adness, as if he had
weighed all the chances in his favor, and made up his mind for the
worst.

"I have," replied Mrs. Denison.

"She is much changed, I presume?"

"I would scarcely have known her," was answered.

"In what is she changed?"

"She has been growing less of the earth earthy, in all these years
of painful discipline. You see this in her changed exterior; your
ear perceives it in the tones of her voice; your mind answers to it
in the pure sentiments that breathe from her lips. Her very presence
gives an atmosphere of heavenly tranquillity."

It was some moments before Hendrickson made further remark. He then
said:

"How long a time were you with her, Mrs. Denison?"

"We spent over an hour in her company."

"Was my name mentioned?"

"No."

"Nor the subject in which I feel so deep an interest?"

"Yes, we spoke of that!"

"And you were not in error as to her decision of the case?"

Hendrickson manifested no excitement.

"I was not."

He dropped his eyes again to the floor, and sat musing for some
time.

"She does not consider herself free to marry again?"

He looked up with a calm face.

"No."

There was a sigh; a falling of the eyes; and a long, quiet silence.

"I was prepared for it, my friend," he said, speaking almost
mournfully. "Since our last interview, I have thought on this
subject a great deal, and looked at it from another point of vision.
I hare imagined myself in her place, and then pondered the Record.
It seemed more imperative. I could not go past it, and yet regard
myself innocent, or pure. It seemed a hard saying--but it was said.
The mountain was impassable. And so I came fortified for her
decision."

"Would you have had it otherwise?" Mrs. Denison asked.

Hendrickson did not answer at once. The question evidently disturbed
him.

"The heart is very weak," he said at length.

"But virtue is strong as another Samson," Mrs. Denison spoke
quickly.

"Her decision does not produce a feeling of alienation. I am not
angry. She stands, it is true, higher up and further off, invested
with saintly garments. If she is purer, I must be worthier. I can
only draw near in spirit--and there can be no spiritual nearness
without a likeness of quality. If the stain of earth is not to be
found on her vesture, mine must be white as snow."

"It is by fire we are purified, my friend," answered Mrs. Denison,
speaking with unusual feeling.

Not many weeks after this interview wi