re many, are forgiven,
for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth
little. And he said unto her, Thy sins are forgiven. Thy faith hath
saved thee; go in peace.'"

As The Don finished reading, a sound of sobbing broke the silence in
the room.

"Who is that? Is that you, Nell?" said Shock. "What is the matter,
Nell? That is for you, too. Now we will have Don read it again." And
once more, with great difficulty, The Don read the words, so
exquisitely delicate, so divinely tender.

"That is for you, too, Nell," said Shock.

"For me?" she cried. "Oh, no, not for me!"

"Yes, Nell, my sister, it is for you."

"Oh," she cried, with a tempest of sobs, "don't call me that. It cannot
be. I can never be clean again."

"Yes, Nell, He says it Himself. 'Her sins, which are many, are
forgiven,' and He can make you clean as the angels. We all need to be
made clean, and He has undertaken to cleanse us."

It was a very humble and chastened man that went out from Shock's
presence that evening. Through the days of the week that followed The
Don went about his work speaking little, but giving himself with
earnestness and in a new spirit, more gentle, more sympathetic, to his
ministry to the sick in the camps and shacks round about. But still the
gloom was unlifted from his heart. Day by day, however, in response to
Shock's request he would read something of the story of that great
loving ministration to the poor, and sick, and needy, and of infinite
compassion for the sinful and outcast, till one day, when Shock had
been allowed for the first time to sit in his chair, and The Don was
about to read, Shock asked for the story of the debtors, and after The
Don had finished he took from his pocket Brown's letter and said:

"Now, Don, forgive me. I am going to read something that will make you
understand that story," and he read from Brown's letter the words that
described Betty's last hour.

The Don sat white and rigid until Shock came to the words, "God
forgives us all, and we must forgive," when his self-control gave way
and he abandoned himself to the full indulgence of his great sorrow.

"It was not to grieve you, Don," said Shock, after his friend's passion
of grief had subsided. "It was not to grieve you, you know, but to show
you what is worth while seeing--the manner of God's forgiveness; for as
she forgave and took you to her pure heart again without fear or
shrinking, so God forgives us. And, Don,