“Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.  I wish He had said that some other way, for if that means we cannot be forgiven until we forgive everybody, there’s no hope for me, for I cannot, I will not forgive Densie Densmore for being my mother, neither will I forgive Adah Hastings for having crossed my path.  If she had never seen the doctor I should have been his wife, and never have known who or what I was.  I hate them both, Densie and Adah, so you need not pray for me.  I heard you last night, and even Hugh has taken it up, but it’s no use.  I can’t forgive.”

’Lina was very much excited—­so much indeed, that Alice could not talk with her then; and for days this was the burden of her remarks.  She could not forgive Densie and Adah, and until she did, there was no use for her or any one else to pray.  But the prayers she could not say for herself were said for her by others, while Alice omitted no proper occasion for talking with her personally on the subject she felt to be all-important.  Nor were these efforts without their effect; the bitter tone when speaking of Densie ceased at last, and Alice was one day surprised at ’Lina’s asking to see her, together with Mrs. Worthington.  Timidly, Densie approached the bed from which she had once been so angrily dismissed.  But there was nothing to fear now from the white, wasted girl, whose large eyes fastened themselves a moment on the wrinkled face; then with a shudder, closed tightly, while the lip quivered with a grieved, suffering expression.  She did not say to poor old Densie that she acknowledged her as a mother, or that she felt for her the slightest thrill of love.  She was through with deception; and when, at last, she spoke to the anxiously waiting woman, it was only to say: 

“I wanted to tell you that I have forgiven you; but I cannot call you mother.  You must not expect it.  I know no mother but this one,” and the white hand reached itself toward Mrs. Worthington, who took it unhesitatingly and held it between her own, while ’Lina continued:  “I’ve given you little cause to love me, and I know how glad you must be that another, and not I, is your real daughter.  I did not know what made me so bad, but I understand it now.  I saw myself so plainly in that man’s eyes; it was his nature in me which made me so hateful to Hugh.  Oh, Hugh! the memory of what I’ve been to him is the hardest part of all,” and covering her face with the sheet, ’Lina wept bitterly; while Hugh, who was standing behind her, laid his warm hand on her head, smoothing her hair caressingly, as he said: 

“Never mind that, ’Lina; I, too, was bad to you.  If ’Lina can forgive me, I surely can forgive ’Lina.”

There was the sound of convulsive sobbing; and then, uncovering her face, ’Lina raised herself up, and laying her hand on Hugh’s bosom, answered through her tears: 

“I wish I had always felt as I do now.  Hugh, you don’t know how bad I’ve been.  Why, I used to be ashamed to call you brother, if any fine people were near.”