The next morning, as he was leaving the room to go out to his work, his father called him back. "Charlie," he said, "I am expecting a sister of mine to-night, and I want you to go to the train and meet her; she would get the letter you posted last night this morning, and will have time to get here by the half-past eight train to-night." He paused for a moment.

Why did not Charlie undeceive him about the letter _at once_? He made up his mind to tell him, but put it off until his father had finished all he had to say.

"I have not seen my sister for years," said John Heedman; "she is the only relative I have living, but some misunderstanding rose up between us after my mother's death--at least, she took offence, and I do not know the reason even now. I wrote several times, but she did not answer.

That letter you posted last night was to her; she will come, I know, when she hears that I am so near death. There must be something to explain away, and I am anxious for a reconciliation before I die; indeed, it is the only earthly wish I have left." He said this so earnestly, and with such an anxious, longing expression in his eyes, that Charlie was obliged to turn away; he could not bear it.

How _could_ he tell him that she had not got the letter? If only he had confessed his neglect the same night, before he knew the contents of the letter, it would not have been half so bad.

"You had better go now, my boy," said his father, kindly, "or you'll be late at work."

Charlie went. I need not tell you that he had a miserable day.

At night his father called him into his room and gave him as careful a description of his sister as he could to guide him in knowing her.

Charlie dressed and went to the station, and walked up and down the platform until the train came in, gazed at the people, and walked home again. It seemed as if he could not help it; instead of recovering himself after the first false step, he had gone on sinking deeper and deeper into sin and deception; he seemed powerless to help himself.

"Hasn't she come?" exclaimed his mother, seeing he was alone. "Oh dear, what will your father do? he has been almost living upon the expectation of seeing her these last few hours; he has watched the door ever since you went out. I'm afraid the disappointment will throw him back sadly."

Charlie could not trust himself to speak, but turned into the sick room.

His father was propped up with pillows, and looked eagerly to the door when Charlie entered; he still waited in expectation until Mrs. Heedman came in and closed the door. "Where is she?" he asked; "where is Jane?"

"She has not come," said Mrs. Heedman, gently; "perhaps to-morrow morning will bring her.--You posted that letter in time, Charlie?" she asked.

"Yes, mother," Charlie answered, in desperation, and in a very low voice.

"It will be too late to-morrow," said John Heedman, sinking back on his pillows exhausted--"it will be too late." He lay so still for about an hour that Charlie thought he slept; after that he called Charlie to him, and wished him to sit up that night with his mother. He spoke very tenderly and lovingly, and told Charlie how happy his grat.i.tude and love and obedience had made him, and how he thanked G.o.d that Charlie had never told him an untruth or deceived him, although he had still grave faults to overcome. He spoke for some time, every word sending a pang to Charlie's heart, who knew how unworthy he was of his confidence and praise. He sobbed hysterically, but was unable to speak.

What a night that was for Charlie, as he sat there with his mother hour after hour in the still and darkened room! His anguish and remorse became unbearable. How could he let his father die without undeceiving him and asking his forgiveness? He could not--he must not. Oh! if he had only spoken at first, when the first false step was taken, he would not have been led into all this sinful deceit, and that terrible lie would never have been told. Now it was such a difficult task--and yet he must do it. He glanced at the timepiece: when the hour-hand reached one he would tell him; he would think now what he had better say--how he should begin. How fast that hour seemed to fly! It was one o'clock, and he had nothing ready to say; he dare not begin; he would wait until two, perhaps his father would be awake then. Two o'clock came; his father still slept, looking so calm and peaceful--how could he disturb him to listen to his sad tale of sin and shame?

Soon after his father awoke; he started up and looked anxiously round.

Charlie and his mother felt instinctively that it was death. In his terror, Charlie sprang towards him. "Father, forgive me," he burst out, in an imploring tone. "I did _not_ post the letter in time. I told a lie--forgive me--speak to me! pray forgive me!" A look of unutterable anguish pa.s.sed over his father's face. Charlie waited for an answer, but none came. His father was far away from him--he was at rest; he was in that home where sin and sorrow cannot come.

It is useless attempting to describe Charlie's misery, it was so great.

His father, who had so loved and trusted him, had at last died, with his hope in him crushed, his confidence in him broken. His father had died, listening to his confession of sin and deception, and without being able to judge whether his repentance was sincere. The confession came too late for his forgiveness or counsel.

The thought of all this completely crushed Charlie. For hours he sat crouching on the floor in his own room, without a single comforting thought. He had not only deceived his father, he had offended G.o.d. He sat in his misery, feeling careless whether he lived or died. No tears came, but his heart throbbed with a dull, aching pain that was unbearable.

It was a bitter, bitter lesson to Charlie, but it did its work; it led him to think and pray more earnestly, and to watch; and by degrees the darling sin that had been so long indulged was crushed and rooted out.

You will be glad to know that he grew up to manhood, admired and respected by those who knew him not only for his talent as an engineer, but for his upright Christian character. One thing he was noted for, that was punctuality. "No fear of Scott being behind time or putting off," would often be said of him.

His good mother lived many years to see and share his happiness; and Harry Greenwell, who had always insisted that Charlie would come out well in the end, was delighted to see his prophecy fulfilled.

Yet, in the midst of his prosperity, how often Charlie's thoughts went back to that sad, sad time! all the old feelings of pain and regret would come back at the remembrance of his sin, and that look of anguish on his father's face, that could never be forgotten. Yet, although these thoughts left him saddened for a while, they also left him full of thankfulness to the Saviour, whose blood cleanseth from all sin, and grateful to the all-wise and merciful G.o.d, who had sent the trial to him in kindness and love. He saw clearly that if he had only humbly watched _at first_, that bitter day would have been spared.

J. AND W. RIDER, PRINTERS, LONDON.