our prayer."

"God believed her, because she proved her repentance by leading a new,
purer life. But I have no chance left to prove mine. If she had been
cut off in the midst of her sins, as I am, she would have been obliged
to pay in her ruined soul to the Satan she had served so long. When I
am called to the settlement, it seems an insult and a mockery to ask
God, whom I have defied, to save me. If I could only have a little time
to show my penitence."

"Perhaps you may be spared; but if not, God sees your contrition just
as fully now as if you lived fifty years to show it in good works. He
sees you are sincerely remorseful, and would be a true Christian, if He
allowed you an opportunity. That is the blessedness of our religion,
that when Christ gives us a new heart, purified by repentance and faith
in Him, He says it makes clean hands, in His sight, no matter how black
they might have been. One of the thieves was already on the cross, in
the agonies of death, with his sins fresh on his soul, and no possible
chance of atoning for his past, by future dedication of his life to
good; but Christ saw his heart was genuinely repentant, and though the
man did not escape crucifixion by humanity, his pardoned soul met Jesus
that same day in Paradise. It is not acceptance of our good deeds,
though they are required, it is forgiveness of our sins, that makes
Christ so precious. Pray from the very bottom of your heart, to God,
and try to take hold of the promise to the truly penitent; and
trust--trust Him."

For a moment the crouching figure was still, as if the sufferer
mentally grasped at some shred of hope; then she fell back on her
pillow, and groaned.

"Do you know all I have done? Do you think there is any mercy for--"

"Hush, every word taxes your failing strength. Compose yourself."

"I can't! As long as I have breath let me tell you. If I shut my eyes,
horrible things seem to be pouncing upon me; dreadful shapes laugh, and
beckon to me, and I see--oh! pity me! I see my murdered child, with the
blood spouting, foaming, the velvety brown eyes I loved to kiss,
staring and glazed as I dragged his little body to--"

With a gurgling scream she paused, shivered, panted.

"It is a feverish dream. Your child is safe in heaven; ask your Father
to let you see his face among the angels."

"It's not fever; it's the past, my own crimes that come to follow me to
judgment and accuse me. The hand of my first-born pointing over