“I succeeded in gaining her attention and approval of my plan, but with the awful danger behind us, there were still precious moments wasted before I could induce Gracia to venture into the water, of which she seemed to have a horror.  I made almost superhuman exertions to reach the land, and depositing my almost insensible burden, turned again to attempt the rescue of my darlings.  But I was too late.  Faint, and nearly exhausted, I was making but slow progress, when a heavy beam, floating in the water, struck and rendered me unconscious.  A boat that had hurried to the scene of the disaster picked me up, with others; but I never saw again the two little beings whom I left, with their childish hands clasped, waiting for me to return and save them.”

“Oh, heavens!” ejaculated Clemence, “not dead!—­my two little pupils.”

“Yes, dead,” said Wilfred Vaughn, hoarsely; “buried beneath the waves, and their only requiem the moaning of an angry sea.”  He paused for a while, with his face buried in his hands, and then resumed: 

“This awful visitation seemed to change Gracia.  She had been a proud, ambitious, selfish woman.  I never wanted my only brother to marry her, but he was infatuated with her splendid beauty, and when I saw that his happiness was at stake I ceased to oppose him.  After he died I hovered near to watch over the children.  But I never liked Gracia Vaughn, because I could not respect her.  Now, on what proved to be her death-bed, I felt for the first time an affection for her, born of pity.  I think if my sister-in-law could have lived she would have been a better woman.  But the fiat had gone forth, and her days were numbered.  Naturally delicate, the intense excitement and exposure so lately endured, set her into a low fever that at length terminated her life.  As she neared the ‘valley of the shadow of death’ her vision seemed clearer.  The scales fell from her eyes, and the repentant woman knew that her life had been a failure.

“‘It is better so, Wilfred,’ she said to me, just before she died.  ’I have been only ‘an encumberer of the ground.’  I can be better spared than others, for my life has benefited nobody.  There will be few to miss me.’

“‘Oh, Gracia!’ I exclaimed, shocked at the thought.

“‘Nay,’ she answered me, ’but it is true, and right.  I have been selfish and unlovable, and more than that, sinful.  Do you think God will pardon me!’

“’Can you doubt that He who sent His Only Son to die for us, and to save not the righteous but sinners, will hearken unto our supplications?’ I said, earnestly.  ’My dear sister, you have been weak and perhaps wicked, but surely none of us are perfect.’

“‘But you do not know all,’ said Gracia, averting her face.  ’I have so longed to tell you, but have lacked courage.  There remains but little for me to do in this world, but I cannot die until I have retrieved, by the humblest confession and fullest reparation, the great sin of my life.’