to go to see you,
and you must not come here, for I cannot risk the chance of seeing you.
He may question me, and I shall not be able to answer his questions. No,
Charlotte, we must not meet."

Charlotte Home felt much regret at this. Failing Charlotte Harman, she
turned her attention to Hinton. She was fully resolved that no stone
should remain unturned by her to enable those two yet to marry, and she
thought she might best effect her object by seeing the young man. She
wrote to him, asking him to call, telling him that she had much of
importance to tell him; but both from his private address and also from
his chambers the letters were, in due course of time, returned. Hinton
was not in town, and had left no clue to his whereabouts. Thus she was
cut off from helping, in any way, those who were in great darkness, and
this fact was an undoubted sorrow to her. Yes, Mrs. Home was full of
pity for Charlotte, full of pity for Charlotte's lover. But it is to be
feared that both she and Uncle Sandy retained a strong sense of
indignation towards the one who had caused the anguish--towards the one,
therefore, on whom the heaviest share of the punishment fell. Very
terrible was it for Charlotte, very terrible for Hinton. But were they
asked to tell their true feeling towards old John Harman, they might
have whispered, "Serve him right." There was one, however, besides his
daughter, whose warmest sympathies, whose most earnest and passionate
prayers were beginning day by day and night by night, to centre more and
more round the suffering and guilty man, and that one was the curate,
Home. Angus Home had never seen John Harman, but his sin and his
condition were ever before him. He was a dying man, and--he was a
sinner. With strong tears and lamentation did this man cry to God for
his fellow man. His tears and his prayers brought love for the sinner.
Angus Home would have gladly died to bring John Harman back to God.

One Saturday night he sat up late over his sermon. He was not an
eloquent preacher, but so earnest was his nature, so intense his
realization of God's love and of the things unseen, that it was
impossible for his words not to be winged with the rare power of
earnestness. He was neither gifted with language nor with imagination;
but he could tell plain truths in such a way that his hearers often
trembled as they listened. At such times he looked like an avenging
angel. For the man, when he felt called on to rebuke sin