The news of Elsie’s illness had first opened his eyes to the enormity of his conduct in relation to her; and now, as he thought of her pure life, her constant anxiety to do right, her deep humility, her love to Jesus, and steadfast adherence to what she believed to be her duty, her martyr-like spirit in parting with everything she most esteemed and valued rather than be guilty of what seemed to others but a very slight infringement of the law of God—­as he thought of all this, and contrasted it with his own worldly-mindedness and self-righteousness, his utter neglect of the Saviour, and determined efforts to make his child as worldly as himself, he shrank back appalled at the picture, and was constrained to cry out in bitterness of soul:  “God be merciful to me, a sinner.”

It was the first real prayer he had ever offered.  He would fain have asked for the life of his child, but dared not; feeling that he had so utterly abused his trust that he richly deserved to have it taken from him.  The very thought was agony; but he dared not ask to have it otherwise.

He had given up all hope that she would be spared to him, but pleaded earnestly that one lucid interval might be granted her, in which he could tell her of his deep sorrow on account of his severity toward her, and ask her forgiveness.

He did not go down to breakfast, but Adelaide again brought him some refreshment, and at length he yielded to her entreaties that he would try to eat a little.

She set down the salver, and turned away to hide the tears she could not keep back.  Her heart ached for him.  She had never seen such a change in a few hours as had passed over him.  He seemed to have grown ten years older in that one night—­he was so pale and haggard—­his eyes so sunken in his head, and there were deep, hard lines of suffering on his brow and around his mouth.

His meal was soon concluded.

“Adelaide, how is she?” he asked in a voice which he vainly endeavored to make calm and steady.

“Much the same; there seems to be very little change,” replied his sister, wiping away her tears.  Then drawing Elsie’s little Bible from her pocket, she put it into his hand, saying, “I thought it might help to comfort you, my poor brother;” and with a fresh burst of tears she hastily left the room and hurried to her own, to spend a few moments in pleading for him that this heavy affliction might be made the means of leading him to Christ.

And he—­ah! he could not at first trust himself even to look at the little volume that had been so constantly in his darling’s hands, that it seemed almost a part of herself.

He held it in a close, loving grasp, while his averted eyes were dim with unshed tears; but at length, passing his hand over them to clear away the blinding mist, he opened the little book and turned over its pages with trembling fingers, and a heart swelling with emotion.

There were many texts marked with her pencil, and many pages blistered with her tears.  Oh, what a pang that sight sent to her father’s heart!  In some parts these evidences of her frequent and sorrowful perusal were more numerous than in others.  Many of the Psalms, the Lamentations of Jeremiah, and the books of Job and Isaiah, in the Old Testament, and St. John’s gospel, and the latter part of Hebrews, in the New.