CHAPTER VII.

A Letter from the Highlands.

JANET could not make it out. A letter had just been given to her, addressed to "Master Paul Bernard, the Hotel Londra, Rome," and she saw to her surprise that it came from Scotland. It bore, indeed, the postmark of a little Highland town which Janet had known in her youth. She could almost fancy that she smelt the heather and felt the strong, keen air of the moorland district from which it had come. Who could have written from thence to her young charge?

"I never knew that they had friends in Scotland," she thought; "perhaps it is from one of those children with whom he got so friendly on the steamer coming over. But how could they know that he was at the Hotel Londra?"

The puzzle increased as she studied the letter. The writing was not that of a child. It was a free, flowing hand with a certain audacity in the way the capitals were formed. She could appease her curiosity only by giving the letter to its owner. Janet hurried along the corridor towards the room where Paul was at play.

"See what the postman has brought for you, Master Paul," she said; "a letter, all your very own."

"Has it my name on it?" asked Paul, turning eagerly from his bricks.

"To be sure—here it is—'Master Paul Bernard,' big enough for you to read," said Janet, "and it comes all the way from Scotland—from the Highlands."

"Then I know who it's from," said Paul, in clear, ringing tones; "it's from Mademoiselle Grand."

"Why, what makes you think that?" asked Janet, and she felt doubtful whether she ought to let him have the letter.

Paul, however, had already seized the letter, and was trying to open it. He would not let Janet help him. It was the first real letter he had ever received, and he was determined to open it himself. At last, he accomplished it, with the help of Janet's scissors; but, though his correspondent had written as plainly as possible, to read it was beyond his power. He had to ask Janet to read it to him.

This was the letter she read:—

"MY DEAR LITTLE FRIEND, PAUL,—I have thought of you so often since I came home, that I feel that I must write and tell you what a little God-sent messenger you were when you told me to go to my father. For I am at home once more, filling the child's place in the house of the best of fathers, and I should be happy, could I ever forget how little I deserve such love, and how I have sinned against it.

"'Fathers always forgive,' you said, and truly I found my father ready to forgive. He was aged, enfeebled, sorrowful, as the result of my sin; but he was waiting for me with open arms, watching and praying for my return, 'going to meet me' in his heart.

"I could not believe in such forgiveness; but the Father in heaven revealed it to you, little Paul. And His love is beyond and above all. He watches with yearning heart for the return of His prodigal children, and welcomes them with a love which makes them know and feel their sin as nothing else can. You taught me that truth, dear Paul, and I hope and pray that you will live to teach it to many another poor wanderer. I can think of no better way for a man to spend his life than in seeking the Father's lost children in the far country, and telling them of the love that waits to welcome them. May God bless you, dear boy, and all belonging to you, and make you a blessing to many, as you have been to—

"Your loving friend,

"ISABEL GRAND.

"P.S.—Fritz is sitting by my side and watching me as I write. If I could make him understand to whom I am writing, he would bark his good wishes, I know."

"Fritz barking his good wishes!" cried Paul, with a merry laugh. "I'd like to hear him. I'm glad she got home safe. Of course I knew her father would run to meet her. Is it far to the Highlands, nurse?"

But Janet did not answer. Her voice had grown hoarse and her lips tremulous as she read the letter. She turned aside, that Paul might not see her tears.

He, that little child, had led her to go home—home to her earthly father, home to her God; and she, who for so many years had called herself by the name of Christ, had had no word of love, or pity, no Gospel message for this poor sinner!

"May God forgive me," Janet said to herself, "that I looked on that poor wanderer with the eyes of a Pharisee, and forgot how my Lord welcomed such an one, and sent her away in peace! I, to whom He has forgiven so much, to despise another sinner—and she from bonnie Scotland, too!"

"You must keep this letter, Paul," she said. "It will mean more to you when you are older than it does to-day."

"I can understand it," said Paul.

"I daresay," said his nurse; "but you'll understand it better by-and-by."

"I wish I could write an answer," said Paul. "I should like to send some kisses to Fritz."

"Then you must make haste and get on with your writing," said Janet.

And Paul decided that he would write a copy forthwith.