as there
at this time any suspicion or misgiving in her mind about his fidelity
and love.

Mankind's ignorance of the future is, beyond dispute, a blessing; yet we
could wish, for Sophie, that so much presentiment of what was to come
might be hers as to lead her to concentrate all possible happy thoughts
into the few hours that remained wherein she might yet be happy. She had
full scope and freedom to think what she would--no less than if a
hundred years of earthly bliss had awaited her. Her life had been full
of all manner of spiritual beauties and perfumes--a divine poem, though
written upon clay. Let only the harmony of sweet music float about her
now, and the shadow of what was to come be not cast over her.

She sat in her deep, soft easy-chair, with its high back, and square,
roomy seat. An open-grate stove furnished light to the room, for Sophie
had blown out her candle. As the flame rose or sank, the various objects
round about stood visible, or vanished duskily away. Endymion, over the
mantel-piece, still slept as peacefully as ever, and the smile, though
forever upon his lips, seemed always to have but that moment alighted
there. How tenderly the lustrous touch of the moon brightened on his
white shoulder!

The golden letters of the Lord's Prayer gleamed ever and anon from the
shadow above the bed, and sent the shining beauty of a sentence across
to Sophie's eyes; and the face of the cherub, with his chin upon his
hand, was turned upward in immortal adoration. Sophie's glance rested
thoughtfully upon one and then the other. They were incorporated into
her life. Would they have power to protect her from evil and suffering?
Well, the words of the Prayer settle that question most wisely.

How silent the house was and how light it was out-doors! Sophie rose
from her chair by the fire and walked slowly to the window. A board
creaked beneath her quiet foot and a red coal fell with a gentle thud
into the ash-receiver. Then, as Sophie leaned against the window, she
heard the little ormolu clock, in the room below, faintly tinkle out the
half-hour after eleven. Before long--in an hour, perhaps--Cornelia would
be back, rosy with the cold, fresh, laughing, and full of news. Dear
Neelie! How Sophie wished that she might find a love as deep and a
happiness as perfect as had come to her. It hardly seemed fair that she
should monopolize so much of the world's joy. True, God knows best; but
Sophie, with her forehead agains