“It is but the beginning of my punishment.”

Ere I had answered Mr. Axtell’s question, my father appeared.  He had come for me so early on this March morning,—­or was it to meet Mr. Axtell?  He said more, in words, to him than to his child.  It was several years since my father had met Mr. Axtell, therefore he did not note the change last night had wrought.  As I looked at him, during our homeward drive, I repented not having said words of comfort, not telling him that I believed Bernard McKey was at that hour in my father’s house; but I had not exceeded my instructions, by one word I had not gone beyond Miss Lettie’s story.  Until Mr. McKey chose to reveal himself, he must exist as a stranger.

Jeffy reported the “hospital man” as “behaving just like other people.”  Jeffy evidently regretted, with all the intensity of his Ethiopian nature, the subsiding of the delirium.

Not long after our arrival home, father went, with Mr. Axtell, into his own room, where, with closed doors, the two remained through half the morning.  What could my father have to say to the “incomprehensible man,” his daughter Anna asked herself; but no answer breathed through mahogany, as several times she passed near.  All was silent in there to other ears than those inside.

At last I heard the door open, and footsteps along the hall.  “Surely,” I thought, “they are going the way to Mr. McKey’s room.”  I was right.  They went in.  What transpired in there I may never know, but this much was revealed to me:  there came thence two faces whereon was written the loveliness of the mercy extended to erring man.  My father looked, like all who feel intensely, older than he did in the morning, and yet withal happier.  Mr. Axtell went away without seeing me.  Father made apology for him by saying that it was important that he should return home immediately, and asked “could I make ready to receive some visitors the following day?”

“Who, papa?” I asked.

“Mr. Axtell and his sister.”

Mr. McKey was able that evening to cross the room, and sit beside the fire.  I went in to inquire concerning his comfort.  Papa was away.  Mr. Axtell must have told him something of me, for I had not been long there, when he, turning his large, luminous eyes from the coals, into which he had been peering, said,—­

“Do you know the sweetness of reconciliation, young lady?  If not, get angry with some one immediately.”

“I never had an enemy in my life, Mr. McKey,” I replied.

He started a little at the name, and only a little, and he questioned,—­

“Where did you learn the name you give to me?”

“From Miss Axtell, yesterday.”

Question and answer succeeded, until I had told him half the story that I knew.  I might have said more, but father’s coming in interrupted me.

“I expect our visitors by the day-boat,” papa said to me the day following.  The carriage went for them.  I watched its coming from afar down the street.  I knew the expression of honest Yest’s hat out of all the street-throng.  The carriage came laden.  I saw faces other than the Axtells’, even Aaron’s and Sophie’s.