“That is the very worst part of my punishment,” she sobbed. “But, oh, won’t you believe, papa, that I am very, very sorry for having disobeyed you, and do not intend ever to do so again?”
“Yes; I do believe that; and in proof of it, shall not forbid you to go freely to the library; though there are novels there, and they are not kept under lock and key.”
“I don’t deserve it,” she said, very humbly and gratefully. “O papa, I don’t know how I could be so wickedly disobedient to such a dear, good, kind father as you!”
“And to an infinitely better and kinder Father,” he added, in low, reverent tones. “I would have you more concerned because of your sin as against Him than against me.”
As he talked on for several minutes in the same strain, her distress became so great that he found it necessary to try to comfort her with assurances from God’s word of his willingness to forgive those who are truly penitent, and who come to him for pardon pleading the merits and atoning blood of his dear Son.
Opening the Bible he read to her, “If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous, and he is the propitiation for our sins.” “I, even I, am He that blotteth out thy transgressions for mine own sake, and will not remember thy sins.”
“Papa, pray for me,” she pleaded, amid her sobs and tears; “ask God to forgive my sins and take away all the evil that is in me.”
And he did, kneeling with her, his arm around her, her head against his breast.
“Now, my darling,” he said, as he drew her to his knee again, “be comforted, remembering that precious assurance of His word, ‘If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.’”
“Such sweet, comforting words, papa,” she said. Then after a moment’s silence, “I don’t mean to try to excuse my wrong-doing, papa, but just to tell you how I happened to disobey you so. A mere glance at the open page interested me so greatly in the story that I thought of nothing else till you were there beside me.”