yourself no expense, no trouble, but you could not seem to understand that what I needed was sympathy and love—­that my heart was always repressed and unhappy.  The human soul, however weak, is not like an exotic plant.  It should be tended by a hand that is as gentle as it is firm and careful.  I found one who combined gentleness with strength; stern, lofty principle with the most beautiful and delicate womanhood; and you know how I lost her.  Could I have followed the instincts of my heart, my fate would have been widely different.  But that is now all past.  You did not mean to wrong me so terribly.  It was only because your own life was all wrong that you wronged me.  Your pride and prejudice prevented you from knowing the truth concerning the girl I loved.  Mother, I am dying, and my last earnest counsel to you and father is that you will obey the words of the loftiest and greatest, ’Learn of me, for I meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls.’  If you cannot do this, your lives will be a more wretched failure than mine has been.  Bury your worldly pride in my grave, and learn to be gentle and womanly, and may God forgive you as truly as I do.”

As he spoke slowly and feebly, the cold, proud woman began to tremble and weep, and when his words ceased she sank on her knees at his bedside and sobbed, “Oh, what have I done?  Must I bear the remorse of having murdered my own child?”

“No, mother, you were blinded as I was.  You will be forgiven as I have been.  In the better home of heaven we’ll find the secret of our true relationship which we missed here.  Good-by now.  I must hasten, for I am very weak.”

Mrs. Arnold rose, put her arms around her son and kissed him, and her daughter supported her from the room, Vinton’s eyes following her sorrowfully until she disappeared.  Then he said, “Dear old father, come and sit close beside me.”

He came, and bowed his head upon his son’s hand.

“Millie,” he called feebly to the young girl who stood by the fire with her face buried in her hands.  She came at once.  “God bless you for those tears.  They fall like dew into my soul.  Millie, I feel as if—­I don’t know what it means—­it seems as if I might go to my rest now.  The room is growing dark, and I seem to see you more in my mind than with my eyes.  Millie, will you—­can you so far forgive me as to take my head upon your bosom and let me say my last words near your heart?”

“Great God!” cried his father, starting up, “is he dying?”

“Father, please be calm.  Keep my hand.  Let my end come as I wish.  Millie, Millie, won’t you?”

Her experienced eyes saw that his death was indeed at hand—­that his life had but flickered up brightly once more before expiring.  Therefore she gratified his final wish, and took his head upon her breast.

“Rest, rest at last,” he sighed.

“Father,” he said after a moment or two, “look at this dear girl who has saved my soul from death.”  The old man lifted his head and gazed upon the pure, sweet face at which he had looked so often and questioningly before.