stern resolution sat on his countenance--probably he had resolved to
"die game," as hardened criminals express it. His determination, on
whatever ground based, was evidently not shaken by the arguments of a
man who sat by his couch. It was Tom Brixton.

"What's the use o' preachin' to me, young fellow?" said the
robber-chief, testily. "I dare say you are pretty nigh as great a
scoundrel as I am."

"Perhaps a greater," returned Tom. "I have no wish to enter into
comparisons, but I'm quite prepared to admit that I am as bad."

"Well, then, you've as much need as I have to seek salvation for
yourself."

"Indeed I have, and it is because I have sought it and obtained it,"
said Tom, earnestly, "that I am anxious to point out the way to you.
I've come through much the same experiences, no doubt, as you have. I
have been a scouter of my mother's teachings, a thief, and, in heart if
not in act, a murderer. No one could be more urgently in need of
salvation _from sin_ than I, and I used to think that I was so bad that
my case was hopeless, until God opened my eyes to see that Jesus came to
save His people _from their sins_. That is what you need, is it not?"

"Ay, but it is too late," said Stalker, bitterly.

"The crucified thief did not find it too late," returned Tom, "and it
was the eleventh hour with him."

Stalker made no reply, but the stern, hard expression of his face did
not change one iota until he heard a female voice outside asking if he
were asleep. Then the features relaxed; the frown passed like a summer
cloud before the sun, and, with half-open lips and a look of glad,
almost childish expectancy, he gazed at the curtain-door of the tent.

"Mother's voice!" he murmured, apparently in utter forgetfulness of Tom
Brixton's presence.

Next moment the curtain was raised, and Betty, entering quickly,
advanced to the side of the couch. Tom rose, as if about to leave.

"Don't go, Mr Brixton," said the girl, "I wish you to hear us."

"My brother!" she continued, turning to the invalid, and grasping his
hand, for the first time, as she sat down beside him.

"If you were not so young I'd swear you were my mother," exclaimed
Stalker, with a slight look of surprise at the changed manner of his
nurse. "Ha! I wish that I were indeed your brother."

"But you _are_ my brother, Edwin Buxley," cried the girl with intense
earnestness, "my dear and only brother, whom God will save through Jesus
Christ?"