Heaven's gentlest and kindest angels were busy with Mabel Dorrance's

heart in that reverie, and, as they wrought, the cloud that had

rested there for fifteen years broke into rainbow smiles that

illumined her countenance into the similitude of the shining ones.

"I bless Thee, Father, the All-wise and Ever-merciful, that she is

safe!" was her voiceless thanksgiving.

No more bitter tears over the lonely, sunken grave! no more

hearkening, with aching, never-to-be-satisfied ears for the patter

of the "little feet that never trod." The great sorrow of her life

that had been good in His sight was at length a blessing in hers.

Her "hereafter" of knowledge of His doings had come to her in this

world.

"Does it rain, Peter?" questioned Mrs. Aylett of the lad who brought

in lights.

"Yes, ma'am. It's beginnin' to storm powerful!" he said,

respectfully communicative.

"Your master has not come?"

"No, ma'am."

"See that the lantern over the great gate is lighted, and that some

one is ready to take his horse. And, Peter," as he was going out,

"tell Thomas not to bring in supper until Mr. Aylett returns."

She moved to the window, bowed her hands on either side of her eyes

to exclude the radiance within, and strained them into the black,

black night.

"He will have a dark and a disagreeable ride," she said, coming back

to the fire.

Her uneasiness was so palpable as to excite Mabel's compassion.

"Every step of the road is familiar to him, and he is accustomed to

night rides," she said, encouragingly. "Yes," absently. "But he will

be very wet. Hear the rain!"

It plashed against the north window, and tinkled upon the tin roof

of the conservatory, and Mabel, though aware of her brother's

habitual disregard of wind and weather, could not but sympathize

with the wifely concern evinced by the sober physiognomy and

unsettled demeanor of one generally so calm. She observed, now, that

her sister-in-law was arrayed more richly than usual, and her attire

was always handsome and tasteful. A deep purple silk, trimmed upon

skirt and waist with velvet bands of darker purple, showed off her

clear skin to fine advantage, and was saved from monotony of effect

by a headdress of lace and buff ribbons. A stately and a comely

matron, she was bedight for her lord's return; weighed as heavy each

minute that detained him from her arms.

She was still standing by the low mantel, her arm resting lightly

upon it, the fire-blaze bringing out lustrous reflections in her

drapery and hair, and tinging her pensive check with youthful

carmine, when her husband entered.




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