pursued, "I must pass on quickly to the end. This man's
one error seemed to cause all fate to rise against him that he might
become an infidel to God and to man. At last he had faith in no living
soul except his mother. This alone saved him from being the vilest
wretch that ever crawled, as he was already the most miserable."

A faint groan--only one--broke from the depth of the mother's heart, but
she never spoke.

"There was no escape--his pride shut out that. So, year after year, he
fulfilled his calling, and lived his life, honestly, morally--towards
man, at least; but towards Heaven it was one long, awful lie. For he--a
minister in God's temple--was in his heart an infidel."

Harold stopped. In his strong excitement he had forgotten his mother.
She, letting go his hand, glided to her knees; there she knelt for a
long time, her lips moving silently. At last she rose, her grand figure
lifted to its utmost height, her face very stern, her voice without one
tone of tremulous age, or mother's anguish.

"And this hypocrite in man's sight--this blasphemer in the face of
God--is my son Harold?"

"Was, but is not--never will be more. Oh, mother, have mercy! for Heaven
has had mercy too.--I am no sceptic now. I believe, ay, fervently and
humbly believe."

Mrs. Gwynne uttered a great cry, and fell on his neck. Never since the
time when he was a child in her arms had he received such a passionate
clasp--an embrace mingled with weeping that shook the whole frame of the
aged mother. For a moment she lifted her head, murmured a thanksgiving
for the son who "was dead, and alive again--was lost and found," and
then she clung to him once more.

"Olive kept aloof, until, seeing what a ghastly paleness was coming over
the face of her betrothed, she came and stood beside him, saying,

"Do not talk more, you are too weak. Let me tell the rest."

"You there, Olive? Go! Leave my son to me; you have no part here."

But Harold held his betrothed fast. "Nay, mother. Take her and bless
her, for it was she who saved your son."

And then, in a few broken words, he told the rest of the tale; told it
so that not even his mother could be wounded by the thought of a secret
known to Olive and concealed from her--of an influence that over her son
was more powerful than her own. Afterwards, when Olive's arms were round
her neck, and Olive's voice was heard imploring pardon for both, her
whole heart melted within her. Solemnly she blessed