"
Mr. Verne is a thorough gentleman and true friend, thought Phillip,
as he turned over the last half-hour's conversation. "How thoughtful
to explain Marguerite's failure to see me last evening." Then a
slight frown settled upon the broad brow, showing that some
disagreeable subject had in turn claimed the young lawyer's
thoughts.
"Perhaps she may be better than I give her credit for. Are there any
of us perfect?" Then musing for a few minutes he arose, the poet's
words recurring to his mind--
"The best of what we do, and are,
Just God, forgive."
On opening the daily mail the color rose upon Phillip Lawson's
cheek, and his fingers became tremulous as he seized a letter
showing the unsteady chirography of Hubert Tracy.
"I will never open it," he thought, and instantly the missive lay a
mass of shreds in the waste basket. "'Out of evil good may come.'
Hubert Tracy has taught me to be more grateful to the God who has
done so much for me."
"Keep your temper, old boy," murmured the young man afresh as his
eyes ran over the next letter--one dated from Winnipeg.
"To the flames I consign thee", said he, lighting a match and
holding the provoking article over it until it was consumed.
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