h candles
in his hand and a letter under his abridged arm. "Laal Tom o' Dint gave
me this for thee," he said to Paul, and dropped the letter on to his
knees. "I was sa thrang with all their bodderments, that I don't know as
I didna forget it."

Parson Christian returned the green-clad book to its shelf, took up his
candle, bid good-night, and went to bed.

Brother Peter shambled out, and then Paul and Greta were left alone.

Paul opened the letter. It was inclosed in a sheet of paper that bore
the stamp of the Convent of St. Margaret, and these words only, "Sent on
by Sister Grace." Paul began to read the letter aloud, Greta looking
over his shoulder. But as he proceeded his voice faltered, and then he
stopped. Then, in silence, the eyes of both traversed the written words.
They ran:

"Mother, I have wronged you deeply, and yours is a wrong that may
never be repaired. The past does not return, and what is done is done
with. It is not allowed to us to raze out the sins and the sufferings
of the days that are gone; they stand and will endure. I am not so
bad a man as perhaps I seem; but of what avail is it to defend myself
now? and who would believe me? My life has been one long error, and
the threads of my fate have been tangled. Have I not passed before
our little world for a stern and callous man? Yet the blight of my
soul has been passion. Yearning for love where love could never be
returned, I am the ruins of what I might have been. If I did wrong
knowingly, it was not until passion mastered me; if I saw things as
they did not exist, it was because passion made me blind. Mother, if
there is One above to watch and judge our little lives, surely He
sees this, and reckons the circumstances with the deed.

"Tell her that I wish her peace. If I were a man used to pray,
perhaps I would ask Heaven to bless her. But my heart is barren of
prayer. And what, after all, boots my praying? I have given her back
at last to the love of a noble man. And now my wasted life is done,
and this is the end--a sorry end!

"Mother, I shall not live to suffer the earthly punishment of my
crime. Never fear--my hand shall not be lifted against myself. Be
sure of that, whatever else may seem doubtful. But very soon this
passionate and rebellious soul will stand for judgment before its
awaiting God.

"Farewell, my mother, farewell!"

***END OF THE PROJECT GUT