had
changed her. The dreadful shock and disappointment of her mother's
death, followed so soon by the loss of Marian and the minister, had been
too much for Janet. It might not have been, her strong patient nature
might have withstood it, if the breaking up of the beloved family
circle, the utter vanishing of her bairns from her sight, had not
followed so close upon it. For weeks she had been utterly prostrate.
The letters, which told the bairns, in their Canadian home, that their
dear friend was ill, and "wearying" for them, told them little of the
terrible suffering of that time. The misery that had darkened her first
winter in Merleville came upon her again with two-fold power. Worse
than the home-sickness of that sad time, was the never-ceasing pain,
made up of sorrow for the dead, and inappeasable longing for the
presence of the living. That she should have forsaken her darlings, to
cast in her lot with others--that between her and them should lie miles
and miles of mountain and forest, and barriers, harder to be passed than
these, it sickened her heart to know. She knew it never could be
otherwise now; from the sentence she had passed upon herself she knew
there could be no appeal. She knew that unless some great sorrow should
fall upon them, they could never have one home again; and that peace and
happiness could ever come to her, being separated from them, she neither
believed nor desired. Oh! the misery of that time! The fields and
hills, and pleasant places she had learnt to love, shrouded themselves
in gloom. The very light grew hateful to her. Her prayer, as she lay
still, while the bitter waters rolled over her, was less the prayer of
faith, than of despair.

And, through all the misery of that time, her husband waited and watched
her with a tender patience, beautiful to see; never, by word or deed,
giving token of aught but sympathy, and loving pity for the poor, sick,
struggling heart. Often and often, during that dreary time, did she
wake to hear, in the stillness of the night, or of the early morning,
his whispered prayer of strong entreaty rising to Heaven, that the void
might be filled, that in God's good time and way, peace, and healing,
and content, might come back to the sick and sorrowful heart.

And this came after long waiting. Slowly the bitter waters rolled away,
never to return. Faith, that had seemed dead, looked up once more. The
sick heart thrilled beneath the touch of th