rs.
He knew that silence is never more golden than in the presence of
overmastering grief.

At first he thought that Joe's passion was that of anger alone for the
one who had outraged his daughter. But presently, he intuitively
divined that the struggle was deeper than that. He felt that it was a
conflict between right and wrong; the desire of the savage beast
thirsting for revenge, contending with the Christ-like spirit of
forgiveness. Now he longed to speak, to utter some word that would
decide the battle for the right. But never did he feel so helpless.
He recalled several appropriate texts of Scripture, but he did not
quote them. Why he did not do so he could not tell. He realised the
importance of the moment, and felt like a coward for his helplessness.
If the beast nature should win, no end of harm might be done. What
should he do?

Presently an idea flashed into his mind. Why had he not thought of it
before? he asked himself.

Taking Joe by the arm, he led him from the road to a large maple tree
standing near the edge of the field.

"Sit down under the shade," he ordered, "and wait until I come back."

Joe at first refused, and declared that he did not want to rest. But
under his companion's gentle yet firm urging he sank upon the grass and
buried his face in his hands.

Leaving him there, Douglas hastened to the house. In a few minutes he
returned, carrying his violin. Joe never looked up as he approached,
but remained, huddled upon the ground, the very epitome of abject
despair.

At once Douglas began to play strong, violent music, in keeping with
Joe's feelings. Each note suggested a tempest, and as the playing
continued, the old man lifted his head and Douglas noted the gleam in
his eyes and the angry expression upon his face. At that moment he was
ready for action, for revenge dire and swift.

But gradually the music changed. It became soft and low. It appealed
to the better and higher nature. It was like the revivifying breath of
spring after winter's sternness, and the sun's radiant smile following
the raging tempest. It affected Joe. The light in his eyes changed,
and his face softened. His body relaxed. Then the player knew that
the victory was won. Gently he drifted off to the old, familiar hymns
of "Nearer My God to Thee," and "Abide with Me."

As the last note died upon the air, Joe rose slowly from the ground.
He said nothing, but reaching out he clasped Douglas by th