ncurable complaint; a complaint that must end my life, must end it
soon, and suddenly. In short, the doctor said to me, not in words, but
by look, by manner, by significant hand pressure, and that silent
sympathy which speaks a terrible fact. 'Prepare to meet thy God.' Since
the morning I left the doctor's presence I have been trying to prepare;
but between God and me stands my sin. I cannot get a glimpse of God. I
wait, and wait, but I only see the awful sin of my youth. In short, sir,
I am in the far country where God is not."

"To die so would be terrible," said Mr. Home.

"To die so will be terrible, sir; in, short, it will be hell."

"Do not put it in the future tense, Mr. Harman, for you that day is
past."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that even now, though you know it not, you are no longer in the
far country. You are the prodigal son if you like, but you are on the
road back to the Father. You are on the homeward road, and the Father is
looking out for you. When you come to die you will not be alone, the
hand of God will hold yours, and the smile of a forgiving God will say
to you, as the blessed Jesus said once to a poor sinful woman, who yet
was not _half_ as great a sinner as you are, 'Thy sins, which are many,
are forgiven thee.'"

"You believe then in the greatness of my sin?"

"I believe, I _know_ that your sin was enormous; but so also is your
repentance."

"God knows I repent," answered Mr. Harman.

"Yes; when you asked me to visit you, and when you poured out that story
in my ears, your long repentance and anguish of heart were beginning to
find vent."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you will make reparation."

"Ay, indeed I am more than willing. Zacchaeus restored fourfold."

"Yes, the road for you, straight to the bosom of the Father, is very
prickly and full of sharp thorns. You have held a high character for
honor and respectability. You have a child who loves you, who has
thought you perfect. You must step down from your high pedestal. You
must renounce the place you have held in your child's heart. In short,
you must let your only child, and also the cold, censorious world, see
you as God has seen you for so long."

"I don't mind the world, but--my child--my only child," said Mr. Harman,
and now he put up his trembling hands and covered his face. "That is a
very hard road," he said after a pause.

"There is no other back to the Father," answered the clergyman.

"Well, I wil