Good for evil

by Madeline Leslie

GOOD FOR EVIL.

FOR some days, the sick man continued in a convalescent condition. He enjoyed his food, partaking heartily of whatever was brought him; coughed but little, and was evidently much stronger than when they found him, in his wretched garret. Every morning Gertrude went in to read to him and had once sung the beautiful hymn commencing:

"Just as I am, without one plea,

But that thy blood was shed for me,

And that thou bid'st me come to thee,

O Lamb of God, I come!"

This sentiment of the author deeply affected the invalid, who did not speak for some time after her voice ceased. Gertrude longed to ask him why he delayed to throw himself upon the mercy of Christ; but she saw the Holy Spirit was working on his heart; and she trembled lest an untimely word should do harm.

Edward, also, was unwearied in his attention to his old classmate; though each of them had, as if by tacit consent, avoided all reference to their former intimacy.

When they were alone Paul could not refrain from speaking of Gertrude, though every word seemed to rend his heart asunder.

"She says she forgives me; but how can she? You saw how I neglected her for others, whose attractions were nothing in comparison to hers, but you never suspected one half the torture to which I subjected her. Not that such was my intention; but I had been taught at home that all women were inferiors. Mother and sisters always yielded to me. I was moody and irritable, often giving her a harsh word, when I ought to have been most considerate and kind."

One day when the sick man seemed unusually feeble, Gertrude brought in a glass of wine and smilingly told him the physician had ordered it.

"Take it away!" he exclaimed with a shudder. "The love of stimulating drinks has been my ruin."

"Mrs. Wallingford," he went on, for the first time addressing her by this title, "did you never suspect what it was that made me so irritable, so unjust; so much more like a fiend than like the tender husband I had promised to be?"

"Yes, Paul, I knew that you loved wine, and drank more than was good for you."

"I did. I learned to drink a glass or two at our club, before you came to Chicago. It did not affect me as it does many. I never staggered, or lost my consciousness; but I thought it quickened my intellectual powers. If I were going to plead a case I took an extra quantity. Many called my pleading a brilliant success. I knew that it was the excitement of liquor. The secondary effect was on my temper; and as I dared not vent my irritability on others, I tortured my poor long-suffering wife."

"It was this; and the consciousness that some of my clients began to class me with intemperate men that led me to accept Mr. Curtis' proposition to accompany him to Europe."

"No, no, I will never touch my lips to the wineglass. When I think what I have lost by it, I loathe and abhor it as I loathe and abhor myself. I might have been the happiest husband and father in the world; but I was blind! I was blind!"

As he had never made the most distant allusion to her letter announcing the birth of little Paul, she had been urged by her brother to make no mention of the child. Indeed, she was not sure she could control her own emotions if the subject were introduced.

Once a fortnight, a letter from Marion, filled with news of the little fellow, came to gladden the mother's heart. His sayings and doings, even the most trivial, were treasured up by her. In the last letter there had come a photograph of the boy, dressed in his winter outfit, in which he looked so bright and beautiful, that she could scarce refrain from rushing into Paul's chamber to exhibit it; but Edward's entreaties, and her own reflections prevailed. So far, the sick man had never in direct terms told her that his affection for her was stronger than it was during the days of their first acquaintance; but should she lessen the dignity and reserve of manner which she had carefully maintained in all their intercourse, she could readily perceive it would be far more difficult for him to conceal the feelings which were growing too strong for him.

Paul learned from Pedro that every evening the parlors were crowded with visitors; often mentioning persons of distinction, with whom he himself had never aspired to associate. From his physician he heard of the estimation in which his benefactors were held. Mrs. Wallingford was considered the most elegant, highly educated and attractive American who had visited Rome for years; and her brother the model of a gentleman.

"There is a certain English nobleman," he added, without a suspicion of the eagerness with which his patient hung on his words, "who is greatly enamoured. At first, Mrs. Wallingford was supposed to be a wife, instead of sister to the gentleman; and his delight may be imagined when the relationship became known."

"Is he a man of wealth and influence?" inquired Paul, trying in vain to keep his voice from trembling.

"He is the owner of that, elegant villa on the Tiber," was the reply; "and I am told is very prominent in the House of Lords."

The sick man groaned aloud; but presently inquired:

"Have you heard whether she favors his suit?"

"I think he would be better pleased if she would exhibit less dignity and self-possession. I hope he will be successful."

