The Rector of St. Marks

"She begs me to say that it gives her great pain to refuse one so

noble and good as she knows you to be, and she only does it

because she cannot find in her heart the love without which no

marriage can be happy.

"She is really very wretched about it, because she fears she may

lose your friendship, and, as a proof that she has not, she asks

that the subject may never in any way, be alluded to again; that

when you meet it may be exactly as heretofore, without a word or

sign on your part that ever you offered her the highest honor a

man can offer a woman.

"And sure I am, my dear Mr. Leighton, that you will accede to her

wishes. I am very sorry it has occurred, sorry for you both, and

especially sorry for you; but, believe me, you will get over it

in time and come to see that my niece is not a proper person to

be a clergyman's wife.

"Come and see us as usual. You will find Anna appearing very

natural.

"Yours cordially and sincerely,

"JULIE MEREDITH."

This was the letter which the cruel woman had written, and it dropped

from the rector's nerveless fingers as, with a groan, he bent his head

upon the back of a chair, and tried to realize the magnitude of the

blow which had fallen so suddenly upon him. Not till now did he

realize how, amid all his doubts, he had still been sure of winning

her, and the shock was terrible.

He had staked his all on Anna, and lost all; the world, which before

had been so bright, looked very dreary now, while he felt that he

could never again come before his people weighed down with so great a

load of pain and humiliation: for it touched the young man's pride

that, not content to refuse him, Anna had chosen another than herself

as the medium through which her refusal must be conveyed to him. He

did not fancy Mrs. Meredith. He would rather she did not possess his

secret, and it hurt him cruelly to know that she did.

It was a bitter hour for the clergyman, for, strong and clear as was

his faith in God, who doeth all things well, he lost sight of it for a

time, and poor weak human nature cried: "It's more than I can bear."

But as the mother does not forget her child, even though she passes

from her sight, so God had not forgotten, and the darkness broke at

last--the lips could pray again for strength to bear and faith to do

all that God might require.

"Though He slay me I will trust Him," came like a ray of sunlight

into the rector's mind, and ere the day was over he could say with a

full heart, "Thy will be done."