"Won't you play one more?" he asked. "Just one; it's my favourite."
"Why, certainly. What is it?"
"The Ninety and Nine. It's number seven-seventy-nine. And won't you sing it, miss? I haven't heard it sung for a long time, though I read it most every day."
Having played the air, Nell began to sing, and as her clear, sweet voice welled forth, Joe leaned eagerly forward so as not to miss a word. There were tears in his eyes, but his face was beaming with joy and peace. Nell sang the hymn through, and when she finished and the last throbbing notes of the organ ceased, a sobbing moan drifted up the aisle of the old church. Both Nell and Joe turned quickly around, and to their surprise they saw a woman kneeling upon the floor with her face buried in her hands.
"Jean, my Jean!" Joe cried, as he sprang from his seat, hurried down the aisle and caught his daughter in his arms. Then there was silence, broken only by the sobs of the kneeling girl.
Nell stood near and watched them, uncertain what to do. She was deeply affected by this scene, and thought it best that the two should be alone. Softly she moved toward the door, and had almost reached it, when Jean sprang after her and caught her by the arm.
"Don't go, Nell," she cried, "until you have forgiven me. Tell me you forgive me," and once more Jean fell upon her knees and seized Nell's hand in hers, and held it with a firm grip.
Stooping, Nell placed her disengaged arm lovingly about the girl's body, and kissed her on the cheek.
"I forgive you all, Jean," she said. "So get up. Why should you kneel to me?"
"And you know? You understand?" Jean asked, lifting up her pale face.