"Pedro," said his master, one day, "I am afraid my being here so long, will be a great expense."

"Mr. Wallingford is very rich," was the answer. "Money plenty; poor people coming from morning till night and none sent away hungry."

The listener wondered much at this; and the next time Edward visited him said with some confusion:

"I am here too long. I am an expense to you which I have no means to pay."

"Don't give yourself uneasiness on that account, Paul. My sister and I have enough to enable us to enjoy the luxury of giving to our friends. You look surprised; did you never hear that we inherited half a million between us?"

"Never; but I rejoice to hear it. Ger—I mean your sister," coughing in great confusion, "will enjoy having money to do good with. I am heartily glad; and shall feel more at ease. I have already lived much longer than I expected; and I began to feel I ought to go away and relieve you from the burden you so generously assumed."

"Mrs. Wallingford will give you due notice when she wishes you to change your quarters," the brother answered, smiling:

"I have not seen her to-day."

"She left a message for you, which I might have forgotten. She has gone with an English nobleman we have met here, to see some ancient ruins, and is intending to read to you on her return."

When she entered the chamber he was alone; and she instantly rang the bell for Pedro, who was sunning himself on the portico.

The occurrence was significant to the sick man; but with a sigh, trying to put aside all useless regrets he held up the Testament she had left him; and pointing to the page, said eagerly:

"I have found the rule which actuates you," reading aloud. "'Be not overcome of evil; but overcome evil with good.' 'Recompense to no man evil for evil.'"

"And this too is what you have done! 'Not rendering evil for evil, or railing for railing, but contrariwise blessing; knowing that ye are thereunto called that ye should inherit a blessing.'"

There was something in his expression as he glanced from the book with a smile which carried her back so forcibly to other days, that for a moment she was overcome. Covering her face the tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

He was seated on a large couch or divan, and timidly laid his fingers on hers, trying to remove them from her face.

"I didn't mean to pain you," he said humbly. "I have been reading the book you lent me; and when I found that passage, I said to myself, that exactly describes my—Mrs. Wallingford. I have treated her evil and she has recompensed evil with good!"

"Paul, do you wish to know how you can reward me?"

"Yes, yes," his eyes sparkling.

"Love my Saviour. Let my poor words be the instrument of bringing you to him, that I may have one jewel in my crown of rejoicing."

She was hurrying from the room to hide her tears, when he called softly:

"Gertrude. May I call you so once, just once? I would go to Christ; but I don't know how. I tried last night to pray, and I repeated over and over the words you used for me so long ago. 'Blessed Jesus, save him from the corruption of his own heart; lead him to the foot of the cross. May he find peace in believing on thee.' I need peace, my soul is all adrift. Can't you tell me once more how to go to him?"

She took the Bible from his hands; and read the beautiful parable of the prodigal son.

When she came to the words, "I will arise and go to my father," he waved his hand for her to stop, and repeated them, after her slowly and impressively.

She placed the book near him, hesitating whether to say more, when he began:

"I know I don't deserve it. Perhaps you wont be willing; but if you would pray with me once more."

She complied, without a word, kneeling by his side; and was much affected to see that he rose slowly, and assumed the same position.

It was to her one of the most solemn moments of her life. Paul, once related to her by the most endearing ties, just about to launch into eternity, hesitating whether to accept or reject his Saviour. Her full heart found vent in words. She went to her Father in heaven as a child would address an earthly father, whom she knew loved her; and was ready to grant her request. She heard her companion by her side, sobbing aloud; and this inspired her to greater fervor. She wrestled for his soul, like Jacob with the angel of the covenant, saying, "'I will not let thee go unless thou bless me.'"

Then she arose and went softly from the room.

[CHAPTER XX.]

SALVATION BY CHRIST.

THE rest of the day was spent in retirement; and the following morning found her suffering from a severe headache, in consequence of the intense excitement of feeling through which she had passed. She sent a servant to inquire after Paul, and tried to find relief in sleep.

In the afternoon, her brother knocked at her door, and found her just about to leave her room. His face denoted unusual agitation and he said at once:

"I passed the entire morning in Paul's chamber. If he were to die before I see him again, I should hope he had found the mercy he needs in order to enter heaven."

"God be praised!" was her fervent ejaculation.

"I found him," Mr. Wallingford went on, "propped up on his couch, reading the fifty-first Psalm, large tears coursing down his cheeks.

