"CHRISTIAN: _I have a Wife and_ ... _Children_."

"CHARITY: _And why did you not bring them along with you_?"

"_Then Christian wept and said: Oh, how willingly would I have done it, but they were all of them utterly averse to my going on Pilgrimage_."

"CHARITY: _But you should have talked to them, and_ _have endeavored to have shown them the danger of being behind_.

"CHRISTIAN: _So I did, and told them also what G.o.d had shewed to me of the destruction of our City; but I seemed to them as one that mocked, and they believed me not_.

"CHARITY: _And did you pray to G.o.d that He would bless your counsel to them_?

"CHRISTIAN: _Yes, and that with much affection; for you must think that my Wife and poor Children were very dear unto me_.

"CHARITY: _But did you tell them of your own sorrow and fear of destruction?--for I suppose that destruction was visible enough to you_.

"CHRISTIAN: _Yes, over and over, and over. They might also see my fears in my countenance, in my tears, and also in my trembling under the apprehension of the Judgment that did hang over our heads; but all was not sufficient to prevail with them to come with me_.

"CHARITY: _But what could they say for themselves, why they come not_?

"CHRISTIAN: _Why, my Wife was afraid of losing this World, and my Children were given to the foolish Delights of youth; so, what by one thing and what by another, they left me to wander in this manner alone_."

An unusual sound made me look up. My wife was weeping, her head on her arms among the money and debris of the card-table.

"I--I didn't know," she said in a choked, half-stifled voice, "that you really meant what you said upstairs."

"I mean it as I never have meant anything since I told you that I loved you, dear," I answered gently.

She raised her face, wet with tears.

"That was such a long time ago!" she sobbed. "And I thought that all this was what you wanted." She glanced round the room.

"I did--once," I replied; "but I don't want it any longer. We can't live our lives over again; but"--and I went over to her--"we can try to do a little better from now on."

She laid her head on my arm and took my hand in hers.

"What shall we do?" she asked.

"We must free ourselves from our Burden," said I; "break down the wall of money that shuts us in from other people, and try to pay our way in the world by what we are and do rather than by what we have. It may be hard at first; but it's worth while--for all of us."

She disengaged one hand and wiped her eyes.

"I'll help all I can," she whispered.

"That's what I want!" cried I, and my heart leaped.

Again I saw the glint of the angel's wing!