invitation to speak, and her eyes went back to the fire. When she turned to him again, however, and somewhat suddenly, he was regarding her with a grave abstracted sort of look, as if from her his thoughts had taken a wide range: not into the pleasant regions.

What can you possibly be musing about, Thornton ?" she said.

There are a great many things about which I could possibly be musing, Alie.'

'Only that you were not apt to muse at all.'

'I doubt I am getting into bad habits then-you are such a muse-inviting little object.

Am I?' said Rosalie smiling.

suggest?'

'Various ones of human perfection.'

'What ideas do I

"The spirits of just men made perfect,"" Rosalie said. 'That will be a fair thing to see!"

For those that see it,” said Thornton with some bitterness. But he wished the words unsaid-her quick look up at him was so humble, and at the same time so full of pain. 'What makes you speak so, Thornton?'

"What makes you look so, Alie?' he said with his old light tone. 'It is not possible that you think all men need perfecting? The gentleman who took care of me so lately, for instance-how could he be any better than he is? I am afraid you undervalue him."

'O Thornton! I cannot jest with you after such words." "Jest no," he said, but something in her eye checked him, he turned away and rested his head on his hand as before. Rosalie came and laid her hand on it again—laid her cheek there too, but he did not move.

6

'What troubles you, brother?”

Why do you suppose that anything does ?”

She did not answer-as being needless, and he added,

"You had better go to bed, Alie-take care of yourself, my dear if you cannot of me. I feel as if I had you in

trust.'

'Only me?' she said sorrowfully.

'Only you!" said Thornton rousing himself, for the implication was not pleasant. You are a reasonably precious trust, some people think. And I shall have to account pretty strictly for all the pale cheeks that you carry back to

town.'

""And every one of us shall give account of himself to God" she answered in a low voice, her lips touching his forehead. But she waited for no reply, and left the room.

For the first time since he had been there, Thornton went softly in to look at her when he went up stairs as she lay asleep; as much perhaps because he was tired of himself, and tired of remembering his own existence, as anything. And certainly if contrast could make him forget, the end was gained.

Existence had been no burden to her, and life no failure -what though it was crossed with anxieties and disappointments, they were all according to that higher will to which hers was submitted. Life could be no failure,—the purpose of God must stand, and she wished none other.

It was a strange point to reach, Thornton thought, as he stood watching her calm face, and felt that whatever shadows lay there came not from discontent. Could he ever reach it? was it not rather of nature than of grace? It was easier for a woman—with her gentler spirit and its few outlets. There came up before him the image of one whose nature was at least as strong as his own, in whom manhood was not better grown than Christianity; but he put it away and looked at Rosalie. And then with a bitter wish that he were like her-or like anybody in the world but himself, he

stooped down and softly kissed the lips whose repose he so much envied.

They stirred a little, though he caught no words, and with a long sigh Rosalie folded her hands upon her breast as if she were making a last appeal. Then they relaxed and lay quiet as before, and the lips were still; and Thornton went away with a quick step, feeling that from her his questions could get no answer such as they wished. Any excuse-any belief which would throw the responsibility off himself, he could bear,―he could bear to be unhappy and discontented, so it touched not his own omissions. If he could have persuaded himself that he was necessarily restless and ill at ease, it would have gone far towards curing the evil.

'What nonsense!' he repeated to himself again and again 'I never could quiet myself down to her temper, if I tried all my life—and then he remembered that he had never tried for one day.

This was not the way to get to sleep, however, as he sagely remarked; and having banished all grave thoughts with such vigorous efforts as he would not have bestowed upon acting them out, sleep followed-unbroken till Sunday morning had dawned, and its atmosphere of rest lay over the wide landscape.

There were sounds astir-but all sweet, all soothing. The twittering of the birds, the tinkle of the cow bells as their four-footed wearers wound slowly along the meadowcourse of the brook,—a hum of voices from the chip yard, where Martha and Tom were comparing notes with Jabin,— and nearer still a voluntary from Hulda-who standing out in the sunshine sang her morning hymn with birdlike freedom and enjoyment. When another voice joined hers, and gave strength and clearness to the tune and distinctness to

the words, Thornton closed his window and betook himself with great earnestness to the business of dressing.

But though that business was finished with much elaboration, Thornton would not go to church; and Rosalie staid with him. Everybody else went, and the house was left in utter solitude; with windows closed and doors bolted, and Trouncer the old bull-dog lying in the porch with his nose between his paws.

Rosalie persuaded her brother to come out to the edge of the dell and spend the morning there; where the brook's soft rush at their feet and the bird notes up in the air, were all the interruptions. She had her Bible in her hand and sat down to read; but Thornton sat leaning against an old hickory tree, with his eyes sometimes shaded by his hand and sometimes by an unseen cloud. And so they remained; with the sweet Sabbath bell sounding forth in the distance and answered by another still further off, until the last ring floated away on the pure air and all was still.

Rosalie had closed her book for listening, and now sat with closed eyes, as if too many senses were disturbing. Her brother watched her, unconscious of his gaze or that he had even raised his head.

Her face was at rest, as of one asleep after a weary world; for the bells with their suggestions and associations had half done sleep's work. But strong effect was given to the very delicate tinting of her face and its too delicately drawn lines, by those very grave ones in which the mouth was set, that had not relaxed. Yet as Thornton looked it did relax-and with a slight trembling of the lips there came one of those tearful smiles that just shewed itself and passed away.

'Rosalie !'

How the face changed, how the weary look came back,

he saw as she turned towards him; her eyelashes yet wet with the drops of that sun-shower.

'Do you see that brook?' Thornton said.

"Certainly.

Wouldn't you like to follow its course out into the open

Take me up

'the stream of your thoughts from the sun

shine that was upon your face just now.'

eyes

She looked at him and then down at the brook.

'It would be a more thoughtful walk than the other.'
'No matter-take me. Whence came the sunshine ?""
Again she looked at him, and away from him, but the
'filled as she answered,

"Hitherto ye have asked nothing in my name: ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full."'

Thornton was silenced. If he had expected Bible words it would not have been these; and he spoke not again for some time. His sister sat looking down at the brook as before; and it rippled and ran along, and flung its foam hither and thither with a wild hand.

Do you believe that, Rosalie ?' he said at length. "Surely!'

The look was brilliant.

'Have you never asked for what you were wishing yesterday ?"

Her eyes fell, and her lips could form no answer.

Then why is it not done?" said Thornton, with an effort to keep his own firm.

She paused a moment, as if to steady her half choked voice, ere she answered. "Because I have not waited