gard to this matter
at least."

Relieved in mind, Marston commenced looking over some papers in
reference to matters of business then on hand, and was soon so much
absorbed in them, that the subject which had lately filled his thoughts
faded entirely therefrom. Some one opened the door, and he turned to
see who was entering. In an instant he was on his feet. It was Arnest.

The face of the latter was pale and agitated, and his lips quivered. He
came forward hurriedly, extending his hand, not to grasp that of his
old friend, but to hold up his own letter that had been just returned
to him.

"Marston," he said, huskily, "did I send you _this_ note?"

"You did," was the firm but mild answer.

"Thus I cancel it!" And he tore it into shreds, and scattered them on
the floor. "Would that its contents could be as easily obliterated from
your memory!" he added, in a most earnest voice.

"They are no longer there, my friend," returned Marston, with visible
emotion, now grasping the hand of Arnest. "You have wiped them out."

Arnest returned the pressure with both hands, his eyes fixed on those
of Marston, until they grew so dim that he could no longer read the old
familiar lines and forgiving look.

"Let us forgive and forget," said Marston, speaking in a broken voice.
"We have wronged each other and ourselves. We have let evil passions
rule instead of good affections."

"From my heart do I say 'Amen,'" replied Arnest. "Yes, let us forgive
and forget. Would that we had been as wise as we now are, years ago!"

Thus were they reconciled. And now the question is, What did either
gain by his indignation against the other? Did Arnest rise higher in
his self-esteem, or Marston gain additional self-respect? We think not.
Alas! how blinding is selfish passion! How it opens in the mind the
door for the influx of multitudes of evil and false suggestions! How it
hides the good in others, and magnifies, weakness into crimes! Let us
beware of it.

"Reconciled at last," said old Mr. Wellford, when he next saw Arnest
and heard the fact from his lips.

"Yes," replied the latter. "I can now forget as well as forgive."

"Rather say you can forget, _because_ you forgive. If you had forgiven
truly, you could have ceased to think of what was wrong in your friend
long ago. People talk of forgiving and not forgetting, but it isn't so:
they do not forget because they do not forgive."

"I believe you are right," said Arnest. "I think, no