“—­that I want a clerk,” said Mr. Legrange, anticipating her in her remarks; “and,” continued he, “your father is just the man I want.  I knew him in his better days, before a fatal misstep felled him to the ground.  Miss Lang, let your father call next Tuesday; to-morrow I start on a journey, and shall not return till then.”

With many sincere thanks, Julia left the room; her heart overflowed with gratitude to the Giver of all things.  She saw his hand and felt his presence.

It was well that Mr. Legrange was about to leave the city, as Mr. Lang’s examination was to be had the next day, and Mrs. Lang and her daughter confidently expected he would be acquitted.

The morrow came; the examination began and terminated as they had expected.  William Bang was remanded back to prison to await his trial for robbery.  Mr. Lang was acquitted, and, joining a company of friends whom Julia had collected, left for the residence of his family.

What a meeting was that!  Angels could but weep for joy at such a scene, and drop their golden harps to wipe away their tears of gladness.  Long had been their separation.  What scenes had the interval disclosed!  And how changed were all things!  She was in health when he left, but now in sickness; yet it was not strange.

That day was the happiest he had spent for many months, and he rejoiced that an angel of light, his daughter, had sought him out.  She had been, indeed, a ministering spirit of good to him, and in the happy scene then around her she found her reward,—­O, how abundant!

With a light and joyous step did Henry Lang repair to the store of Mr. Legrange.  The sun’s rays were just peering over the house-tops, and he thought that he, like that sun, was just rising from degradation to assume new life, and put forth new energy.

We need not lengthen out our the by narrating what there ensued.  He that day commenced his clerkship, and to this day holds it.  He often received liberal donations from his employer in token of his regard for him, and by way of encouraging him in his attempts to regain his lost fortune.

It was on a December evening that a family circle had gathered around their fireside.  The wild wind whistled furiously around, and many a poor wight lamented the hard fate that led him abroad to battle the storm.  “Two years ago this night,” said the man, “where was I?  In an obscure house, planning out a way to injure a fellow-man!  Yea, would you believe it? the very man who has since been my benefactor,—­my employer!”

The door-bell rang, and the conversation was abruptly terminated.

In a few minutes none other than Mr. Legrange entered; he received a hearty welcome, and was soon engaged in conversation.

“Mr. Lang,” said he, as he was about to depart, “your daughter remembers receiving an anonymous letter signed ‘Charles B—.’  I do not say it to please my own vanity, but I ordered my clerk to write it, and sent it by my son.  I thought of you when you little thought you had a friend on earth who cared for you, and rejoice that I have been the humble instrument in effecting your reformation.”