“‘How many are mine iniquities and sins,’” he answered; “’mine iniquities are gone over mine head; as a heavy burden they are too heavy for me.’”

“But ’He was wounded for our trangressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him; and with His stripes we are healed,’” quoted Elsie.

“Oh, bless the Lord ‘who forgiveth all thine iniquities.’”

“Yes,” he said, “but I am so vile, so sinful—­it seems utterly impossible that I ever can be pure in His sight who is ’of purer eyes than to behold evil, and cannot look on iniquity.’”

“‘The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin,’” quoted Elsie in low tones of deepest sympathy.

“’Thou shalt call his name Jesus; for he shall save his people from their sins.’

“’This Man, because he continueth ever, hath an unchangeable priesthood.  Wherefore he is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them.’

“‘Who gave himself for us, that he might redeem us from all iniquity.’

“’Let Israel hope in the Lord; for with the Lord there is mercy, and with him is plenteous redemption.  And he shall redeem Israel from all his iniquities.’”

“Blessed words!” he ejaculated, the cloud lifting from his brow, “blessed, blessed words!  I will doubt and fear no more; I will trust His power to save; His imputed righteousness is mine, and covered with that spotless robe I need not fear to enter the presence of the King of kings.”

Some hours later the messenger came, and whispering, “All is peace, peace, unclouded peace,” the dying saint fell asleep in Jesus.

Gently, tenderly Lester closed the sightless eyes, saying in moved tones, “Farewell, brother beloved!  Thank God the battle’s fought, the victory won!”

And now Evelyn, who had been for hours close at her father’s side, waiting upon him, smoothing his pillow, moistening his lips, gazing with yearning tenderness into his eyes, drinking in his every word and look while displaying a power of self-control wonderful to see in a child of her years, burst into a passion of tears and sobs, pressing her lips again and again to the brow, the cheek, the lips of the dead—­those pale lips that for the first time failed to respond to her loving caresses.

But with a wild shriek the new-made widow went into strong hysterics; and, resuming her self-control, the little girl left the dead to wait upon and console the living parent.

“Mamma, dearest mamma,” she said, in quivering tones, putting her arms about her mother, “think how blest he is; the angels are even now carrying him home with songs of gladness to be forever with the Lord; and he will never be sick or in pain any more.”

“But what is to become of me?” sobbed her mother.  “I cannot do without him, if you can.  You couldn’t have loved him half so well as I did or you would never take his loss so quietly.”