She
fumbled at the cords, accepted his proffered pen-knife, and then--
oh, dear heaven! There, fluffy, snow-white and alluring, reposed a
set of white fox furs!
"S-sh!" he admonished, smiling. "Mother doesn't know about them
yet."
"Oh, father!" She couldn't say any more. And the father, smiling at
her, thought he understood the emotions which tied her tongue, which
underlay her fervent good night kiss. But he could never have
guessed all the love, gratitude, repentance, self-abasement and high
resolves at that moment welling within her.
He left her sitting up there in bed, her fingers still caressing the
silky treasure. As soon as he was gone, she climbed out of bed to
kneel in repentant humility.
"Dear Jesus," she prayed, "please forgive me for deceiving my dear
father and mother. If you'll forgive me just this once, I promise
never, never to deceive them again."
Then, feeling better--prayer, when there is real faith, does lift a
load amazingly--she climbed back into bed, with the furs on her
pillow.
But she could not sleep. That was natural--so much had happened, and
everything seemed so complicated.
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