"It was wrong, I know," he replied, "but I am so foolish I cannot talk about these things; yet I felt so sorry for you just now, for I thought you had forgotten."
"Forgotten what?"
"How much God loves you. 'Like as a father pitieth his children,' you know, Ruth."
She made no reply, but slipped away to her own room to lay her heavy burden at the feet of the Crucified One.
I remember hearing some years ago of a little child who, being reproved for some naughty deed, seemed very unhappy, and was seen to steal into a room close by, where he knelt down and lisped in his baby tones, "Dear God, mis'able." How much there was in that tiny prayer, that one word! It was indeed the essence of heartfelt prayer, the laying down of the soul's burden.
Ruth could hardly find words in which to express the cry of her heart, but when she went downstairs half an hour later there was a peaceful look upon her face and a gladness in her very step which had been wanting since she came to Busyborough. She had sought and obtained pardon, and had rejoiced once more in the sweet texts which she read in her Bible. She added a long postscript to her home letter, and that night Ernest found upon his dressing-table a little twisted note containing these words—
"Dear Ernest,—Thank you for ever and ever.
"Your forgiven and happy cousin,
"Ruth."