Miss Anne sank down by the bedside, unable to answer him, save by a prayer, half aloud, to God for His mercy to be shown to him, if it were possible!  He lay there, helpless and hopeless, tossing to and fro upon the pillows.  At last he spoke again, in a sharp, clear, energetic tone.

‘Anne, be quick!’ he said; ’find me my will among those papers.  Perhaps if I could do something, I might be able to believe.’

He watched her with impatient eagerness as she turned over the precious parcel of papers which he had rescued from the fire.  There were many documents and writings belonging to the property he had gathered together, and it was some time before she could find the will.  The master tried to take it from her, but in vain; his right hand was powerless.

‘Oh, I forgot!’ he cried despairingly; ’this hand is useless, and I cannot alter it now.  God will not let me undo the mischief I have done.  Anne, I have left Fern’s Hollow away from you to my brother Thomas, lest you should restore it to Stephen; and now I can do nothing!  Oh, misery, misery!  The robbery and murder of the fatherless children rest upon my soul.  Send quickly, Anne, send for Stephen Fern.’

Miss Anne sent a messenger to hasten Stephen; and after that the master lay perfectly still, with closed eyes, as if he were treasuring up the little strength remaining to him.  The last sunset was over, and the night-lamp was lighted once more; while Miss Anne sat beside him watching, in an agony of prayer to God.  There was no sound to be heard, for every one in the house knew that the old man was dying, and they kept a profound quietness throughout all the rooms.  He had taken no notice of anything since he asked for Stephen; but when a light rap was heard at the door he opened his eyes, and turned his grey head round anxiously to see whether he was come.

It was Stephen.  He stood within the doorway, not liking to enter farther, but looking straight forward at the master with a very pale and sorrowful face, upon which there was no trace of triumph or hatred.  Miss Anne gazed earnestly at him, but she did not speak; she would not place herself between him and his dying enemy now.

‘Come here, Stephen,’ said the master, in a voice of hopeless agony.  ’When little Nan was lying dead, you said you would wait, and see what God could do to me.  Come near, and hear, and see.  Death is nothing, boy; it will be only a glory to you to die.  But God is letting loose His terrors upon me; He is mocking at my soul, and laughing at my calamity.  Soon, soon I shall be in eternity, without hope, and without God.’

‘Oh, master, master,’ exclaimed Stephen, ’there is a time yet for our Father to forgive thee!  It doesn’t take long to forgive!  It didn’t take even me long to forgive; and oh, how quickly God can do it if you’ll only ask Him!’

‘Do you forgive me?’ asked the master, in astonishment.

‘Ah,’ he cried, ’I forgave thee long since, directly after I was ill.  It was God who helped me; and wouldn’t He rather forgive thee Himself?  Oh, He loves thee!  He taught me how to love thee; and could He do that if He didn’t love thee His own self?’