have committed what in the eyes of men is an
unpardonable fault; but God judgeth not as
man judgeth. You can be honest yet, and you
shall be honest. Yes, hear me out. You are
one of my boys my sons, as I consider them;
and I am answerable for you. You shall not be
turned from good. I know— I know all your grief
—your struggles— your temptation, but I will
help you through all. Trust in me. You shan't be
dragged down to vice and infamy whilst I live.'

"I was silent. I sat looking at him with
tearless eyes— hard as iron. I steeled myself
against him. I would not be his again.

"'Look at that bed,' he continued; 'there
your mother died— there I closed her eyes, and
the last words she uttered were a prayer for
you that you might be kept from the evil—
that she might meet you again, "where the
wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are
at rest." '

"Her very words!— Dead!— Mother!—
Ah!—

"I hid my face—

"' She never knew what— what you did. I
thank God I was able to keep that worst grief
from her. I brought her here not three hours
after you were taken— after my own return
home, that she might be safe from hearing it.
Clem, she died full of peace— happy— blessing
you— praying that you might keep honest, as
she had done. And she left you this ring— '

"He took from his pocket mother's wedding-
ring, and held it out to me.

"' But before I give it to you, you shall
promise me to be honest for her sake. Clem,
perhaps she sees you now! Who knows?'

"It was no use trying to resist, him. I was
like wax in his hands. Before we quitted that
garret, I told him all all my piteous tale— the
way in which I did it— scarcely knowing how
myself— the despair afterwards— the indifference
—the falling away and consent to a life of sin.
And I had promised to give up all, and whatever
the cost, to bear all, not for her sake alone,
whom I should see no more on earth, but for
his, who in her desolate bereavement had taken
her to his own home and been unto her as a son.

"And into his own liome he now took me
too. He said it was the only way to shield me
from the first bitter consequences of my own
act. He said that when the others saw he
trusted, he forgave me, they would learn in
time to do the same, and no one would dare
reproach or mock me in his presence. So I ate
of his bread, and drank of his cup, sleeping in
the little garret where my mother died, mourning
for her with many tears; doing what I
could, in my poor way, to serve the good man
who had had compassion on me; loving him
with an unspeakable affection; learning more
and more every day of his wondrous excellence
of heart and life. That was a period of peace
and happy feeling, in spite of the many mortifications
from which, do what he would, he could
not shield me. I shrank with extreme sensitiveness
from all contact with the outer world;
dreading the sight of every familiar face; smarting
under the sneers I too often met with, and,
worse still, the cold avoidance with which too
many passed me by. Gladly would I have shut
myself up within his sheltering walls; but this
he would not suffer. I must be brave, he said,
and meet manfully what I had brought on
myself. I must live down evil recollections
overcome evil opinion. The first shock of the moral
shower-bath was bad enough; but each moment
made it easier to bear, and it was both healthful
and bracing. So with his hand on my shoulder,
he drew me, with what inward shame who can
imagine, to the school, to face all those curious
eyes— bear with the thousand slights that met
me at every turn; to start and shiver under any
chance allusion from childish lips to such deeds
as mine had been; to suffer at every moment
unheard-of pangs, yet keep a calm face. Ah!
it was a sore trial, but he upheld me through all.
His kind eye was ever on me; his voice had a
peculiar gentleness when he addressed me; in a
thousand ways he sought to show his boys that
he trusted, loved, hoped in me yet. I knew not
then, but I learned long afterwards, how he had
prepared them all for my return, appealing to
them, for his sake, to be forbearing towards an
erring brother, who had bitterly repented of his
sin.

"And at home the gentle lady vied with her
husband in showing me confidence. I helped
their solitary maid-servant all I could, thus
preparing myself for a page's place when the master
should find one for me. One day he was talking
to a brother curate about me, and urging
him to try and get me one. I was minding the
baby, as they still called their sweet two years
old boy— who had grown quite fond of me now,
and would cry after me when I left the room.

"' And you're not afraid to recommend him?
You think you're wise to trust that boy?' Mr.
Greathed said, glancing at me sideways with
an expression of mingled doubt and surprise.

"I paused in my jumping of the little fellow,
and listened breathless for the reply. I hated
Mr. Greathed for his distrust.

"'Afraid!' my master cried, turning also,
and meeting my eye with that frank, cheery
glance of his. ' No, I haven't a particle of fear.
And I don't think— I know I'm wise to trust
him.'

"How I blessed him for his generous
confidence in me! How with a great inward sob
I said to myself that I would never, never
betray it.

"I have said that he encouraged his boys to
talk to him. In that way I now learnt much of
his inner life and heart. Often, after a long
day's labour, hard enough to knock up the
strongest man, when I brought in his bottle of
fresh water the last thing at night, he would
push aside a half-finished lecture or sermon,
turn to the fire, and say with a brisk kindly
voice, ' Now, Clem, my boy! I've just half an
hour for you. What have you got to say or to
ask?' Once, as he tried to scrape together the
remains of the nearly extinguished fire, I was
struck with the unusual weariness of his look.