e=
of the city, and where the solemn notes of the full-toned organ ought,
perhaps, to have filled the soul with sacred and heavenly thoughts.
Those words, so thrillingly pronounced, shall I ever forget them? 'To
whom much is given, of him shall much be required.' They seem still to
ring in my ears, for I, alas, am among those who have received much, yet
rendered back nothing."

The speaker paused, overcome with emotion, but the countenance of the
listener grew radiant with delight,--not that delight which arises from
the realization of some worldly hope, but, rather, a heavenly joy, which
lent to the pale and pensive face a beauty not of this world; it beamed
in the sunken, yet soft blue eye, and flushed the hollow cheek; it was
the joy of a saint, nay, it was the joy of an angel, at the return of
the stray sheep to its Father's fold. But it soon found expression in
words.

"I cannot tell you how happy you make me, in speaking thus, dear Agnes,"
said she, affectionately clasping her hand. "Since you first came here,
I have been thinking so much about you, and praying, too, that you, so
rich in all that makes woman lovely and beloved, might possess that
grace, which will but add lustre to every other endowment, qualifying
you for extensive usefulness here, and glorious happiness hereafter."

"But you know not, my kind friend, what mental struggles I have passed
through this afternoon, nor how conflicting feelings are yet agitating
my soul. I hear the voice of duty, but it calls me to tread a rugged
path. Could I always remain with you, secluded from the gay world, far
removed from its temptations and allurements, then, indeed, would I
gladly make my choice, and say, 'This people shall be my people, and
their God my God;' but in a few days I must depart, and, again, in the
haunts of the busy city, and surrounded by the gayeties of fashionable
life, I fear I shall feel no more those sweet and sacred influences,
which have been as the breath of heaven to my soul."

"'My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest!' Is not
that a sufficiently encouraging promise, dear Agnes? Had you nought but
your own strength to rely on, you might well fear; but forget not Him
who has declared, 'If any lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who giveth to
all liberally, and upbraideth not, and it shall be given.'"

CHAPTER II.

Agnes Wiltshire was an orphan. Her father had died during her infancy,
her mother during her c