ook the extended
hand in his own.

"Why, don't you know me?" answered the boy, smiling, and, at the same
time, drawing him, by a slight but decided traction, to sit down by him.
"Me--your best friend?"

Something in the voice, something in the manner, and in the expression
of the eyes, but, most of all, the smile, seemed strangely familiar to
Bressant. The touch of the hand, too, he thought be recognized--it
soothed and yet controlled him. Still, he was unable to recall exactly
who the boy was, or where he had seen him before.

"I've had so much to think of lately," murmured he, partly to himself,
partly by way of excusing his forgetfulness, passing his hand over his
forehead.

"Yes, indeed!" returned the latter, in a tone of tender sympathy, that
vibrated gratefully along Bressant's nerves. "But we know each other,
and we are friends--that is enough."

"How strange that I should meet you here, and at such a time!" said
Bressant, musingly. And he wondered at himself for feeling glad, instead
of sorry, that the encounter should have taken place. But the boy looked
up in surprise.

"Strange? No! I'm sure it's the most natural thing in the world. How
could it have happened otherwise? Should I have been your friend if I
had failed you now?"

"But do you know every thing?" Bressant demanded--less, however, because
he doubted that it should be so than as wishing to receive full
assurance thereof. "Do you know all that has happened during these last
six months, and yet are willing to be with me and speak to me?"

"It has been a terrible time, to be sure," said the boy, sadly; "you
should have kept your promise and come to me at your first trouble. It
might have saved you from a great deal. And yet I can see how, in the
end, it may all be for the best."

Bressant shook his head dejectedly. "I've lost what I never can regain!"
said he, "and there are three stains--falsehood, dishonor, and
treachery--that never can be washed out."

"Don't say that!" exclaimed the boy, earnestly and hopefully. "God
teaches us, you know, not to be in despair, because without hope--hope
of becoming better--we can't be really repentant."

"I'm not repentant, certainly--I have no hope," rejoined Bressant. But,
even as he spoke the words, he was conscious of that within him which
contradicted them. Either the influence of the boy's gentle and trustful
spirit, or a new opening of his own inward eyes, had borne in upon him a
vision of hith