:

whole, the girl interested and pained her.
And she con-
tinued to hold her hands with a nervous grasp, and pore
over her face and form as freely as though she had been only
a dreadfully fascinating statue; while Kate blushed under
the infliction, and finally drew her hands away and sat down.
But every day Miss Clifton's confidence in, and esteem for
Kate Kavanagh increased; and every day Catherine sought
to draw her patient's soul to the only true source of light,
strength, and consolation, and to sanctify this terrible afflic-
tion to her spirit's good. The obligation to do this pressed
upon the girl's conscience heavily, as if it were the hand of
God. It was in vain that she said to herself, "I am nothing
but a weak, erring girl. It would be presumption in me to
speak. It might be received as impertinence, and do more
harm than good." Still the answer arose from the depths of
her heart, saying, "Speak the fitting words at the fitting
time as they arise within your mind, for they are the inspi-
ration of God's spirit." And wisely, lovingly, reverently she
spoke them as occasion called them forth. The right thing
was always said at the moment it was needed. "Words
spoken in season are like apples of gold on plates of silver."
Many a willing but bungling Christian would have failed to
do Carolyn any good, for Miss Clifton was a very difficult
subject. There is nothing so hard of impression as pride,
and scorn, and jealousy. It was the dominion of that infernal
triumvirate that made Lucifer an impracticable subject among
the angels. But Catherine was moved and guided by a
higher power than herself. Of herself she dared say nothing
on divine subjects. She only spoke when strongly, irre-
sistibly impelled to do so; and her words were blessed
to her patient and sanctified to her own spirit.

It

Catherine had a powerful coadjutor in her good work. was the sorrow in Carolyn's heart. And, ah! who could sound the depth of that sorrow? Loving as passionately as she had loved, sinning against that love as cruelly as she had sinned, punished for her sin as terribly as she was punished, and now ruined and hideous in person, and wrecked and despairing in mind, to whom could she cry in her sharp agony but to God, her Creator and Father? Whose arm was strong enough to lift her from that horrible pit but God's? And the All-Powerful, the All-Merciful was helping her every day.

The great strength, the great vitality of her sorrow was the thought of Archer Clifton. Could she have hoped for a reconciliation with him, however distant, all else might have been borne; but with that death's head of hers, such joy might never be hoped-ought never to be wished. No, she was as the leper, set apart from human love-at least, from conjugal and maternal love-for ever and for ever! This was hard-this was well-nigh intolerable!

She would no more grace the saloon with her surpassing loveliness-the pride of her family, the ornament of their house. Her heart would no more swell with exultation when, on entering the drawing-room, in the full glory of her peerless beauty, she would hear a murmur of admiration pass through the company. No. If she should ever enter a saloon again, she would make a tremendous sensation, truly-but it would be one of astonishment, pity, and perhaps disgust. And that thought was dreadful, dreadful to the proud young belle! But, oh! it was as nothing to the feeling that her household gods were broken and ruined for ever-that her hopes of domestic happiness were gone for ever! For underneath all the pride, and vanity, and scorn of the young belle had been the woman's thought, the woman's hope of the coming, long, calm days of wife and mother joy; yea, as surely as under the burnished satin bodice had beat the heart of flesh! But all these were over now; the proud, vain aspirations of the belle, and the woman's deeper, purer hopes-both crushed by one fell blow! All was lost in the world; nothing

was left but Heaven!

if God would take

A heart that earth had crushed.

Many are driven by the storms of life to the heavenly Father's bosom. It is for this that the tempests of sorrow are sent; and the sooner that divine sanctuary is sought the better, for hard and harder will beat the storm until its end is answered. And too often all is lost, or seems lost, before we consent to save ourselves. With Carolyn, all the trea sures of her youth were gone-health and beauty, love and hope. Something like this she breathed to Catherine, in a weak, despairing mood; for only in a miserably depressed state of mind and body would the proud girl deign to complain.

Dear lady, do not say so sadly that all is lost, for ever,

lost. Dear lady, nothing is ever lost. It is impossible. The Lord, in His divine wisdom, may withdraw His gifts. but they are not lost-they have gone into His keeping.'

"I do not comprehend you. My poor good looks, such as they were, are surely gone for ever. Nothing can restore them. And O Catherine! you do not know, you cannot understand all the blessings, the hope, and the joy of my life fled for ever! You are a child; you do not understand it!" "Perhaps I do not, lady, and perhaps I do! Seek all that you have lost in God! He has withdrawn His gifts, your treasures, that he may draw you to Himself! They are safe in His treasure-house. If you have lost the beauty of the fair roseate complexion, He can endow you with a higher beauty, emanating from the soul; if you have lost human love, He can satisfy your soul with the richness and fulness of divine love that never faileth; and for your broken earthly hopes He can give you the heavenly hope that never dieth."

