from you--at last you
have yielded to my urgent request for some news of your daily
life. God bless you for lifting a little of the weight off us,
for telling us something about yourself and your work. I could
not help crying bitterly over your letter, to think that a
humble roof shelters our child; that you are compelled to work
for your living; you, Crystal, who have never known what it is
to want anything; upon whom a rough wind was not suffered to
blow. My child, come home. What need is there of penance and
expiation when all has been forgiven? The evil spirit that
tormented our child has been cast out, and you are clothed
afresh and in your right mind now; come home, for dear Raby's
sake, and be his darling as of old! Do you know how he longs
for you? Daily he asks 'Any news of her, Margaret?' and last
night, as I was passing his study door, he called me in and
bade me give you this message--'Tell my child, Margaret,' he
said, 'that every night I bless her and fall asleep breathing
her name; tell her that my forgiveness and blessing are ever
with her; that there is no bitterness in my heart; that she
can not escape from my love; that it will follow her to the
world's end. And tell her, Margaret, that if she do not soon
come back to me that I, Raby--blind, helpless, useless as I
am--will seek her through God's earth till I find her and
bring her back.' Ah, surely you must weep as you read this,
Crystal. I pray that every tear may be God's own dew to melt
and break up the hardness of your heart. Your ever loving

"MARGARET."

"That was written nearly two months ago, Madge, and she has not come
yet."

"No, dear, we must have patience."

Raby sighed impatiently. "So you always say; but it is hard to be
patient under such circumstances--to know that the woman you love has
made herself an exile from all she holds dear. Margaret, I was wrong
not to tell her what I felt. I sometimes fear that she misjudged my
silence. But she was so young."

"You meant it for the best, Raby?"

"Yes, I meant it for the best," he answered, slowly. "I did not wish
to take advantage of her youth; it did not seem right or honorable.
Let her go into the world a little and see other men, that is what I
said to myself. Even now, I hardly think I was wrong."

"No, you were right, quite