the charge, devoutly had he sought for wisdom from its unupbraiding Giver, devoutly consecrated God's own to God in baptism, and to him it was no unmeaning rite, but a vow which God imposed and would one day judge. And he was not found worthy, not to be trusted with this dear soul-so dear to him, so much dearer to his God-too precious to be left to custody so weak, too ripe for heaven to need the dread purgation of a sinful world, too good for even love like his? O what had he not lost? It was in his grasp, why could he not hold it back from death? Why had he let it pass within the impenetrable veil ?

He had found a well of comfort in his wilderness so bleak; a well which the angel of the Lord had shown to him hard by, else he too had sunk down and died; but his affections so powerful, and lately so supreme, had been shaken to their very base, and he believed that with all the fulness of a Saviour's grace he could indeed bear no more! And had God stretched forth His hand to break the bruised reed? It could not be; His truth and righteousness and all-saving pity were pledged that He would bind up the broken heart. It was the summer shower, swift and dense; but it did not break the hanging reed, it only bruised it more. The night of weeping lingered as though it had no morrow brightening below its clouds; but the morrow did rise, calm and clear, and welcome as the winter sunrise. It was not a fitful and cloudy dawn; but there was a deep-drawn sigh, and one sweet heartfelt all-rewarding smile.

"Alice, do you then know me, dearest one?"

"I know it all now; you are my Henry, and I have come back to bless you for your love. I have slept long, I know, and oh, how glorious have been my dreams! I have lived an age with my lost baby, in his new home above. I saw the angels take him in their arms and bless him as their own. I heard him say, 'My mother!' and a seraph flew to meet me, that I might draw nearer to my boy. I might not fold him to my breast, for he was purified, and I, O shame, I had distrusted, I had cursed his God and mine. He might not kiss me; but as he only looked on me, the spell of mortal sin was broken, he told me that my curse had passed away, and

I awake, my love, in peace and redoubled love for one who whispered to my rebellious heart sweet words that opened all heaven to my dream and gave me back my child. Do you know, my husband, who taught me that gentle faith? Blessed be His name ! He gave my baby to me, and He took it from me. Oh, kneel for me, and I will bless His name on earth as last night I did in heaven."

No words broke the holy quietude of prayer as the servant of the Lord knelt and poured out his double burden of rejoicing that he had heard the words of reason, though only in the telling of a delirious dream, and that henceforth, when his own faith failed, he would find it where he had long looked vainly, in the bosom of his wife. Sleep fell upon the feeble and exhausted Alice. like the soft kiss of her sainted child, or like the seal of the Father's pardoning grace.

There was silent gladness in every heart, when the longexpected tidings reached the faithful and mourning servants of the house. For she who had lain sick and so near the grave was honoured for the dear master's sake, and in no slight measure for her beauty, her motherly woe when she was stricken, and her liberal forbearing spirit towards their many faults. There was higher joy in the good rector's heart, who had watched his afflicted friend almost as fondly as that friend had watched his precious wife: and what shall we say of the tenantry? If she had died, all would have sorrowed as for a friend and sister, and now that she bade fair to live, who could blame their exultation, rude and premature as it might be deemed? But, stranger than all, the nameless surgeon of the village rose straightway to a height of popular importance that made him giddy (at least something did): for the rash man bought new curtains for his windows, rushed unheedingly into all the splendour of brass door-plate, new knocker, and a special shiny wire pull, which never went further than the door, and was innocent of bell. For many weeks he had doggedly succumbed to the defeat of that eventful night, hung his head when the wicked landlord asked him (as he did every night)—How he found his lady-patient to-day. But now he was vocal with his own praise, argumentative beyond all his former logical exploits, and he

proved to his own great glee-whether others believed or not, he cared but little-but to his own mind it was as clear as two and two make four, that if he hadn't bled the lady (which he swore he had done for all the opposition of the curate, privately when the nurse wasn't looking), she would have been anatomized and laid out and put to one side weeks before. He had heard that a great man, in London, had said, and as he was now a great man, he thought he also might say to his doubting audiences, "I have given you a reason, Sir, I am not bound to furnish you with understanding." Certain it is that he lied so like truth that at last he didn't know the difference if other people did, and somehow or other he grew stouter and redder in the face on the strength of that lie every day and every hour of his short remaining life.

