“I should, I say it to my shame.  God forgive me for my wickedness!  But for her”—­looking at Margie—­“I might have kept the sinful vow I made.  She saved me.”

“Come here, Margie, and kiss me,” said the old man, tenderly.  “My dear children! my precious children, both of you!  I bless you both—­both of you together, do you hear?  Once I cursed you, Archer—­now I bless you!  If there is a God, and I do at last believe there is, he will forgive me that curse; for I have begged it of Him on my bended knees.”

“He is merciful, dear guardian,” said Margie, gently.  “He never refuses the earnest petition of the suffering soul.”

“Archer, your grandmother died a little while ago.  My cruelty to your father made her, for twenty long years, a maniac.  But before her death, all delusion was swept away, and she bade me love and forgive our grandson—­that she might tell your father and mother, when she met them in heaven, that at last all was well here below.  I promised her, and since then my soul has been in peace.  But I have longed to go to her—­longed inexpressibly.  She had been all around me, but so impalpable that when I put out my hands to touch her, they grasped only the air.  The hands of mortality may not reach after the hands which have put on immortality.”

He lay quiet a moment, and then went on, brokenly.

“Archer, I wronged your parents bitterly, but I have repented it in dust and ashes.  Repented it long ago, only I was too proud and stubborn to acknowledge it.  Forgive me again, Archer, and kiss me before I die.”

“I do forgive you, grandfather; I do forgive you with my whole heart.”  He stooped, and left a kiss on the withered forehead.

“Margie,” said the feeble voice, “pray for me, that peace may come.”

She looked at Archer, hesitated a moment, then knelt by the bedside.  He stood silent, and then, urged by some uncontrollable impulse, he knelt by her side.

The girlish voice, broken, but sweet as music, went up to Heaven in a petition so fervent, so simple, that God heard and answered.  The peace she asked for the dying man came.

Her pleading ceased.  Mr. Trevlyn lay quiet, his countenance serene and hopeful.  His lips moved, they bent over him, and caught the name of “Caroline.”

Trevlyn’s hand sought Margie’s and she did not repulse him.  They stood together silently, looking at the white face on the pillows.

“He is dead!” Archie said, softly:  “God rest him!”

* * * * *

After the funeral of John Trevlyn, his last will and testament was read.  It created a great deal of surprise when it was known that all the vast possessions of the old man were bequeathed to his grandson—­his sole relative—­whom he had despised and denied almost to the day of his death.  In fact, not a half-dozen persons in the city were aware of the fact that there existed any tie of relationship between John Trevlyn, the miser, and Archer Trevlyn, the head clerk of Belgrade and Company.