y shadows of the maples on the grass. Then it was her sorrowful
delight to recall those happy hours of quiet converse, the half sad,
half joyful memories which her father loved to dwell upon--the firm and
entire trust for the future, of which his words assured her.

Afterwards it came to her, that through all this pleasant time, her
father was looking at a possibility to which her eyes were shut. He had
spoke of her mother as he had seldom spoken even to Graeme, of the early
days of their married-life--of all she had been to him, of all she had
helped him to be and to do. And more than once he said,--

"You are like your mother, Graeme, in some things, but you have not her
hopeful nature. You must be more hopeful and courageous, my child."

He spoke of Marian, Graeme remembered afterward. Not as one speaks of
the dead, of those who are hidden from the sight, but as of one near at
hand, whom he was sure to meet again. Of the lads far-away, he always
spoke as "your brothers, Graeme." He spoke hopefully, but a little
anxiously, too.

"For many a gallant bark goes down when its voyage is well nigh over;
and there is but one safe place of anchorage, and I know not whether
they have all found it yet. Not that I am afraid of them. I believe it
will be well with them at last. But in all the changes that may be
before you, you will have need of patience. You must be patient with
your brothers, Graeme; and be faithful to them, love, and never let them
wander unchecked from what is right, for your mother's sake and mine."

He spoke of their leaving home, and very thankfully of the blessings
that had followed them since then; of the kindness of the people, and
his love to them; and of the health and happiness of all the bairns, "of
whom one has got home before me, safely and soon."

"We might have come here, love, had your mother lived. And yet, I do
not know. The ties of home and country are strong, and there was much
to keep us there. Her departure made all the rest easy for me, and I am
quite convinced our coming was for the best. There is only one thing
that I have wished, and I know it is a vain thing." He paused a moment.

"Of late I have sometimes thought--I mean the thought has sometimes come
to me unbidden--that I would like to rest beside her at last. But it is
only a fancy. I know it will make no difference in the end."

If Graeme grew pale and trembled as she listened, it was with no dread
that