I sent every one else from the room whenever your delirium became intelligible." This made me grateful toward her; and I longed for sympathy.

I threw my arms about her and wept bitterly.
"Then you know that I can never cry enough," I said.
"I do not know that," she answered.

After a vain attempt to soothe me with general words of comfort, she said, with much wisdom, "Tell me exactly what thought gives you the most pain, now, at this moment." "The thought of his dreadful act, and that by it he has lost his soul." "We know with Whom all things are possible," she said, "and we do not know what cloud may have been over his reason at that moment.

Would it comfort you to pray for him ?" "Ought I ?" I asked, raising my head.
"I do not know any reason that you ought not," she returned.

"Shall I say some prayers for him now ?" I grasped her hand: she took a little book from her pocket, and knelt down beside me, holding my hand in hers.