ret, and I am afraid it is that, even more than my going,
which is making you so miserable. I don't want to pry into it, dear
Jack, but remember that my father is a rich man, and he is powerful,
too. If you won't mind telling him about it, I know--I am quite, _quite_
sure--he will do anything in his power for you. Think what you have done
for me! And he loves me--he has only me now.'

Jack sat silent for some moments, his head on his arms, which were
crossed upon his knees.

'Missie,' he said at last, raising his face, 'nobody can help me. I want
no help such as your father, or any other rich, powerful man can give. I
know you mean it kindly, little girl, but there are some things in which
a man must stand and fall alone. Alone?' he added bitterly; 'yes, but he
doesn't suffer alone! He drags his dearest and best down with him, let
his remorse be what it may.'

'Remorse? Does that mean the man is sorry? Are you sorry for something
you have done? Oh, Jack, if you are sorry, Aunt Betty told me once that
was all that was wanted. Everybody forgives any one who is sorry.'

'I am not so very sure of that, Missie; but, in this case, there is no
question of forgiveness. There is no one to ask it of, for one thing;
and if there were, there are some things which can never be forgiven or
forgotten.'

'Are there?' murmured Estelle, a little bewildered.

'How should you know--an innocent child like you?' returned Jack,
shrinking into himself as if at some terrible recollection.

There was a long pause, while both sat thinking.

'Listen,' went on Estelle, at last. 'I will tell you a story. It is
quite true, for I know the man. He is the son of our head gardener. He
is a cross old man, and he is often not very nice to us children. But
Aunt Betty wanted to make us more patient with him; so she told us what
sorrows he had had. They have made _him_ rather grumpy, but his son is
_very_ different. The story is all about a great wrong done to that son,
and how he forgave it.'

She related the history of Dick Feet almost in the words in which her
aunt had told it to the children on the lawn that August afternoon.
Jack, listening but carelessly at first, gradually found an interest in
it which touched him keenly, but he would not have interrupted the child
for worlds. Not a word would he lose. It was so strangely like a story
he knew only too well!

'And the grand part was,' wound up the little girl, her earnest eyes on
Jack's anxi