“If you only knew how your indignation that a wretched man's life was spared to him shocks me!” said Agnes. “Dear child, surely you are on the side of mercy; you have not been, accustomed to the savage code of a life for a life.” Clare was silent. “It shocks me to hear any one speak as Claude Westwood does of that poor wretch,” continued Agnes. “It is not possible that you--Tell me, Clare, do you think your mother would have had the same thought as you had just now? Was she indignant when she read that the life of that man Standish was spared?” “She cried 'Thank God!' as fervently as if she had known the wretch all her life,” replied Clare. “Ah, my dear mother was a better woman than I am. Her heart was full of tenderness.” “And so is yours, my child,” said Agnes gently. “You did not speak from your heart just now. Your words were but an echo of those I have heard Claude Westwood speak.” There was a long silence before Clare put her hand on the arm of her companion, saying in a low voice: “I was wrong, dear Agnes. I spoke unfeelingly, without thinking of all that my words meant. I only thought of the passion of grief in which Mr. Westwood had expressed his indignation that the man who brought so much unhappiness into his life had been spared.” “Pray for him,” cried Agnes quickly. “Pray for that man as Christ prayed for His murderers. Pray that his life may not have been given to him in vain.” “I will pray that God may pity him,” said the girl. “We all stand in need of forgiveness, do we not?” The remainder of the drive to The Knoll was silent; and so was Agnes, when she went to her room, and seated herself in front of the fire. She was breathing hard as she leant forward with her head resting on her hands. She remained motionless, staring into the glowing coals until the luncheon bell rang. Then she rose hastily, saying in a whisper: “It was too terrible! God pity her! God pity her!” Her maid entered the room, and she changed her dress. While in the act of going downstairs she heard the sound of Claude Westwood's voice in the hall. He was talking to Clare in front of the blazing logs of the hall fire, and Agnes saw that he now wore the dress of a country gentleman. When he had called at the house the previous day as well as on the day after his return to England, he had worn a black morning coat. She paused beneath the stained-glass window of the little lobby where the broad staircases turned off at right angles to the half-dozen shallow steps at the bottom--she paused, and could not move for some moments, for the scene which was before her eyes appeared to her like a glimpse of a day she remembered well: the same man wearing the same jacket and gaiters, had stood talking in the same voice to a young girl who looked up to his face as she stooped somewhat over the big grate, holding her fingers over the blaze, just as Clare was doing.