l take it then, for I _must_ get back to Him. You are a man
of God. I put myself in your hands. What am I to do?"

"You put yourself not into my hands, sir, but into the loving and
merciful hands of my Lord Christ. The course before you is plain. You
must find out those you have robbed; you must restore all, and ask these
wronged ones' forgiveness. When they forgive, the peace of God will
shine into your heart."

"You mean the widow and the child. But I do not know anything of them; I
have shut my eyes to their fate."

"The widow is dead, but the child lives; I happen to know her; I can
bring her to you."

"Can you? How soon?"

"In an hour and a half from now if you like. I should wish you to rest
in that peace I spoke of before morning. Shall I bring her to-night?"

"Yes, I will see her; but first, first, will you pray with me?"

Mr. Home knelt down at once. The gray-headed and sinful man knelt by his
side. Then the clergyman hurried away to fetch his wife.

CHAPTER LIII.

THE PRINCE OF PEACE.

It was very nearly midnight when Mr. Home, entering the sitting-room
where his wife waited up for him, asked her to come with him at once.

"There is a hansom at the door," he said, "put on your bonnet and come.
I will tell you all as we drive along; come at once, we have not a
moment to lose."

Charlotte Home, accustomed as Home's wife to imperative demands, only
thought of a night's nursing of some specially poor patient. She rose
without a word, and in two minutes they were driving, as fast as a fleet
horse could take them to Prince's Gate.

"Charlotte," said her husband, taking her hand, "God has heard my
prayer, God has given me the man's soul."

"Whose soul, my dearest?"

"The soul of John Harman. Charlotte, I have prayed as I never prayed
before in all my life for that guilty and troubled sinner's soul. I have
been in an agony for it; it has seemed to me at times that for this lost
and suffering brother I could lay down my very life. On Sunday last I
went to conduct service in the small iron church. I tried the night
before to prepare a sermon; no thought would come to me. I tried at last
to look up an old one; no old sermon would commend itself. Finally I
dropped all thought of the morrow's sermon and spent the greater part of
the night in prayer. My prayer was for this sinner, and it seemed to me,
that as I struggled and pleaded, God the Father and God the Son drew
nigh. I went to bed with a w