"God knows what a temptation I have had at times, Miss Woodford," she had whispered, finding relief at last in pouring her story into sympathetic ears. "Jewels attracted me so by their luxurious beauty. I stole some beads when I was a little child, and later a watch with pearl initials, and later still other small things I hid, and was afraid to wear--and for years I deceived my friends. Then my father found out I had something which a friend staying at my home accused me of taking--and--and--he turned me out--and it was when I was trying to earn my living I met my husband first. I never told him my weakness for fear he would turn from me, and I had no strength from Him you tell me of--He Who is mighty to save----" "And forgive," whispered Margaret gently. The tears came into Lucille Medhurst's eyes. "Yes, I know now. You have shown me His love, and I can go to Him without fear." Margaret's heart thrilled as she heard these words. "It is not all my story--but--I have told Him--my Saviour--and the burden is gone." Then she roused for a little. "And--my children--Miss Woodford?" The glance was interrogatory and pleading. "I will do anything I can," said Margaret, with tears of pity, as she lightly pressed the patient's hands. Mrs. Medhurst closed her eyes, and an expression of relief fell upon her face. Gently and peacefully she passed into the new land of God's Love, where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest. CHAPTER XI AN OLD CRIME With a thoughtful air Horace Hatherley put down the newspaper, where he had been studying the column of Births, Deaths, and Marriages, and with an expression of abstraction gazed out into the garden in front of him, deep in retrospect. His friend Dr. Crane's voice broke the spell. "What's the problem, Hatherley?" asked the newcomer, pausing by his chair as he spoke. "A name here" (indicating the newspaper upon his knee) "has brought back old days, and a dramatic episode to my mind." "What is it?--let's have the tale if it's worth the telling." Dr. Hatherley did not answer at once--but after a slight pause: "This is in confidence," he said seriously--"there is something I should like to share with you; as I said, a name long unheard, as far as I am concerned, has caught my eye, and brought back an old doubt to my mind." "You may trust me," said Dr. Crane, sitting down, and pulling his pipe out of his pocket, which he lighted with a taper ignited at the glowing fire in front of him. "I see here," began Horace Hatherley, "the death of Lucille Medhurst"--picking up the paper again and pointing to the announcement as he spoke. A flash of interest kindled in his friend's eyes. "Yes--what of it? Did you know her?" "Slightly--I met her first upon her wedding day. He--her husband--was--my--friend." These last words were said slowly, and sadly. "What--Medhurst of that address--Oaklands, Wychcliff?" "Yes--that one."