truth from herself; nor did she pray to live, as some months
ago she had done, for her child's sake; she had found out that she had
no power to console the poor wounded heart. It seemed to her as if her
prayers had been of no avail; and then she blamed herself for this
thought.

There are many Methodist preachers in this part of Wales. There was a
certain old man, named David Hughes, who was held in peculiar reverence
because he had known the great John Wesley. He had been captain of a
Caernarvon slate-vessel; he had traded in the Mediterranean, and had
seen strange sights. In those early days (to use his own expression) he
had lived without God in the world; but he went to mock John Wesley, and
was converted to the white-haired patriarch, and remained to pray.
Afterward he became one of the earnest, self-denying, much-abused band
of itinerant preachers, who went forth under Wesley's direction to
spread abroad a more earnest and practical spirit of religion. His
rambles and travels were of use to him. They extended his knowledge of
the circumstances in which men are sometimes placed, and enlarged his
sympathy with the tried and tempted. His sympathy, combined with the
thoughtful experience of four-score years, made him cognizant of many of
the strange secrets of humanity; and when younger preachers upbraided
the hard hearts they met with, and despaired of the sinners, he
"suffered long and was kind."

When Eleanor Gwynn lay low on her death-bed, David Hughes came to
Pen-Morfa. He knew her history, and sought her out. To him she imparted
the feelings I have described.

"I have lost my faith, David. The tempter has come, and I have yielded.
I doubt if my prayers have been heard. Day and night have I prayed that
I might comfort my child in her great sorrow; but God has not heard me.
She has turned away from me, and refused my poor love. I wish to die
now; but I have lost my faith, and have no more pleasure in the thought
of going to God. What must I do, David?"

She hung upon his answer; and it was long in coming.

"I am weary of earth," said she, mournfully, "and can I find rest in
death even, leaving my child desolate and broken-hearted?"

"Eleanor," said David, "where you go, all things will be made clear; and
you will learn to thank God for the end of what now seems grievous and
heavy to be borne. Do you think your agony has been greater than the
awful agony in the Garden--or your prayers more earnest than that