I have repented bitterly, bitterly, and have
sought forgiveness; and no man lives in this town, or any other, who
can point to anything of which I am ashamed to speak here."

Poor Betty! She looked from one to the other in a frightened kind of
way, and when The Don had finished his confession she gave a cry the
like of which I never heard, "Oh, mother, take me away!" I have heard
of hearts being broken. I think hers was broken then.

I tell you we were all in a whirl. The Don fell on his knees beside
her, taking hold of her skirts. "Oh, Betty, won't you forgive me? God
have mercy on me! Won't you forgive me? I have done many things of
which I am ashamed, but I have never been untrue to you in thought or
in deed. Never, never, so help me God!" He clutched the hem of her
dress, kissing it over and over again. It was a ghastly sight, I can
tell you. Betty shrank from him, drawing her skirts away. "Come away,
my daughter," said Mrs. Fairbanks. "There is nothing more to be said."

As she turned away up spake little Hooper. God bless him, the little
five-footer, every inch clear grit. "Mrs. Fairbanks, one minute. Pardon
me if I say a word. I am this young man's friend, and I am your
minister. I have known this man for six years. I have known him
intimately. I believe he carries a clean, pure heart, and he has lived
a hard-working, honourable life. If he has sinned, he has repented, and
God has forgiven him. Should not you?"

Mrs. Fairbanks turned impatiently on him. "Mr. Hooper, forgiveness is
one thing, and friendship another."

"No, thank God!" cried the little chap. "No, forgiveness is not one
thing and friendship another. Forgiveness means friendship, and
welcome, and love, with God and with man." I could have hugged the
little man where he stood.

Then Mrs. Fairbanks seemed to lose her head, and she blazed out in a
perfect fury. "Do you mean deliberately to say that this man," pointing
to The Don, who was still on his knees, with his face in his hands,
"that this man should be received into my house?"

"Mrs. Fairbanks," said Hooper, "is there not a place for the repentant
and absolved, even with the saints of God?"

Mrs. Fairbanks lost herself completely. "Mr. Hooper," she cried, "this
is outrageous. I tell you, forgiven or not, repentant or not; never
will he, or such as he, enter my doors or touch my daughter's hand.
Never while I live."

Then Hooper drew himself up. He seemed to me six feet tall. He lifted