"God's mercy it didn't brak out airly in the neight," muttered a thoughtful helper; "the ould place would a ben burnt to a cinder."
The results of the fire were not so happily over as the inmates thought. From that day Mrs. Medhurst's strength seemed to fail her, and Mr. Medhurst and Margaret both saw the coming change which was to completely alter the life of everyone of the household.
It was in the glory of August days of sunshine that Mrs. Medhurst grew daily weaker. Although sickness had taken away her almost royal beauty, and left her outwardly little resemblance to the handsome woman who had first welcomed Margaret into her home, there was now a sweet expression upon the patient face of the invalid. Sorrow had touched her deeply, but in the trouble she had turned to One of Whom it is said, "He knows what lies in the darkness." And into the darkness of a thraldom, the chains which she of herself could not break, He Who alone can set the devil's captives free, had broken the fetters which had bound her.
"God knows what a temptation I have had at times, Miss Woodford," she had whispered, finding relief at last in pouring her story into sympathetic ears. "Jewels attracted me so by their luxurious beauty. I stole some beads when I was a little child, and later a watch with pearl initials, and later still other small things I hid, and was afraid to wear—and for years I deceived my friends. Then my father found out I had something which a friend staying at my home accused me of taking—and—and—he turned me out—and it was when I was trying to earn my living I met my husband first. I never told him my weakness for fear he would turn from me, and I had no strength from Him you tell me of—He Who is mighty to save——"
"And forgive," whispered Margaret gently. The tears came into Lucille Medhurst's eyes.
"Yes, I know now. You have shown me His love, and I can go to Him without fear."
Margaret's heart thrilled as she heard these words.
"It is not all my story—but—I have told Him—my Saviour—and the burden is gone."
Then she roused for a little.
"And—my children—Miss Woodford?" The glance was interrogatory and pleading.