fruits of righteousness.' You must be content to see some things as through a glass, darkly;' for if all God's purposes and the reasons for all His discipline and chastening were written out in characters that we could not mistake, there would be no such element of character as faith; its ennobling influence on our lives would be lost; we should be more like machines than free, intelligent, moral agents. And now, my good friend, I must entreat you to trust yourself, without doubt, question, or parley, to the infinite mercy and compassionate love of our blessed Christ, relying with child-like trust on the atonement He has made. I have no more time for sermonizing this morning," added the doctor, glancing at his watch; then turning to his daughter, he said, 66 - Daisy, I have still a half hour's work to do in the hospital, and meantime I have made a promise for you without consulting your wishes or convenience." Diantha rose at once from her seat by the writing-table, saying, "I am sure you have promised nothing that I cannot at least try to perform." "Then go into the reception parlor, where you will find several poor patients waiting, and sing to them until I call for you. Some of them caught snatches of the tunes you sang to Edna before she was removed, and they have petitioned you, through me, to grant them the privilege of hearing you again.” There were hesitation and unwillingness expressed in Diantha's burning cheeks and drooping eyes; but after a moment's pause she raised them to her father's face with a smile of compliance glimmering through tears, and only said, "I hope my iste ers will not be critical nor exacting they should know 'tis not easy to sing when the act is not voluntary." "I will promise you one generous and grateful listener if you will permit my door to remain open while you sing," said Captain Ashmead, reaching out his hand as if he would detain her until she had promised. "You must ask father's permission; I am only his handorgan this morning;" but the smile which accompanied the words told of a spirit willing to confer pleasure, even when the means required a sacrifice of personal taste and inclination. She walked into the reception parlor, which adjoined Captain Ashmead's room, and after making kind inquiries regarding the welfare of the patients gathered there, and giving them all encouraging looks and words, she seated herself at the piano, and played a few soft, minor strains of music, until her own soul was in harmony with the sublime passage from Handel's Messiah, "Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Her rich, strong, yet tenderly pathetic voice gave a new meaning and a more sweetly persuasive beauty to the inspired words than Captain Ashmead had recognize in them before. Her voice carried conviction to his heart that she had abundant knowledge of the "rest" promised to those who seek Christ; that her hope and faith were like anchors to her soul; it also expressed the purity, strength, and tenderness of her nature as clearly as the face mirrors the character of the heart. For many hours after Diantha had ceased to sing, the words of the invitation, and the promise echoed in the captain's heart, wrestled there with the doubting, questioning spirit, until, meekly submissive, he had accepted our Saviour's invitation, and had found "His yoke easy and His burden light." And when Dr. Howell made his next call he was greeted with the calm, confident, grateful assurance of a soul that has struggled with sin and conquered it; that has come up from the dark shadows of doubt into the eternal warmth and sunshine of God's love, pleading no merit, no works, no offering of his own, but relying upon the sacrificial offering of Him who graciously supplic th our needs. CHAPTER X. EDNA'S RELATIVES. "Where'er her troubled path may be, The hidden springs we may not know." "FATHER, did Captain Ashmead tell you we have no prospect yet of finding Edna's relatives? The letter addressed to Cyrus P. Atwood has been returned by the postmaster of Libnah, who says the family have removed from there, and their address is unknown. What is to be done with Edna?" "We might send her to the Orphans' Home, or to the poorhouse," suggested the doctor; "but I think we had better 'trust and wait' a little longer." Mrs. Bartlette rose suddenly from her seat at the dinner-table, murmuring something about having forgotten Edna's tea. Both the doctor and Diantha noticed the quick rush of color to her face, and the pallor that succeeded, as well as the nervous excitement revealing itself in her voice and movements, and each looked to the other for explanation. "Father, I have seen Mrs. Bartlette excited in a similar manner, and almost overcome with emotion, two or three times before: there is a mystery about her; and you re member what one of our favorite authors says: 'Dark mystery hangs round nothing pure Save God alone.' Yet Mrs. Bartlette seems as true, and gentle, and patient as a woman need be, and I'm not willing to believe sin lurks behind such a face as hers." "Do you remember what appeared to disturb her on the occasions you have alluded to?" "She certainly started and turned pale when she first saw Edna at the Bonsecour; and once, when she was sitting with me sewing, and listening to Edna's account of the storm, and her mother's last singing, Mrs. Bartlette rose abruptly, saying she was subject to faintness, and left the room. "Daisy, I think I have the key to Mrs. Bartlette's emotion, and to her secret. She has told me that Bartlette is an assumed name, and I have an impression, amounting almost to conviction, that her real name is Atwood, and that she is the cousin whom Edna's mother hoped to find. I have noticed her deep interest in her patient, and her evident emotion when plans for the child's future have been discussed, and her confusion when your letter to the Atwood family was mentioned." "But I cannot understand, father," Diantha exclaimed, "why a woman who seems so honest and amiable should wish to conceal her real name, or her relationship to Edna." "I have the key which would probably unlock that mystery, too. You may have heard me mention a young convict in our State Prison by the name of Lewis. He is Mrs. Bartlette's son. I have not told you before because of her exceeding sensitiveness, and because I knew if your mother should become aware of the fact, she would have an uncontrollable aversion to receiving a woman so connected into our family. I first met Mrs. Bartlette last November, in the warden's office, where she had had an interview with her son, and was just bidding him good by when I entered. She was so overcome with grief at that time as to faint, and |