was ready for her departure, and she shut herself in.... Blank and desolate was Mr. Sandford's room. He allowed no one to come near him. He sent away Margaret, though she had insisted on bringing him food, and had tried to talk to him. He sat long hours suffering acutely both physically and mentally. He seemed only now more fully to realise what a crime his was. His sister's character, in his eyes so feeble, was, he had conceived, unfitted for the position she should have held; and this was his own excuse to himself when conscience asserted itself, or rather tried to do so. They had all left him, he thought. There had been a bustle and a movement in the hall, and he had heard wheels. The light was waning fast over the room, by the shadow of twilight, in which his face looked wan and white. He knew that his hours were numbered, and he wished to pray; but he had no habit of prayer; he had always been afraid.... How he was suffering! His heart beat as though each stroke would burst it. The door opened very slowly, and he started up. Who was the intruder? Who was it that came to mock his sufferings? Then a gentle voice spoke out of the dim and fading light--"Brother!" and Mrs. Dorriman came up and knelt down by his side. "I have been wrong," she said. "I thought only of myself, and I did not realise your wrongs. Once again I come to say forgive, as I hope for forgiveness myself." Her voice died away. She heard him say fervently, in a very low voice, "Thank God!" and she went on-- "But while I do wish you to know this--to try and forget the wrong done to me--there is another to turn to, to ask for forgiveness from." She felt his hand clasp hers; and as in a dream came from his lips that first prayer of childhood--"Our Father!" She left him after a while; but she did not go away that night. Next day his servant, who slept in the little ante-room, saw that he had been busy writing, and then laid down and was now sleeping.