"He looked up as I entered and holding out the blessed book, exclaimed:

"See, what I have found! Why have I never seen it before? It was written for me. No other man ever needed such words so much as I. Every syllable; every letter expresses my wants. Just hear what a plea this is. 'Have mercy upon me, according to thy loving kindness.' His kindness is infinite, else I should have been long ago cut off, 'therefore, according to thy infinite love and tenderness to the most vile and hardened of all thy creatures, so let thy mercy abound.'"

"Then here again. 'Hide thy face from my sins.' The thought that a holy God, who abhors sin to such a degree that he allowed his only Son to die on the cross to win men from its corrupt paths; has witnessed all the crimes of my whole life, has made me tremble before him. Yes, with my whole heart I can say, 'hide thy face from my sins.' 'Let not thine eyes of purity rest upon them;' and 'blot out all mine iniquities.'"

"When I came to that verse I asked myself, 'But how can a wise ruler do this? If the law is set aside, anarchy is at once established.' At this moment the mission of Christ as a mediator rushed into my mind with the vividness of a flash of lightning. He is the being, part human, part divine, who can mediate between the offended Judge, and his guilty subjects. With the name of this Mediator on our lips we can even dare to make a plea so bold! 'Cast me not away from thy presence, take not thine Holy Spirit from me?' 'Create in me a new heart,' this wicked heart which has been in all manner of uncleanness I loathe, I abhor. Create a new one, with holy desires, with pure affections, and renew a right spirit within me."

"I can scarcely give you an idea," continued the gentleman, after watching for an instant the gush of joyful tears which streamed down his sister's cheeks; "of Paul's fervor in repeating these petitions. 'Why, oh, why, did I never see that the way of salvation is so clear? I was blind indeed not to find it. Oh, the matchless love, and wisdom that formed the wondrous plan!'"

"He grew so pale at last that I thought he would faint, and called Pedro to give him medicine. 'You must sleep,' I said, 'and when you are rested I will come again.'"

Just at dusk Gertrude was hesitating whether to go to Paul's room lest he had already talked too much, when he sent a request to see her.

His chair was drawn near the western window, where the gorgeous rays of the setting sun were illuminating the entire horizon.

He pointed to a divan near him, and began at once:

"You will rejoice with me, dear friend. I begin to see things once invisible. I know what the name of Jesus means. I understand now what you meant when you prayed so long ago. 'Blessed Jesus, save him from the corruption of his own heart.' I have pondered on those words for hours; but they had little meaning to me. Now I realize his wondrous power. In his own body he carried my sins to the cross. He made atonement by his precious blood, one drop of which would have been enough to save me."

"And here I have been doubting his ability to wash me clean."

He looked in her face with a smile so full of heavenly joy, her assumed composure was overcome, and burying her head in her hands she wept freely.

"I knew you would rejoice," he went on, gazing tenderly at her bowed form. "You would not leave me to perish. You dragged me out of my pit and brought me where the light of heaven has shone upon me. You held up my Saviour and made me look upon him whom I had pierced."

At this moment the physician came in. He had not seen his patient for some days, and looked in wonder at the new expression on his once gloomy countenance.

Paul held out his hand with a smile. "You may count the beats in my pulse," he said; "and if you tell me this is my last night on earth, they will not vary in the least. I acknowledge my crimes and throw myself on the mercy of the Judge of all the earth. I have an Advocate who has promised to save me, one whose word has never failed."

"What does he mean?" queried the Doctor, wonderingly.

"It means, that whereas I was once blind, now I see. Whereas, I once loved sin and rolled it as a sweet morsel under my tongue, now I hate it and long to escape from it. In heaven I shall be free, and I long to be there."

"Your wish will soon be realized," murmured the Doctor, putting his ear down to the sick man's breast. "A week at farthest and you will have done with time."

"And eternity will have commenced," Paul added, clasping his hands.

But the physician's prophecy was not fulfilled. The very next day, Paul was so much worse, his kind friends gathered around his bed to bid him farewell. For the first time since their reunion he held Gertrude's hand in his, saying feebly, as he grasped it:

"Only this once;" then thanked her for all her forbearance and kindness. He earnestly reiterated his request for forgiveness, pleading; "The words are so sweet, so sweet."

Then he repeated the inspired command; "'Be not overcome of evil but overcome evil with good.' That is what you have done; what Christ has helped you to do; what he himself has done for me; good for evil; blessing for cursing."

