nward in his breast like an iron hand clutching his
throat-strings. His voice was stifled. But no matter what it cost him,
to her, the first child of his love, his darling, he must speak at
last.

"You have the right to know, Esther," he said, with a painful effort.
"I will tell you what is in my soul. I killed my brother Abel. The
night of his death, I knelt at that table and prayed that he might be
prevented from coming to this house. My only thought, my only wish was
that he must be kept away. That was all I asked for. God killed him
because I asked it. His blood is on my soul."

He leaned back in his chair exhausted, and shut his eyes.

The girl stood dazed for a moment, struck dumb by the grotesque horror
of what she had heard. Then the light of Heaven-sent faith flashed
through her and the courage of human love warmed her. She sprang to
her father, sobbing, almost laughing in the joy of triumph. She flung
herself across his knees and put her arms around him.

[Illustration: She flung herself across his knees and put her arms
around him.]

"Father, did you teach us that God is our Father, our real Father?"

The man did not answer, but the girl went bravely on:

"Father, if I asked you to kill Ruth, would you do it?"

The man stirred a little, but he did not open his eyes nor answer, and
the girl went bravely on:

"Father, is it fair to God to believe that He would do something that
you would be ashamed of? Isn't He better than you are?"

The man opened his eyes. The light of his old faith kindled in them.
He answered firmly:

"He is infinite, absolute, and unchangeable. His Word is sure. We dare
not question Him. There is the promise--the effectual fervent prayer
of a righteous man availeth much."

The girl did not look up. She clung to him more closely and buried her
face on his breast.

"Yes, father dear, but if what you asked in your prayer was wrong,
were you a righteous man? Could your prayer have any power?"

It was her last stroke--she trembled as she made it. There was a dead
silence in the room. She heard the slow clock ticking on the mantel,
the wind whistling in the chimney. Then her father's breast was
shaken, his head fell upon her shoulder, his tears rained upon her
neck.

"Thank God," he cried, "I was a sinner--it was not a prayer--God be
merciful to me a sinner!"

THE RETURN OF THE CHARM

I

"Nor I," cried John Harcourt, pulling up in the moon-silvered mist and
clapp