“You will forgive everything, Sheila, when you think about it a little more. When we begin to understand how many faults we have ourselves, we see that we must forgive, we can’t help it. Everything seems to sink out of sight except the thought of His forgiveness of us, and what it cost to win it.” Sheila suddenly fell upon her knees before Oscar, and looked anxiously into his face. It was seldom indeed he had spoken to her quite so openly. A quick thrill of anxiety ran through her. “Oscar, have you forgiven Cyril?” “Yes,” he answered in a low voice. “Indeed, sometimes I think it is he who has to forgive me more than I him. For remember, Sheila, it was my carelessness that put in his way the opportunity—suggested, perhaps, the temptation. When I think of that, I feel that it is I who need the forgiveness.” Sheila looked awed at the thought suggested—that terrible thought so often overlooked and set aside, that not alone to ourselves do we sin and do amiss; but that in some way or other our comrades and friends may become involved in our wrong-doing. “‘_Sic vos non vobis_,’” quoted Oscar in a dreamy fashion. “I begin to understand those words, Sheila, as I never did before.” “But it is rather dreadful, Oscar; it makes it seem as though our sins went on and on so!” “Yes, that is what I want to understand better. Our sins are forgiven, but the effects of them so often go on and on. We must think of that, too, Sheila; it will help to make our faults hateful to us. It will make us more patient when we have to bear blame that we do not quite merit; for how much more blame do we deserve than we ever get!” Sheila was silent a long time, looking up into Oscar’s face. “And my plan?” she asked tentatively. “Would be a selfish one,” answered Oscar quickly, “for it would hurt the feelings of our relations; and I think it would be a shirking of the discipline of life, which we both stand in so much need of, Sheila!” “You don’t.” “Yes, I do. It would be very much pleasanter for us to have a little independent crib of our own, where we should be able to indulge ourselves and each other, and get away from all the little frictions of life in a family where things are not done quite in the way we have been used to. But it would be like running away from what seems to have been given us to bear; and I expect we should find we soon had a big new crop of worries and bothers, quite as big as the old ones. So I think, Sheila, we will not force things ourselves. We will go back to Uncle Tom’s, and wait and see what turns up. We will both try and be patient, and do what is right, never minding whether or not it is what we like best ourselves. We must try and learn the lesson of not pleasing ourselves always. You know Who set us the example of that?” Sheila subsided upon the floor, and laid her head on Oscar’s knee, taking his hand between hers. “You are getting so good, Oscar,” she said, “I am almost afraid of you. You are not ill, are you?”