Suddenly he requested all but Mr. and Mrs. Wallingford to leave the room, and pointing to a small box, asked Gertrude to take from, it a letter. Enclosed in a soiled, worn envelope, was the epistle she had written him, announcing the birth of a son, whom she had named Paul, for his father; and in which she plead with him to come home to a wife who loved and trusted him as well as ever.

"I did not receive it till after I got the paper from Edward," he explained, gasping. "I want you to keep it. It is the only treasure I have in the world; and if you are willing, tell our boy his father repented of his sins and trusted in the mercy of God through Christ. Tell him to make up to his mother for all the sorrow I have caused her. I shalt want to see him in heaven."

After awhile his distress became so great, Gertrude was wholly unnerved, and her brother led her from the room.

"He's just gone," the physician said, hearing the ominous rattle in his throat; but at this moment, the crisis came. A large ulcer, which had been forming on his lungs broke; and for a few moments he seemed to be suffocating. Then he fell back completely prostrated, and for an hour there was scarcely any sign of life.

But God's time had not yet come. Paul gradually rallied from this attack and enjoyed several months of comparative comfort, during which he gave good evidence of a radical change in heart and life. He remained with his friends until February, when they started for England; having made every arrangement for him to follow in June, if his life should be spared till that time.

The voyage he was well aware would be attended with great risk and fatigue; but there were objects and desires he yearned after. His parents for years had mourned him with a more bitter sorrow than if he had been laid beneath the sod. With his whole soul he longed to see them once more, and urge them to accept the only support which would comfort them when on the bed of death.

There was another wish, growing stronger every day, which he never had gained courage to mention; and which a consciousness of his past misdeeds reminded him that he did not deserve. But this he felt must be left with Him who ordereth all events for the best good of his children.

[CHAPTER XXI.]

CONSCIENTIOUSNESS.

THE letters from Rose Cottage had been highly satisfactory until the last. In that, Marion wrote that Hannah was slowly recovering from an attack of fever which had much prostrated her strength.

"Paul," she said, "I brought home with me; and he has been my special care ever since. Bridget has proved herself a wonderful nurse; and at the same time has superintended the dairy work, so that all has gone on as orderly as usual. We hope Hannah will be entirely recovered in a few weeks."

"In the mean tithe papa and mamma have become so much attached to my boy, as I proudly call him, that it will be difficult to separate them when it is time for him to go back to Rose Cottage. Indeed, if I did not take him in for a call every day, neither Hannah nor Bridget could be pacified. He grows more beautiful every hour; and what you will care for more than all the rest, he grows so conscientious. Papa has a large book of engravings of which he is very choice. Once or twice I have shown them to Paul, explaining the scenes they were intended to represent; but the child had been told not to take the volume from the shelf as it is too large for him to handle without injury."

"I went out on an errand for mamma a few days ago, not taking my usual companion on account of the rain. Mamma was busy in her chamber, and papa out on parish duty. I gave Paul a game of dissected pictures to keep him employed; and left him in the study. When I returned, I noticed he looked uneasy, his face flushed, and his eye avoiding mine. I glanced around the room fearing he had been trying to write, as he loves to do; and had spilled the ink; but I saw no marks of disorder, and concluded not to urge him to tell me what ailed him."

"I took a book into the bow window, and he sat near me sighing repeatedly. At last his lip began to quiver, and with an exclamation:"

"'I want my mamma to come home quick,' the poor little fellow burst into tears."

"I caught him in my arms where he sobbed a long time before he could explain."

"'I've been naughty, aunt Marion. I took that nice book of pictures down from the shelf.'"

"'Oh, I'm sorry, darling!'" I said. "'Did you enjoy seeing them?'"

"'No, I didn't. I was afraid somebody would come; and then I knew God could see right through the sky. I'm so sorry now.'"

"How could I utter one word of reproof? The gentle monitor in his breast had done that. I only reminded him how ready God is to forgive us when we have sinned; and we knelt down together to ask him to have compassion for the sake of his Son Jesus Christ."

"He jumped up from his low chair, with such a bright face, and asked quickly:"

"'Has he forgiven me, aunt Marion?'"

"'Yes, dear, I think he has; and you will not touch the book again.'"

"'No, I wont till you show it to me. That is the way I like to see it best. Now I feel glad.'"

