d against him.

"'Has powder come into fashion, brother?' he said. 'Your hair is
streaked with white.'

"'If it has,' said the other, laughing, 'your barber is better than
mine, Melchior, for your head is as white as snow.'

"'Is it possible? are we so old? has Time gone so very fast? But what
are you staring at through the window? I shall be jealous of that
crowd, brother.'

"'I am not looking at the crowd,' said the prodigal in a low voice;
'but I see--'

"'You see what?' said Melchior.

"'A figure in a cloak, gliding in and out--'

"Melchior sprang up in horror. 'No! no!' he cried, hoarsely. 'No!
surely no!'

"Surely yes! Too surely the well-known figure came on; and the
prodigal's sunken eyes looked more sunken still as he gazed. As for
Melchior, he neither spoke nor moved, but stood in a silent agony,
terrible to see. All at once a thought seemed to strike him; he seized
his brother, and pushed him to the furthest corner of the seat, and
then planted himself firmly at the door just as Death came up and put
his hand into the coach. Then he spoke in a low steady voice, more
piteous than cries or tears.

"'I humbly beseech you, good Death, if you must take one of us, to
take me. I have had a long drive, and many comforts and blessings, and
am willing if unworthy to go. He has suffered much, and had no
pleasure; leave him for a little to enjoy the drive in peace, just for
a very little; he has suffered so much, and I have been so much to
blame; let me go instead of him.'

"Alas for Melchior! It is decreed in the Providence of GOD,
that, although the opportunities for doing good, which are in the
power of every man, are beyond count or knowledge, yet, the
opportunity once neglected, no man by any self-sacrifice can atone for
those who have fallen or suffered by his negligence. Poor Melchior! An
unalterable law made him the powerless spectator of the consequences
of his neglected opportunities. 'No man may deliver his brother, or
make agreement unto GOD for him, for it cost more to redeem
their souls, so that he must let that alone for ever.' And is it ever
so bitter to 'let alone,' as in a case where we might have acted and
did not?

"Poor Melchior! In vain he laid both his hands in Death's outstretched
palm; they fell to him again as if they had passed through air; he was
pushed aside--Death passed into the coach--'one was taken and the
other left.'

"As the cloaked figure glided in and out among the