And now it would seem that we have got at that painful secret which the good people of Arlton were so eager to get at, and so mysterious in their good-natured attempts to keep it to themselves. And truly this was the sum and substance of what they knew; but it was not the secret that had festered in the old man's memory, and made one half his life so sombre and yet so earnest. We dare not attempt to unveil that secret in all its frightful details; but we must show it quickly, and then withdraw it from the scene.

CHAPTER VII.

THE SECRET.

RETURNING health was marked in the young wife's case with scarcely any interruption; on the contrary, it was rapid, and all that all who hailed her return with pleasure could have desired. But when she again took her accustomed place in the family and in the neighbouring circles, to the eyes of many who had known her in the flush of youth, there were serious changes, not in her looks and liveliness and wit, nor merely in her religious sentiments, but in her whole manner and disposition. She was restless, irritable, often utterly incapable of self-control in the presence of the most trivial excitement. These peculiarities were not unnoticed by the eye that seldom wandered from her slightest movement; but

the thankful heart could only hope, after all that had wrung and pierced it; and every eccentric speech or action was set down to incomplete recovery rather than to coming illness. Change of scene was tried with partial benefit. Her husband needed not so strong an inducement as her recovery to turn again to those lands of marvel and of lore, which he had visited in years bygone. But when he saw the rapture of his beloved one, amid the wild Alpine heights, and her luxurious tranquillity in the vineyards and gardens of the sunny South, he felt that he could leave home and country to return no more could recall his priestly vows, and become an alien and a pilgrim for the sake of his dear Alice. But she was the first to weary for her saddened home, for she knew that in a little while the empty cot would be again in its old place that she might watch and pray above another sleeping babe. She would not have the heir of such a husband born in a strange land, and she hastened her half-reluctant husband till Mylden Place sheltered them once more.

The child was born-a daughter. The vacant place was more than filled, and the hard lesson of her brother's death had prepared a safer welcome for the little girl than a mere earth-born godless love. And others too were born. This home was rich in these the most unfailing of all treasures ; but in no long time the old symptoms of extreme sensitiveness, and fretfulness, and alternate wildness and depression returned and multiplied, and all unremarked by the indulgent husband. Habitual use of stimulants confirmed (though taken in the desire of relieving) the symptomatic moods of languor or of feverish wretchedness, of which she was herself distressingly conscious. So long as the rich wines brought the old bloom upon the cheek, and unloosed the silvery tongue, and revived the sinking spirit, the father only looked to admire and rejoice in such a mother for his children; but when, in a few short years, the death-wind had scattered all her sweet fruit, had stripped the olive of all save one solitary leaf, he found his tree was blighted, his one prized tree was rotten at the core. Yes; it might well be said that intemperance was one cause: but when he saw that it had laid its scorching grasp upon all that he had cherished with such sedulous affection, he knew that the hour of his

last great trial was at hand; he knew then that when the grave had gathered his little ones to the garner of God, it was mercy, and not anger towards him. Her weakened and

scathed mind reeled and fell to rise no more on earth. It was a piteous sight-that fair and noble ruin, and no true heart of man will pause to blame the lovely being, though all would grieve who knew her, that she had yielded to the strong temptations which her bereavements had conjured up to drive her mad. Too late did the fond husband learn that he had indulged his wife too far. But had he seen earlier, how could his gentle spirit have framed itself to chiding and restraint? And now he was alone; for though she lived, and perhaps sometimes even loved him, and smiled upon her only boy, for days and weeks together she was lunatic and violent, and terrific even to her heart-broken husband; and after two or three years of patient vigilance and kindliest treatment, he gathered up the remnants of his shattered moral strength to resign her to other hands, and bid farewell, as then he thought, not only to the being that had made life worth living, but to all peace, and all hope, and all human love. Again he was a wanderer through many lands and continents, and he came no more to the place at once so sacred and so hateful in his remembrance. His, little son went with him through the wide world, a sojourner in many houses, in many climes, but a child without a mother and without a home.

We need not follow his every step, but hurry to the endto the period of his travels, and to the circumstances of his settlement at Arlton. We have said that he was wealthy, and to all who knew the estate which called him owner, it seemed that he was beyond the reach of adverse fortune-and of poverty, or even serious loss, he himself had never dreamed : he had been rich. In the earlier years of his married life he had not waited to be asked; but so genuine was his delight in the sweet wife he had won, that he had sought out and made occasions of befriending all who could claim kindred with her. He had listened, as one little conversant with business, to the exaggerated statements of the kinsmen of his wife, who might be supposed to know the truth; and he had, at their solicitation, entered into partnership with them in the East Indian trade. He sometimes wondered how plantations of