ong hands to them that fall, who alone sets the
stumbling feet upon the upward path. Repentance came to Hugh at last. In
all this long time she had not come while he was suffering, while
smouldering Remorse had darkened his soul with smoke. But in this quiet
hour she came and stood beside him.

Hugh had in the past leaned heavily on extenuating circumstances. He had
made many excuses for himself. But now he made none. Perhaps, for the
first time in his life, under the pressure of that merciful, that benign
hand, he was sincere with himself. He saw his conduct--that easily
condoned conduct--as it was. Love and Repentance, are not these the
great teachers? Some of us so frame our lives that we never come face
to face with either, or with ourselves. Hugh came to himself at last. He
saw how, whether detected or not, his sin had sapped his manhood, spread
like a leaven of evil through his whole life, laid its hideous touch of
desecration and disillusion even on his love for Rachel. It had
tarnished his mind; his belief in others; his belief in good. These
ideals, these beliefs had been his possession once, his birthright. He
had sold his birthright for red pottage. Until now he had scorned the
red pottage. Now he saw that his sin lay deeper, even in his original
scorn of his birthright, his disbelief in the Divine Spirit who dwells
with man.

Nevertheless his just punishment had been remitted. Hitherto he had
looked solely at that punishment, feeling that it was too great. He had
prayed many times that he might escape it. Now for the first time he
prayed that he might be forgiven.

Repentance took his hands and locked them together.

"God helping me," he said, "I will lead a new life."

CHAPTER XXXIX

"Les sots sont plus a craindre que les mechants."

Mr. Gresley had often remarked to persons in affliction that when things
are at their worst they generally take a turn for the better. This
profound truth was proving itself equal to the occasion at Warpington
Vicarage.

Mrs. Gresley was well again, after a fortnight at the seaside with
Regie. The sea air had blown back a faint color into Regie's cheeks. The
new baby's vaccination was ceasing to cast a vocal gloom over the
thin-walled house. The old baby's whole attention was mercifully
diverted from his wrongs to the investigation of that connection between
a chair and himself, which he perceived the other children could assume
at pleasure. He stood for