nk that you have
concluded, lately, that the most earnest desire you can have concerning
your father, is to see him a Christian man? I can conscientiously tell
you that I have felt the necessity for this experience as I never did
before; that I realize its importance, and that I want it; yet there is
something in the way, something that I must do, and confess, and abide
by for the future, that I shrink from more on your account than my own.
My child, do you want this thing enough to endure disgrace and
humiliation, and a cross, heavy and hopeless, all your life?"

"Father," she said, half rising, and looking at him with a bewildered
air, a vague doubt of his sanity, and a half fear of his presence,
creeping into her heart, "what can you possibly mean? How can disgrace,
or cross-bearing, or trouble of any sort, be connected with _you_? I
cannot understand you."

"I know you can not. You think I am talking wildly, and you are half
afraid of me; but I am perfectly sane. I wish, with all my soul, that a
certain portion of my life could be called a wild dream of a disordered
brain; but it is solemnly true. Ruth, if I come out before the world and
avow myself a Christian man, with the determination to abide by the
teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ, it involves my bringing to this
house a woman who will have to be recognized as my wife, and a girl who
will have to share with you as my daughter; a woman whom you will have
to call mother, and a girl who is your sister. Are you equal to that?"

Every trace of blood left Ruth Erskine's face. Her father watched her
narrowly, with his hand touching the bell-rope; it seemed as if she must
faint; but she motioned his hand away.

"Don't ring," were the first words she said; "I am not going to faint.
Father, tell me what you mean."

The actual avowal made, and the fact established that his daughter was
able to bear it, and to still keep the story between themselves, seemed
to quiet Judge Erskine. His intense and almost uncontrollable excitement
subsided; the wild look in his eyes calmed, and, drawing a chair beside
his daughter, he began in a low steady voice to tell her the strange
story:

"Acts that involve a lifetime of trouble can be told in a few words,
Ruth. When your mother died I was almost insane with grief; I can't tell
you about that time; I was young and I was gay, and full of plans, and
aims, and intentions, in all of which she had been involved. Then came
the sudde