"Yes: I was instrumental in healing Mrs. Pearson's baby this morning; the first time that I have been permitted to do such a thing since Fay went away." Then I changed the subject hastily, with that shyness which all Englishmen feel when speaking about the matters that concern their own souls. "And there is yet another thing I want to say; that is to ask you to make your permanent home with me here. You can go over and visit your relations in Australia as often as you like; but I want you to feel that this is your real home. I have been very lonely ever since Fay went away. I was going to add, 'and ever since Annabel was married,' but candidly I don't think that really made much difference. When the worst has happened, minor troubles don't count. But you seem almost part of Fay--a sort of legacy that she has left me, because she loved us both: and I feel that it would please her if we devoted the rest of our lives to taking care of each other." Frank was trying so hard to choke back his sob that he could not speak. He was still very weak after his awful experiences in Belgium. So I went on, order to give him time to recover himself. "I think we shall be happy together, my boy, in a second-rate sort of way; but we can never be really perfectly happy until we see Fay again. At least I know I can't. But that is the worst of wrong-doing, or of any infringement of the great law of Love." I still continued talking, seeing that the boy was not yet master of himself: "We repent our wrong-doing, and God forgives us, and we know it will all come right again some day: but not here, or now. Between us you and I managed to spoil Fay's life; and no repentance of ours will set that right in this life, nor undo the harm that we (however unconsciously) wrought. There is no bringing the shadow on the dial ten degrees backward. We may pretend to ourselves that there is, but there isn't really. God still performs many miracles, but not that one. Of course He _could_ if He so willed it, but He certainly _doesn't_; and so what is done is done, and what is past is past, and it is only left to us to bear with God's help the consequences of our own misdeeds." To my surprise the usually undemonstrative Frank sprang up from the couch where he was lying, and flung himself on his knees beside my chair, at the same time throwing his thin arms round my neck. "Yes, Reggie, He can," he gasped between his sobs: "He can and He will and He does."