hope, his victorious mastery of life! And where was he now? Was his
heart as sick, longing for her, as hers for him? Was he looking back to
earth and its joys with pangs of unutterable regret? or had a divine
power interpenetrated his soul, and lighted there the flame of a
celestial love which bore him far above earth? If he were among the
lost, in what age of eternity could she ever be blessed? Could Christ be
happy, if those who were one with Him were sinful and accursed? and
could Christ's own loved ones be happy, when those with whom they have
exchanged being, in whom they live and feel, are as wandering stars, for
whom is reserved the mist of darkness forever? She had been taught that
the agonies of the lost would be forever in sight of the saints, without
abating in the least their eternal joys; nay, that they would find in it
increasing motives to praise and adoration. Could it be so? Would the
last act of the great Bridegroom of the Church be to strike from the
heart of his purified Bride those yearnings of self-devoting love which
His whole example had taught her, and in which she reflected, as in a
glass, His own nature? If not, is there not some provision by which
those roots of deathless love which Christ's betrothed ones strike into
other hearts shall have a divine, redeeming power? Question vital as
life-blood to ten thousand hearts,--fathers, mothers, wives,
husbands,--to all who feel the infinite sacredness of love!

After the first interview with Mrs. Marvyn, the subject which had so
agitated them was not renewed. She had risen at last from her sick-bed,
as thin and shadowy as a faded moon after sunrise. Candace often shook
her head mournfully, as her eyes followed her about her dally tasks.
Once only, with Mary, she alluded to the conversation which had passed
between them;--it was one day when they were together, spinning, in the
north upper room that looked out upon the sea. It was a glorious day. A
ship was coming in under full sail, with white gleaming wings. Mrs.