"That he will! He is always having mercy upon us!" I answered, loving
John and my uncle and God more than ever. I loved John for this
especially, at the moment--that his nature remained uninjured toward
others by his distrust of her who should have had the first claim on his
confidence. I said to myself that, if a man had a bad mother and yet was
a good man, there could be no limit to the goodness he must come to. That
he was a man after my uncle's own heart, I had no longer the least doubt.
Nor was it a small thing to me that he rode beautifully--never seeming to
heed his horse, and yet in constant touch with him.

We reached the town, and the inn where my uncle was lying. On the road we
had arranged where he would be waiting me to hear what came next. He went
to see the horses put up, and I ran to find Martha. She met me on the
stair, and went straight to my uncle to tell him I was come, returned
almost immediately, and led me to his room.

I was shocked to see how pale and ill he looked. I feared, and was right
in fearing, that anxiety about myself had not a little to do with his
condition. His face brightened when he saw me, but his eyes gazed into
mine with a searching inquiry. His face brightened yet more when he found
his eager look answered by the smile which my perfect satisfaction
inspired. I knelt by the bedside, afraid to touch him lest I should hurt
his arm.

Slowly he laid his left hand on my head, and I knew he blessed me
silently. For a minute or two he lay still.

"Now tell me all about it," he said at length, turning his patient blue
eyes on mine. I began at once, and if I did not tell him all, I let it be
plain there was more of the sort behind, concerning which he might