Ah, surely the proud soul must have passed through the waters of much tribulation—surely she is humbled in the very dust.
"I cannot go, sir. Oh no, I cannot go!" exclaimed the woman in piteous accents, covering her face as if to shut out the sight of human sympathy.
"Listen to me, madam," said the old gentleman in his soft touching way, and then the humiliated woman heard a tale of woe that entered deeply into her soul.
What a change those words had wrought—such a change as mortal can scarcely dream of!
"I will go with you, sir," said Evelyn with tears streaming, down her cheeks.
As she glanced at her threadbare garments a feeling of embarrassment was visible upon her emaciated face, but it was momentary.
The good old man led the way and Evelyn followed, but at respectful distance, and as the frowning edifice rose above them what mortal could have withheld pity for the almost demented creature!
"If Marguerite could see me now! And Phil Lawson whom I once despised. Ah, now he is a prince indeed. I honor him above men!"
What sentiments for Evelyn Verne! Why such sentiments? One of God's messengers has at last struck the missing chord and awakened a flood of divine melody more acceptable to the quiring hosts than the lays of measured song.
"This way, my child," says a benign matron in a kind and sympathetic voice, and Mrs. Arnold stands gazing upon the sadly bloated face of her husband.