“You know what it is, then,” she said, “to be disgraced in the eyes of the world. If you have suffered so much in these two weeks, you may guess what I have borne for twenty-five years!” “I see it now, Mary!” he cried, “as I never saw it before. Try me! Tell me what to do!” “The Lord has done it, already; there is nothing left.” He groaned; his head dropped hopelessly upon his breast. Gilbert felt that Martha's agitation ceased. She quietly released her hold of his arm, lifted her head, and spoke,-- “Mother, forgive me if I speak when I should hold my peace; I would only remind you that there is yet one thing left. It is true, as you say; the Lord has justified you in His own way, and at His own time, and has revenged the wrong done to you by branding the sin committed towards Himself. Now He leaves the rest to your own heart. Think that He holds back and waits for the words that shall declare whether you understand the spirit in which He deals towards His children!” “Martha, my dear child!” Mary Barton exclaimed,--“what can I do?” “It is not for me to advise you, mother. You, who put my impatient pride to shame, and make my love for Gilbert seem selfish by contrast with your long self-sacrifice! What right have I, who have done nothing, to speak to you, who have done so much that we never can reckon it? But, remember that in the Lord's government of the world pardon follows repentance, and it is not for us to exact like for like, to the uttermost farthing!” Mary Barton sank into a chair, covered her face with her hands, and wept aloud. There were tears in Martha's eyes; her voice trembled, and her words came with a softness and tenderness that soothed while they pierced: “Mother, I am a woman like yourself; and, as a woman, I feel the terrible wrong that has been done to you. It may be as hard for you now to forget, as then to bear; but it is certainly greater and nobler to forgive than to await justice! Because I reverence you as a strong and pure and great-hearted woman--because I want to see the last and best and sweetest grace of our sex added to your name--and lastly, for Gilbert's sake, who can feel nothing but pain in seeing his father execrated and shunned--I ask your forgiveness for your husband!” “Mary!” Alfred Barton cried, lifting up his head in a last appeal, “Mary, this much, at least! Don't go to the courts for a divorce! Don't get back your own name for yourself and Gilbert! Keep mine, and make it more respectable for me! And I won't ask you to pardon me, for I see you can't!” “It is all clear to me, at last!” said Mary Barton. “I thank you, Martha, my child, for putting me in the right path. Alfred, don't kneel to me; if the Lord can pardon, who am I that I should be unforgiving? I fear me I was nigh to forfeit His mercy. Gilbert, yours was half the shame; yours is half the wrong; can you join me in pardoning your father and my husband?”