Forgive me, father, if I speak too freely.

Good Mr.Evans, who has been so kind to us for years, (never kinder than since you were in prison,) can speak better than I may, of sins forgiven, and a Friend to raise the fallen: it is not for poor Grace to school her dear and honoured father.

If you feel yourself guilty of much evil in the sight of Him before whom the angels bow in meekness--I need not tell you that your sorrow is most wise, and well-becoming.

But this must not harm your cause with men: though tired of life, though hopeless in one's self, though bad, and weak, and like to fall again, we are still God's servants upon earth, bound to guard the life he gives us.

Neither must you lightly allow the guilt of unrighteous condemnation to fall upon the judge who tries you; nor let your innocent blood cry to God for vengeance on your native land.
Manfully confront the false accuser, tell openly the truth, plead your own cause firmly, warmly, wisely:--so, God defend the right!" And as Grace Acton said these words, in all the fervour of a daughter's love, with a flushed cheek, parted lips, and her right hand raised to Him whom she invoked, she looked like an inspired prophetess, or the fair maid of Orleans leading on to battle.
In an instant afterwards, she humbly added, "Forgive me any thing I may have said, that seems to chide my father." "Bless you, bless you, dearest one!" was Roger's sobbing prayer, who had listened to her wisdom breathlessly.