It was very nearly midnight when Mr. Home, entering the sitting-room where his wife waited up for him, asked her to come with him at once.

“There is a hansom at the door,” he said, “put on your bonnet and come.  I will tell you all as we drive along; come at once, we have not a moment to lose.”

Charlotte Home, accustomed as Home’s wife to imperative demands, only thought of a night’s nursing of some specially poor patient.  She rose without a word, and in two minutes they were driving, as fast as a fleet horse could take them to Prince’s Gate.

“Charlotte,” said her husband, taking her hand, “God has heard my prayer, God has given me the man’s soul.”

“Whose soul, my dearest?”

“The soul of John Harman.  Charlotte, I have prayed as I never prayed before in all my life for that guilty and troubled sinner’s soul.  I have been in an agony for it; it has seemed to me at times that for this lost and suffering brother I could lay down my very life.  On Sunday last I went to conduct service in the small iron church.  I tried the night before to prepare a sermon; no thought would come to me.  I tried at last to look up an old one; no old sermon would commend itself.  Finally I dropped all thought of the morrow’s sermon and spent the greater part of the night in prayer.  My prayer was for this sinner, and it seemed to me, that as I struggled and pleaded, God the Father and God the Son drew nigh.  I went to bed with a wonderfully close sense of their presence.  At morning prayers the next day, Miss Harman and her father entered the church.  You may well look at me in surprise, Charlotte, but when I saw them I felt quiet enough; I only knew that God had sent them.  For the first time in my life I preached without note or written help.  I felt, however, at no loss for words; my theme was the Prodigal Son.  I thought only of Mr. Harman; I went home and continued to pray for him.  On Tuesday morning ­that is, this morning ­he was again at the church.  After the prayers were over he waited to speak to me:  he asked me to visit him at his own house this evening.  I went there; I have been with him all the evening; he told me his life story, the bitter story of his fall.  I am now come for you, for he must confess to you ­you are the wronged one.”

“I am going to see John Harman, my half-brother who has wronged me?” said Mrs. Home; “I am going to him now without preparation?  Oh!  Angus, I cannot, not to-night, not to-night.”

“Yes, dear, it must be to-night; if there is any hardness left in your heart it will melt when you see this sinner, whom God has forgiven.”

“Angus, you are all tenderness and love to him; I cannot aspire to your nature, I cannot.  To this man, who has caused such misery and sin, I feel hard.  Charlotte I pity, Charlotte I love; but this man, this man who deliberately could rob my dead mother!  It is against human nature to feel very sorry for him.”

“You mean to tell me, Charlotte, that you refuse to forgive him?”

“No; eventually you will conquer me; but just now, I confess, my heart is not full of pity.”

Mr. Home thought for a moment.  He was pained by his wife’s want of sympathy.  Then he reflected that she had not seen Mr. Harman.  It was plain, however, that they must not meet until her spirit towards him had changed.

“Do not stop at Prince’s Gate,” he called out to the cabby, “drive on until I ask you to stop.”

During the drive that followed, he told his wife Mr. Harman’s story.  He told it well, for when he had finished, Charlotte turned to him eyes which had shed some tears.

“Does Charlotte know of this?” she said.

“I do not think so.  Will you come to Mr. Harman now?”

“Yes.  I will come on one condition!”

“What is that?”

“That I may see Charlotte afterwards.”

“I am sure that can be managed.”

Then Mr. Home desired the cabby to stop at Prince’s Gate.  A sleepy-looking servant waited up for them.  He manifested no surprise at sight of the lady and gentleman at such an hour.  Mr. Home took his wife’s hand, and the servant led them straight to his master’s study.

“I have told her the story,” said Mr. Home; “she is your father’s child, she comes to ­” Here the clergyman paused and looked at his wife, he wanted the word “forgive” to come from her own lips.  Mrs. Home had grown white to her very lips.  Now instead of replying, she fell upon her knees and covered her face.

“Charlotte,” said Mr. Harman, “can you do what this clergyman wants?  Can you forgive the sin?” There was no answer; Mrs. Home was sobbing aloud.  “I have robbed you, I have robbed you most cruelly.  My dying father asked me to be good to you; I have been worse than cruel.  You see before you an old, old man, as great a sinner as can be found on God’s earth.  Can you forgive me?  Dare I ask it?  At last, at last I make full reparation; I repent me, in dust and ashes; I repent, and I restore all fourfold.”  But here Charlotte Home had risen suddenly to her feet.  She came up close to Mr. Harman, and taking his hand raised it to her lips.

“My husband has told me all.  I, I quite forgive you,” she said.

Mr. Harman glanced at the clergyman.  “Your husband?” he said.

“Yes; she is my wife,” answered Mr. Home.  “Sir, you heard my wife say that she quite forgives.  You may go to rest to-night, with a very peaceful heart; the peace of God which passes all understanding may encompass your pillow to-night.  It is late and you have gone through much, may I go with you to your room?  There will be many explanations yet to make; but though a clergyman, I am also in some measure a physician.  I see you can go through no more emotion to-night, rest satisfied that all explanations can wait till to-morrow.”

“I will go with you,” answered Mr. Harman, “but may I first thank your wife?” Charlotte Home’s bonnet had fallen off as she knelt on the floor, now suddenly a withered and trembling hand was placed on her head.  “God bless you!  Even from a sinner like me, such words from a full heart must be heard.”

“Ay,” said Mr. Home, in a loud, exultant voice, “the Prince of peace and forgiveness has come into this house to-night.”