sessed, the same as that worn by the
girl in the picture, the small portrait which had been found in her bag
the night that Wilhelm Hoerstel had discovered her in the Black Forest,
all confirmed the idea that she was indeed the grandchild of the Manor;
but it was not until Mrs. Willoughby heard the story of the "brown
German Bible" that she sobbed out the words, "Oh, thank God, thank God,
she is the child of my darling Hilda. Now, dear friend, this discovery
must be communicated by me to my husband, and he will know that his last
prayer for me has been granted."

Mr. Willoughby was quite conscious, and evidently understood the fact
that at last a child of his daughter's had been found. As regarded the
death of the mother, he merely whispered the words, "I shall see her
soon;" then said, "I thank thee, O my Father, that Thou hast answered
prayer, and that now my sweet wife will not be left alone.--Give my fond
love to the girl, wife, for I feel my eyes shall not see her. That is my
punishment for so long cherishing an unforgiving spirit."

And if God could act as a man, such might have been the case; but our
God is fully and for ever a promise-keeping God, and He has declared,
"If any man confess his sins, He is faithful and just to forgive him,
and to cleanse him from all iniquity." And so it came to pass that ere
the spirit of Mr. Willoughby passed away, he had pressed more than one
kiss on the lips of his grandchild, and whispered the words, "Full
forgiveness through Christ--what a God we have! Comfort your
grandmother, my child, and keep near to Jesus in your life. God bless
the kind friends who have protected and loved you when you were
homeless.--And now, Lord, let Thy servant depart in peace.--Farewell,
loved and faithful wife, who, by the reading to me God's word of life,
hast led my soul to Christ." One deep-drawn breath, and his spirit fled,
and his wife and grandchild were left alone to comfort each other.

* * * * *

"And now, Frida, my loved child, come and tell me all about those
friends who were so kind to you in the Forest," said Mrs. Willoughby
some days after Mr. Willoughby's funeral. "Ah, how little we thought
that we had a grandchild living there, and that our darling Hilda was
dead! When I look upon you, Frida, it almost seems as if all these long
years of suffering had been a dream, and my daughter were again seated
beside me, work in hand, as we so often sat in the