"I longed for you to see him then. His eyes sparkled with happiness, and a heart at ease; his cheeks were mantled with roses; and his cherry lips were dimpled with smiles. Do you wonder we all love him so dearly?"

Mr. Wallingford's health was now confirmed. A regular correspondence had been kept up between him and Marion, in which they had learned to understand each other well. There seemed to be a peculiar harmony in their views, as well as in the principles which actuated their conduct.

The travellers' return was fixed for June, when it was arranged that a certain ceremony at the parsonage should be followed by a tour to Canada, the lakes, Chicago, and home by the Southern route; via, Washington, Philadelphia and New York.

It had never been Mr. Wallingford's intention to give up the practice of law. He believed it better for every man to have some regular business; and to endeavor to excel in it. Early in the spring, therefore, he had written Mr. Van Husen, requesting that gentleman to purchase him a handsome residence in a pleasant and healthy location. This was to be their winter home, where Gertrude and her boy would always be welcomed as part of the family. A wing, thrown out on the West side of Rose Cottage, would give ample accommodations to the two families in summer.

Under these circumstances, it is not strange that the lawyer should feel drawn toward his native land; nor that he should consider the caution of his medical adviser, to remain abroad until June, entirely needless.

The last days of February found them slowly making their way, in company with Mr. Radcliffe, the English nobleman, above mentioned, through France, pausing for a few days at Nice, where they had made some agreeable friends; and then crossing that country to England.

Reaching London the middle of March, they passed a month in making the tour of Great Britain, by which time Mr. Wallingford assured his sister, it was quite safe for him to embark for home. So without waiting to announce to their friends that they were about to anticipate the time of sailing, they took passage in the Steamship China, the last week in April, instead of waiting till the first of June.

There was one circumstance which decided Mrs. Wallingford not to oppose her brother leaving England sooner than the date they had written home. But in order to explain this, I must go back a little to their residence in Rome.

Sir Jones Radcliffe, from his first introduction to Gertrude, was charmed with the sweet gentleness of her manners; and the enthusiasm with which she conversed on literary and religious subjects. At that time he supposed her to be the wife of Mr. Wallingford; and remarked frankly to a friend who had often joked him upon his fastidiousness with regard to ladies:

"At last I have met one who is my beau ideal of what a wife should be; with beauty, accomplishments, and a mind enriched by culture; all softened by the pearl of meekness, and Christian principle."

Soon after he heard her address Edward as her brother; and the violent beating of his heart, showed him how easy it would be to surrender it to her keeping. From this hour, by the most constant, delicate attentions, he sought to win her affections; and nothing but her increasing reserve of manner, when she suspected his object, deterred him from making proposals for her hand.

When about to leave Rome she was rather annoyed to find that her brother had consented to the wish of Sir Jones, and allowed him to join their party to England. He proved a most agreeable travelling companion; and now that his whole heart was enlisted in her favor, he tried his utmost to excel in the powers of conversation for which he had long been distinguished. In the freedom of their intercourse he discovered that Gertrude had a son nearly six years of age; and that his image was scarcely ever absent from the mother's memory. This fact he turned to good account, leading her on to talk of his infantile ways, to tell of his wise sayings, and at last even to read from Marion's letters some of his childish messages. Before this Sir Jones thought he could not love her more than he did; but now he found his mistake. When talking of little Paul, the mother-light that beamed from her eyes and dimpled her mouth so enhanced his affection, that he determined to risk all, by a confession.

At home Gertrude had received proposals of marriage from several gentlemen of worth and distinction in her native state; but she had always shrunk from a new tie as an impossibility as long as Paul was alive. Now that she had seen him, who had once been her husband, under circumstances so affecting, she was more resolute in her former opinion than before.

One morning Sir Jones invited her to accompany him in a visit to a castle, famous for its historic associations; and supposing her brother was to be of the party she gladly consented. When it was too late to recede, she found Mr. Radcliffe had engaged only two horses; and that her brother was otherwise occupied. She could do nothing but resign herself to the arrangement in the best manner she was able.

He began to talk of Paul, telling her how the bright face of the little fellow had haunted him ever since she had shown him the picture. How it happened she never could recollect, but somehow his kindness and sympathy led her on, until she told him of the brief life of her little Rose, every word breathing such a sweet trust in the wisdom of her heavenly Father in taking the babe to its home in the skies, that he had no words to express his admiration.