"Oh! but it is the lost earthly hope, personal beauty, and human love that were so dear to me so dear to me!" exclaimed the poor girl, bursting into a passion of tears. "And he can restore even those! But seek ye first the kingdom of Heaven, and all these things shall be added to

you.

Ah, child! Nothing but a miracle could give me back dead happiness; and the days of miracles are over!"

"No, no! There is nothing in the Scripture to warrant that saying. The days of miracles are not passed. Until the days of human faith and divine omnipotence are passed, the days of miracles are not passed. Anything that seems to me right that I should have, I will pray God that, if it be right, He will give it me, though it should appear to my ignorance utterly impossible!" Then Catherine abruptly stopped, fearing that she had said too much; and she silently prayed for a faith that should be as far removed from presumption as from despair.

Carolyn recovered very slowly. It was weeks before she left her bed, and then many more weeks before she left her

room.

It was a glorious day in autumn when she first walked out upon the lawn, supported between Catherine and her father; and as soon as she set foot upon the greensward,

some cattle that were browsing there-by some caprice to which cattle are subject-started off as if seized by sudden panic, and ran huddling together confusedly, and precipitating themselves towards the outer gate; and so weak were the poor invalid's nerves, and so morbid her mind, that she burst into tears, and declared that the very brutes fled from before her face, as from one less human than themselves! Nor could any argument of Mr. Clifton's or of Catherine's disabuse her mind of this absurd idea. She begged Catherine to take her back to her chamber; and for many weeks no intreaties could induce her to leave it.

She had her harp

Zuleime came freely to her sister now. brought into her room; and she soothed the recluse with music every day; and at last Kate Kavanagh, who had gradually merged from nurse into companion, added her own rich, full-toned voice in accompaniment. The Misses Clifton were both very much surprised to see this "gift of gracious nature thrown away upon a poor girl, with no hopes or prospects but manual labour for her living; and Zuleime, who could be thoughtful and benevolent in the midst of anxiety and sorrow, proposed to give Catherine lessons on the harp. But this was soon stopped. Both Zuleime and Catherine perceived that the music, far from soothing, seemed to irritate the invalid; and for this reason, Carolyn had lost her voice. She could never sing again; and even in speaking, her tones were harsh and rough. The harp was banished, and books were brought; and while Zuleime worked, and Carolyn fondled a little King Charles that had been bought for the childish invalid, Kate read aloud to the sisters. And now it was that the world of written poetry broke upon the maiden's delighted view. Before this, she had never read a line of poetry in her life except hymns-for Mrs. Clifton had judiciously suppressed all books of that nature; but now the treasures of Milton, Goldsmith, and Cowper were opened to her ardent mind. Oh, those days that followed the convalescence of Miss Clifton-those evenings after Carolyn had gone to rest, when she and Zuleime would go into the summer-saloon, and spend the hours in music or poetry, or in talk as musical and as poetic! Those evenings, spent with a refined, warm-hearted girl like Zuleime-they were unfitting her for her prospective hard life of coarse labour and coarser association. She felt that it was so;

М

and she determined to leave. She only waited until Mr. Clifton went to Richmond and brought back his wife; and then she bade them all good-bye and returned home-not to the farmhouse of Hardbargain, but to her brother Carl's cabin.

She needed to commune with herself, and be still. She wished to descend into the unsounded abysses of her heart, and examine, though with awe, the mystery of iniquity that in some unguarded hour had germinated there-this growing passion for a man betrothed to another. No matter if the marriage was broken off for the present. They loved each other; and that was the true betrothal. As for herself, she would, with the grace of God, turn out this dangerous bosom guest, so divinely fair as to seem like an angel of light rather than the tempting demon that it was; and to do this effectually, she must break every tie that held her to that fair, illusive life she had lately led. She must forsake every association connected with her sin and folly. She loved Mrs. Clifton-loved her first for herself alone, and then as the mother of one whose name she dared not now to breathe even to herself. She enjoyed the congenial society and occupations at White Cliff's and at Hardbargain; and now she was the most welcome visitor on the list of both families. But she must forego the privilege this gave her. More than all she had enjoyed her pleasant life at Hardbargain. The cheerful housekeeping cares she had shared with its mistress, the conversations over the pleasant tea-table or the social workstand, the books, the newspapers, and the evening music, and the society of the admirable Mrs. Clifton-these formed the externals, the body of her happiness; but the interior, the soul of her joy, was that there was the home of Archer Clifton-the place pervaded by his spirit, redolent of him! But all these must be abandoned! They might have affinity for her nature, but they did not belong to her lot in life. And see what they had brought her to even to an insane passion for her benefactor! And now it was high time she had come to her senses and self-recollection. She was a poor girl of the humblest birth, born in poverty and destined to poverty. She must leave off spending evenings with refined and accomplished young ladies in elegant saloons, if she wished to do her duty in that station to which God had called her; and she must give up the society of Archer Clifton's