ayer which had
constantly been on my lips of late came to my mind. Hitherto I had
received no answer to it, but now I felt that I loved this little
crippled, ugly child.

In my constant visits to this coast I had picked up a smattering of
Greek, so I spoke to the little maiden, and asked her where she lived,
and without hesitation she told me. With a strange feeling in my heart
I took her in my arms, and carried her in the direction of her home.
As I walked on I met some of my crew, who laughed to see me with my
strange burden, but I did not mind, nay, rather, I rejoiced because of
what I was able to do. And all the while I continued to breathe this
prayer, "Lord, help me to love."

We reached her home at length. A miserable place it was, and I found
out that the little maiden had no father. He had died a few months
before, but she had a brother and sister, both younger than herself,
who lived with their mother. I did not stay long, although I felt a
strange feeling of pity for the poor desolate ones, but I left some
money with them and walked away alone.

As I did so I remembered the words I had heard often in our old church.
"Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these My little
ones, ye have done it unto Me." "Unto Me"--unto whom? I called to
mind that they were the words of our Lord, and I asked myself what it
meant. "Ye have done it unto Me." I repeated again and again. "How
have I done it unto the Lord?"

One day while I had been in Barcelona, I had gone into a church, and
had made confession of my sins to a priest. I remembered that Salambo
was a Catholic, and I wondered if by making confession peace would come
to my heart. The priest had told me that I must forgive every one, and
do penance. But I was not able to forgive; as for penance, it seemed
to me that no man could suffer worse penance than I had already
suffered. Besides, I remembered that the priest was an enemy to the
faith which I had been taught to believe, and so, perhaps, prejudice
hindered him from helping me.

His words returned to me that night, however, and I asked myself for
the hundredth time how it was possible for me to forgive Wilfred.

"He is dead, and I have killed him!" I said to myself, "and yet I
cannot forgive him. I hate him still. He has robbed me of everything
I hold dear. How can I forgive him? How can I find peace?" Then, as
if in answer to my cry, came the words, "Come unto Me all ye that