Through all their intercourse he had noticed that she never had mentioned the name of her husband; now without a suspicion that he could be alive, he said, tenderly:

"Paul must have been a great comfort to you when his sister was taken away."

He was surprised and deeply pained by the burst of tears which accompanied her answer.

"Precious little Rose was my first born! I was just past my seventeenth birthday when that dream of happiness was over. Poor Paul has never seen his father."

"Let me be his father," he began; and once released from the violent restraint in which he had kept back expressions of his affection, he poured out his heart before her.

In vain she tried to check him, urging:

"It is impossible."

He had now lost self-command; and the tide of love would not be longer dammed up.

"Paul must have been a great comfort to you."

"Believe me, Mr. Radcliffe," she urged, still weeping. "I would have spared you this refusal. I will not deny that before we left Rome, I began to suspect the nature of your sentiments; and assumed a coldness foreign to my feelings in order that you might understand that, however much I admired you as a Christian gentleman, nothing farther could take place."

"But why? If there are obstacles, I can overcome them. I am at the age when men desire a home and family; but having found the only one I ever desired to marry, I am willing to wait if you think it too soon after your husband's death."

She shuddered. "You are mistaken, Sir Jones," she faltered, every particle of color vanishing from her face and lips. "In justice to you I ought to confess that had circumstances been different I might have yielded to your wishes; but the man who once called me wife still lives, though just sinking into the grave. Nearly four years ago the law sundered the tie; and when I tell you that I have just come from his death-bed, the death-bed of an humble penitent, clinging for pardon to the cross of his Saviour, you will not wonder that I have no desire to speak of past trials."

"Is it possible," exclaimed the gentleman, "that the invalid for whom you have denied yourself the society and admiration of the most eminent persons in Rome, ever bore such a relation to you? I understand your character well enough to be sure no trivial reasons would gain your consent to a divorce; and you have treated him as if he were your best friend."

"Did not our Saviour, whom we propose to take for an example, do this? Did he not return blessing for cursing; kindness for unkindness; and shall not we, with far less provocation, endeavor to do likewise? But indeed you are giving me too much credit. Surely no one would see a fellow countryman suffering from disease and privation, without hastening to his relief; and I have been rewarded," she continued, turning her humid eyes, beaming with holy fervor, on his, "by witnessing the most remarkable display of divine grace, that has ever come to my knowledge."

"With my whole heart I sympathize with your joy," he responded, warmly. "Will the gentleman remain in Rome?"

"If he lives till June, which I consider doubtful, he will return to the United States, where his parents reside. I shall probably never see him more."

Possibly the gentleman made his own inference from the fact that she had left the invalid, when he might live for months. At any rate his spirits rose; and she thought he had never been more brilliant in conversation, than during their return home.

A long private conversation with Mr. Wallingford, resulted in an earnest invitation for the travellers to make their headquarters at his country seat, while in Great Britain. But this, though urged by her brother to accept, Gertrude steadily declined. All she would do was to spend one day in the beautiful retreat so exactly to her taste, before she hurried Edward away to London.

When the time for sailing came, she acknowledged to herself, it was none too early, for her own happiness, to bid Sir Jones adieu. A few more weeks passed in his society would make it difficult for her to adhere to a decision which in her case she knew to be right.

Contrary to her expectations, when she went on board the steamer for New York, she found Mr. Radcliffe awaiting them; and when she expressed her surprise at finding him there, a merry glance thrown at her brother, convinced her it was not an accident. She wondered a little at his manner of bidding her adieu, not at all as if he considered it, as she did, a final parting; but when he said in her ear, with a hopeful smile:

"Another year and I intend to be speeding over the waters," the vivid blushes that dyed her cheeks, proved to her lover that she was aware he had not abandoned his design.

[CHAPTER XXII.]

FATHER AND SON.

THE wedding of Mr. Wallingford and Miss Gilbert was over; and the happy couple were on their wedding tour. They were to be absent till August; and Gertrude was both busy and happy in superintending the enlargement of Rose Cottage. Little Paul, at first almost frantic in his joy at seeing her once more, now followed her lovingly about, only fearful lest she should again depart.

One morning, on opening her letters, she found an envelope, post marked, "Philadelphia." She had wondered for a week why she heard nothing; for it was time Mr. Dudley should arrive, if he sailed at the time he expected; but now her heart almost ceased to beat. Seizing her boy by the hand she flew to her chamber, shut and fastened the door and sat down to read.

