“Don’t be disturbed,” he said, “you were doing right—­in defending yourself, husband and children.”

“Yes, yes,” she sobbed, “but oh, I would save you now if I could!  Can nothing be done?”

He shook his head sadly.  “Will you, can you all forgive me?” he asked in tones so faint and low, that only the death-like silence of the room made the words audible.

“With all my heart, my poor fellow, as I hope to be forgiven my infinitely greater debt to my Lord,” Mr. Leland answered with emotion, taking the wasted hand and clasping it warmly in his.

Foster was deeply touched.  “God bless you for the words,” he whispered.  “How I’ve been mistaken in you, sir!”

His eyes sought the faces of Dinsmore and Travilla, and drawing near the bed, each took his hand in turn and gave him the same assurance he had already received from Leland.

Then the last named said, “I ask your forgiveness, Foster, for any exasperating word I may have spoken, or anything else I have done to rouse unkind feelings toward me.”

In reply the dying man pressed Leland’s hand in moved silence.

Mrs. Leland rose impetuously and dropped on her knees at the bedside.  “And me!” she cried, with a gush of tears, “will you forgive me your death?  I cannot bear to think it was my work, even though done in lawful self-defense, and to save my dear ones.”

“It is—­all—­right between us,” he murmured, and relapsed into unconsciousness.

“We are too many here,” said the physician, dismissing all but the mother.

Elsie remained in an adjoining room, trying to comfort the sisters, while Mrs. Leland and the gentlemen repaired to the veranda, where they found Mr. Wood, who had just arrived; having been sent for to converse and pray with the dying man.

“How does he seem?” he asked, “can I go at once to the room?”

“Not now; he is unconscious,” said Mr. Dinsmore and went on to describe Foster’s condition, mental, moral, and physical, as evidenced in his interview with them and the earlier one with Dr. Barton; of which Elsie had given them an account.

“Ah, God grant he may indeed find mercy, and be enabled to lay hold upon Christ to the saving of his soul, even at this eleventh hour!” ejaculated the pastor.  “A death-bed repentance is poor ground for hope.  I have seen many of them in my fifty years ministry, but of all those who recovered from what had seemed mortal illness, but one held fast to his profession.

“The others all went back to their former evil ways, showing conclusively that they had been self-deceived and theirs but the hope of the hypocrite which ’shall perish:  whose hope shall be cut off, and whose trust shall be a spider’s web.’

“Yet with our God all things are possible, and the invitation is to all who are yet on praying ground; ‘Whosoever will.’”

At this moment Elsie glided into their midst, and putting her hand into that of her pastor, said in low, tearful tones, “I am so glad you have come!  He is conscious again, and asking for you.”