DURING Marion's call at the Home for the Sick in company with the pastor, they examined the record of patients, etc., and related to Dr. B— the singular circumstance of the brother and sister, natives of another country, being there at the same time, each longing to find the other, and remaining unknown. There were the names and dates fully recorded:—
"Men's Medical Ward, Harold Angus, New York, aged twenty-four. Disease, typhoid fever. Entered March 7, 18—. Discharged cured June 20, 18—. Address of friends, Mr. James Whitney, New York City."
"Women's Medical Ward, Stella Angus, Doncaster, England, aged twenty-two. Second admittance. Disease, consumption. Entered May 2, 18—. Died June 4, 18—. Place of burial, Greenwood. Address of friends, Miss Mary Angus, Leyden, England."
"I recollect perfectly," remarked Dr. B—, "that Stella, as we called her,—from Miss Howard introducing her by that name,—often spoke to the chaplain and to the nurses of one whom she had injured, and that she wished to atone for it. I never heard, Mr. Angus, that you mentioned her name."
"I never did. I supposed her to be in England. I can only believe that God, for His own wise purpose, kept the knowledge of her triumphant death from me till I could say, in regard to all His dealings, 'Thy will be done.'"
From the Home they drove at once to Greenwood. The lot was small and inexpensive, but it had been well cared for, and the grave, covered with myrtle, was green and beautiful.
Marion led the way to the spot and then retired to a distance, leaving the mourner alone with his sorrow. Not yet did she know how deeply Stella had injured her brother, and so she could not appreciate, as she did afterward, the abandonment of his grief as he fell on the grave, saying,—
"My sister! My sister! Is it thus we meet?"
Still, as she walked away, with bent head and fast-falling tears, she repeated to herself the familiar quotation,—
"To err is human, to forgive, divine."