aveyard where Jane lay. Not often did he come here now--he
felt that she was up among the stars; it was only the shroud of clay
that lay under the sod--yet on this day when love scatters garlands
over its dead, he had come to place a wreath of wild-flowers on her
grave.

He thought of that night when he had first visited this spot. How far
in the past it seemed! He could never forget it, but he could think of
it now in quiet of soul, and feel, "He doeth all things well."
Reverently he laid the wreath on the grave, knelt in silent prayer,
and tarried a moment with bowed head. Memories sweet and tender,
memories sad and bitter, came back to him.

Just then he heard a noise, a foot-fall opposite, and looked up to see
a tall form supported by a crutch standing with bowed head.

"Why, Dan!" Job said, startled for a moment.

"Job!" answered a trembling voice.

And there they stood, those two men whose lives met in the one under
the sod; stood and looked in silence.

At last Dan spoke. But how different his voice sounded! All the
scornfulness had gone out of it.

"Job," he said, "Job, I knew you were here. Many a night I have seen
you come, have watched you kneeling here, and hated you for it--yet
loved you for it. I knew you would come again to-night. I came to
stand beneath that old pine yonder, and watched you lay the wreath on
the grave. I could stand it no longer. I have come, Job--I have
come--" and Dan, yes, Dan Dean, faltered!--"come to be forgiven. For
years I have dogged your footsteps, hated you, persecuted you, lain in
wait to ruin you. For this alone I have lived. God only knows--you
don't--how bad I have been. But, Job, you are too much for me. The
more I harm you, the nobler you grow. I have hated religion, but
to-night I would give all I ever hope to own to have a little like
yours. If religion can do for a fellow what it has for you, there is
nothing in the world like it."

A little nearer he came, as Job, hardly believing his ears, listened.

"Job," he cried, "I don't deserve it, God knows! I have wronged you
beyond all hope of mercy. But I must be forgiven, or I must die. You
must forgive me. I cannot live another day with this awful feeling in
my heart. I cannot sleep--I cannot work. I don't care whether I die or
not, but I cannot go into eternity without knowing that you forgive
me!"

At last the tears came, and Dan sank, crutch in hand, beside Jane's
grave.

Job could not speak. For a momen