"Aye, I remember now; tell her 'twas the touch of her little, white hand that did it. Says I to myself, if she can touch the likes of me, perhaps God may forgive me, do you see, Sue? I thought 'twas your mother at first; I see now; 'tis little Sue—a woman grown. Tell your mistress 'twas her little, white hand that did it. Lor! she is like an angel."
Then Joyce took the hand lying nearest once more in hers, and, kneeling down, raised her clear, sweet voice and repeated:
"The Son of Man came to seek and to save that which was lost.
"There is joy in the presence of the Angels of God over one sinner that repenteth."
"I do repent," he said; and great tears—the first tears Bob Priday had shed for many a long year—ran down his cheeks. "It's all along of you," he said; "as you forgive me, He may."
Then Joyce asked for pardon of Him in whose steps she was following, for this poor, dying man, whose life had been so darkened by sin, and who had brought so much sorrow upon others.
"O Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us;" and the last conscious words which Bob Priday spoke were, "Amen," and then, "Kiss me, little Sue."
Joyce left Susan kneeling by the bed, while she turned to others in the ward, passing through the long line of beds like a messenger of peace.
A word here and a word there; a gentle touch of the same white hand which had been stretched out to poor Bob Priday, and had brought home to his soul the power of God's love, and Joyce, in all the first flush of her young beauty, in all the bright gladness of the summer morning at Fair Acres, had never looked so lovely as when she drew Susan gently away, and, putting her arm in hers, left the ward, followed by the wondering and wistful glances of the patients and the nurses.
There was no time to lose, for the sound of distant tumult grew louder. The old surgeon urged the coachman to take as wide a sweep as possible, to avoid the Bristol streets, and just as they were starting a man rushed in with more news.