The address was in the chirography of his sister Anna, now Mrs. Ridley; but the letter was traced by a feeble hand and contained these words:

"Through the favor of the Friend who has promised to lead me safely to the end of my journey, I reached home two weeks ago; but I have been too much exhausted to notify you of my arrival according to your request."

"Later. My strength fails so fast I must hasten to make of you one last request. Do not gratify me unless you think it best; or, if it will pain you too much. I am near my end, and with my whole heart I yearn over the child I have never seen. Will you bring him to me, and at once, before it is too late?"

The closing sentence was written by his sister. She went on, "Dear Mrs. Wallingford. If you are willing to gratify my poor brother and bring little Paul to his father's death-bed, you will convey one more lasting obligation on hearts that owe you already more than they can express. Our dear, distressed invalid fainted after writing the above; and I have taken it upon myself to forward this to you. He has often since his return told us your motto in regard to him has been, 'Good for evil.' Acting upon this will you not come to Philadelphia at once?"

"Evening. I had written so far, when I was summoned to my brother's bed, where it was thought he was dying. He motioned me to his side, and gasping with every word, he said faintly:"

"'Tell her, if the blessing of an humble penitent is worth any thing, I leave mine for her and our boy. Tell her, Christ has made himself known, the One above all others; matchless in love and grace.—Tell her I shall shine as a star in her crown.—Tell her, Christ is all my salvation and all my desire. If he will save such a sinner as I am, the very chief, there is no need for any to despair of mercy.—Tell her, to go on doing good to all around, and train her little Paul to follow his Saviour's steps. Farewell.'"

"I cannot stop to narrate the paroxysms of pain with which these disjointed sentences were uttered. He has now fallen asleep under the influence of opiates. Our physician still thinks he may survive two or three days longer."

"In the deepest affliction,"

"ANNA D. RIDLEY."

In less than an hour from her receipt of the letter, Gertrude with her boy and accompanied by her faithful Bridget, were on their way to the landing to be in season for the twelve o'clock boat.

If she were prospered she hoped to be in Philadelphia by seven o'clock at latest; and her whole soul went up to God in earnest prayer, that she might be in season.

"Will she come?" This question had been repeated many times during the day; and now as twilight approached it was evident to all, that before the sun, whose rays were gilding the western horizon, should rise again, the soul of the sufferer would have fled away from earth, to his mansion in the skies.

Suddenly a carriage is heard dashing through the street. It stops at the door, and a lady hurriedly alights, after directing the driver to ring the bell. Then a servant more leisurely follows, holding by the hand a lovely boy.

"She has come," murmured Mrs. Dudley, bending over her dying son.

"God be praised. I have nothing more to ask. Will you leave us alone?"

The door softly opened and gentle steps advanced to the side of the bed.

"Papa," said a sweet, childish voice, "I'm your little Paul. Mamma told me you were sick; and I wanted to come right off and see you."

The father held the small, dimpled hand, and tried to articulate one word; but the emotions had been too much for his feeble frame, and for a few moments his paroxysms of distress were terrible to witness. But he did not lose his consciousness; and seemed so fearful Gertrude would take Paul from the room, that she bent over him, murmuring:

"I will not leave you. It is hard not to be able to help you."

He was soon relieved, and said panting:

"It is all right. He," pointing upward, "orders every pang. I shall soon have a whole eternity to rest in."

"My son," he repeated solemnly, placing his hand on the boy's head, "I prayed God to allow me to see you, and now I want to say, 'Fear God and keep his commandments.' This will render you happy in life and triumphant in death."

He turned his dying eyes upon the weeping figure before him and said tenderly:

"You will love to remember that you complied with the request of one who even in his dying hour, mourns over his own blindness, folly and guilt. Tell our boy to take your motto for his own and learn to render 'good for evil.'"

These were his last words, though he retained his consciousness for an hour, and when repeatedly asked by Gertrude:

"Is Christ precious? Does he give you peace?" there was a pressure of her hand.

At a quarter before ten, the same night she arrived, the end came; the sick man quietly breathing fainter and fainter, like an infant going to rest.

Standing there, gazing on those wan features, Gertrude's heart arose in gratitude to God, that out of death, eternal life had begun in the soul of the penitent believer; and she could almost hear the words of the Saviour, "'This day thou shalt be with me in paradise.'"