myself in the wildest, grimmest, wilderness in the world; and fight my pain � my shame � !’

A long silence. Then the old man’s voice came clear and sweet, something like music, in the shelter from the storm:

‘But perhaps time may mend things. God is very good � !’ Harold answered out of the bitterness of his heart. He felt that his words were laden with an anger which he did not feel, but he did not see his way to alter them:

‘Nothing can mend this thing! It is at the farthest point of evil; and there is no going on or coming back. Nothing can wipe out what is done; what is past!’

Again silence, and again the strong, gentle voice:

‘God can do much! Oh my dear young friend, you who have been such a friend to me and mine, think of this.’