bout meeting the child again, to which Harold
replied, "You will, may be."

"And you, Harold." And as he shook his head, and said something about
good people, I added, "It would break my heart to think you would not."

That made him half smile in his strange, sad way, and say, "Thank you,
Lucy;" then add, "But it's no use thinking about it; I'm not that sort."

"But you are, but you are, Harold!" I remember crying out with tears.
"God has made you to be nobler, and greater, and better than any of us,
if you only would--"

"Too late," he said. "After all I have been, and all I have done--"

"Too late! Harry--with a whole lifetime before you to do God real,
strong service in?"

"It won't ever cancel that--"

I tried to tell him what had cancelled all; but perhaps I did not do it
well enough, for he did not seem to enter into it. It was a terrible
disadvantage in all this that I had been so lightly taught. I had been
a fairly good girl, I believe, and my dear mother had her sweet, quiet,
devotional habits; but religion had always sat, as it were, outside my
daily life. I should have talked of "performing my religious duties"
as if they were a sort of toll or custom to be paid to God, not as if
one's whole life ought to be one religious duty. That sudden loss,
which left me alone in the world, made me, as it were, realise who and
what my Heavenly Father was to me; and I had in my loneliness thought
more of these things, and was learning more every day as I taught Dora;
but it was dreadfully shallow, untried knowledge, and, unfortunately, I
was the only person to whom Harold would talk. Mr. Smith's having been
a clergyman had given him a distaste and mistrust of all clergy; nor do
I think he was quite kindly treated by those around us, for they held
aloof, and treated him as a formidable stranger with an unknown ill
repute, whose very efforts in the cause of good were untrustworthy.

I thought of that mighty man of Israel whom God had endowed with
strength to save His people, and how all was made of little avail
because his heart was not whole with God, and his doings were
self-pleasing and fitful. Oh! that it might not be thus with my
Harold? Might not that little child, who had for a moment opened the
gates to him, yet draw him upwards where naught else would have availed?

As to talking to me, he did it very seldom, but he had a fashion of
lingering to hear me teach Dora, and I found that, if he were absen