oing on,
unspeakable, but revealed in the brightness of the eye, the majesty of
the presence, and the high temper of the discourse. Men have been
ungrateful and perverse; they have done what they could to counteract,
to debase, this most heavenly influence of their life; but the laws of
their Maker are too strong, the benignity of their Father is too patient
and fervent, for their opposition to withstand: and true love continues,
and will continue, to send up its homage amidst the meditations of every
eventide, and the busy hum of noon, and the song of the morning stars.

Hester, when she re-entered the house, was full of the commonest feeling
of all in happy lovers,--a wonder that such intense happiness should be
permitted to her. Margaret was lingering about the stair-head in the
dusk, and met her sister at the door of their own apartment.

"May I come in?" said she.

"May you come in? Oh, Margaret! I want you."

"All is right: all is well; is it, Hester? And I was quite wrong
throughout. I grieve now that I helped to make you miserable: but,
indeed, I was miserable myself. I saw no hope; I was completely
mistaken."

"We were both mistaken," said Hester, resting her head at Margaret's
shoulder. "Mistaken in judgment,--blinded by anxiety. But all that is
over now. Margaret, what have I done that I should be so happy?"

"You have loved one who deserves such a love as yours," said Margaret,
smiling. "That is what you have done: and you will have the blessings
of all who know you both. You have mine, dearest."

"What an ungrateful wretch shall I be, if I do not make every one happy
that is within my reach!" cried Hester. "Margaret, I will never grieve
his heart as I have grieved yours. I will never grieve yours again."

"But how is it?" asked Margaret. "You have not told me yet. Is it all
settled?"

A silent embrace told that it was.

"I may shake hands with you upon it, then. Oh, Hester, after all our
longings for a brother, you are going to give me one! We are not alone
in the world. My father,--our mother,--where are they? Do they know?
Have they foreseen while we have been suffering so? Do they now foresee
for us?"

"There was not one word of his," said Hester, "that I should not have
gloried in their hearing. So gentle, Margaret! so noble! so calm!"

"And you?" said Margaret, softly. "Did you speak--speak openly?"

"Yes: it was no time for pride. With him I have no pride. I cou