soon lost her, for we often paused to pant
and lean against one another for a moment's respite in this strange
memorable race. We did not speak, but I looked at Rachel, and she was
like a poor lily soiled and crushed by the storm, with her white dress
trailing through the dust, and her satin shoes torn on her feet. But
that was nothing. We reached the farmhouse. There was some one moving to
meet white dishevelled, quivering Rachel. There was a cry, smothered at
once in the awful hush of the place, and Rachel fell, clasping her
mother's knees. I left them alone. What sobbings and whisperings, what
confession and forgiveness followed, God and his angels heard.

I went blindly into the hall, knowing nothing of what I did. I met John
coming to me. I had no words. I stretched out my hands to him. He took
them, took me in his arms, and that was our reconciliation.

That night we were all present at a death-bed. It was only bit by bit
that I learned the story of how the dying man came to be there. The poor
erring father, reduced to want, and smitten by disease, had crept back
in the disguise of a beggar to ask the charity of his deserted wife and
children, and to breathe his last sigh among loving forgiving hearts. It
was Jane, stern Jane, who had denounced him so cruelly, cherished such
bitter resentment against him; it was Jane, who had happened, of a
summer evening in her mother's absence, to open the door to his knock,
had taken him into her arms and into her heart, had nursed him, caressed
him, watched and prayed with him. So that was the end of poor Jane's
hardness of heart. It was all washed away in tears at her father's
death-bed. The last trace of it vanished at sight of Rachel's remorse.

My dear Mrs. Hollingford, my sweet old mother! These two shocks well
nigh caused her death; but when she had nobly weathered the storm she
found a daughter whom she had mourned as lost, living and breathing and
loving in her arms, and her brave heart accepted much comfort.

And what about those three kind souls whom we left in such sudden
consternation by the open window in the drawing-room at the Hall? Why,
of course, they came to inquire into the mystery. I was the one who had
to tell them Rachel's story, as kindly and delicately as I might. You
will be glad, my children, to know that they made very little of their
darling's fault. Mr. Hill was somewhat grave over the matter, but Mrs.
Hill would not allow a word of blame to be