Ere he went upstairs to bed, Michael had hunted amongst the encyclopædias in his shop till he found what he believed to be an able and trustworthy article on diphtheria. Of this, he had read every word more than once, with the result that his fears for the little one's life were intensified, and he was tortured by a sense of what her sufferings must be.
If only he could do anything to help her in the sore struggle! But, alas! Of what use could a poor old man, weakened by recent illness, be? And then, with a bitter pang, he remembered that though he loved her, he had done her wrong. He had defrauded this little fatherless child. He could no longer hide from himself the truth. He could no longer justify his conduct respecting the notes he had found in the professor's books. He saw that transaction now in its true light. He, Michael Betts, had robbed the widow and the fatherless, and God would surely visit upon him his sin.
He groaned aloud as he turned to and fro on his sleepless bed. His action looked darker in every fresh aspect that he viewed it. How could he have done such a thing, he, Michael Betts, who had always prided himself on his uprightness? Well, he could never boast himself now. He knew now that he was a sinner indeed. Again he recalled the day when he had first seen little Margery standing within his shop. He heard her sweet tones saying:
"Have you lost your burden, Mr. Betts?"
Ah, he had resented her speaking of him as a sinner then! He knew better now. He saw now that he had always been a sinner, slighting and neglecting the love of God, and living the hard, narrow, loveless life into which God cannot enter.
But one thing was borne in upon Michael's mind with the force of an irresistible conviction during those weary, restless hours. He must, as far as possible, undo the wrong he had done. He must restore the money he had stolen. Much as he shrank from all that restitution involved, he knew he could have no peace of mind, or even rest of body, till it was done.
Michael felt too ill to rise early the next morning; but as soon as he could, he got up and went feebly downstairs, sadly conscious that little Margery's words were coming true, and that he was getting to be a very old man.
"My! you do look bad!" was Mrs. Wiggins' encouraging greeting. "I declare you look worse than you did yesterday. You'll have to be very careful of yourself, Mr. Betts, if you don't want to slip away altogether."
"Do mind your own business and leave my looks alone," responded old Betts fretfully. "I shall be all right when I've had some lunch."
"I'll get you some beef-tea at once," said Mrs. Wiggins, bustling away.