advocate with the
Father, Jesus Christ the righteous; and He is the propitiation.' If
we have somebody to take part with us against our sins, how much
more against our mistakes,--our forgettings! and _they_ are the
propitiation, too; their angels--the Christ of them--do always
behold the face of the Father. Their interceding is a part of the
Lord's interceding."

"If I could once more be let to do something for them--their very
selves!"

"You can. You can pray, 'Lord give them some beautiful heavenly joy
this day that thou knowest of, for my asking; because I cannot any
more do for them on the earth.' And then you can turn round to their
errands again."

Marion stood up on her feet.

"I will say that prayer for them every day! I shall believe in it,
because you told me. If I had thought of it myself, I should not
have dared. But He wouldn't send such a message by you if He didn't
mean it; would He?"

She believed in the God of Luclarion Grapp, as the children of
Israel believed in the God of Abraham.

"He never sends any message that He doesn't mean. He means the
comfort, just as much as He does the blaming."

Another day, a while after, Marion came down to Neighbor Street with
something very much on her mind to say, and to ask about. They had
all waited for her own plans to suggest themselves, or rather for
her work to be given her to do. No one had mentioned, or urged, or
even asked anything as to what she should do next.

But now it came of itself.

"Couldn't I get a place in some asylum, or hospital, do you think,
Miss Grapp? To be anything--an under nurse, or housemaid, or a cook
to make gruels? So that I could do for poor women and little
children? That would seem to come the very nearest. I'd come here,
if you wanted me; but I think I should like best to take care of
poor, good women, whose children had died, or gone away; who haven't
any one to look after them except asylum people. I like to treat
them as if they were all my mothers; and especially to wait on any
little girls that might be sick."

Was this the same Marion Kent who had given her whole soul, a
little while ago, to fine dressing and public appearing, and having
her name on placards? Had all that life dropped off from her so
easily?

Ah, you call it easily! _She_ knew, how, passing through the
furnace, it had been burned away; shriveled and annihilated with the
fierce, hot sweep of a spiritual flame before which all old,
unworthy d