Even on the downward road good angels wait anxiously, and whisper in every better moment to the lapsing soul, "Return!" But there was a seed of bitterness in Crawford's heart, that was poisoning the man's spiritual life--a little bit of paper, yet it lay like a great stone over his noblest feelings, and sealed them up as in a sepulchre.

Oh, if some angel would come and roll it away! He had never told the dominie of Helen's bequest.

He did not dare to destroy the slip of paper, but he hid it in the most secret drawer of his secretary.

He told himself that it was only a dying sentiment in Helen to wish it, and that it would be a foolish superstition in him to regard it.

Perhaps in those last moments she had not understood what she was asking.
For a little while he found relief in this suggestion; then he remembered that the request must have been dictated before the fever had conquered her strength or judgment.