as been a complete recluse. She is very
unhappy, and we must exert ourselves to cheer her. This has been a
lonely, dreary day to you, I fear, and I trust it will not be
necessary for me to ask you to remain here to-night."

The sun had set, leaving magnificent cloud-pictures on sky and sea,
and while the orphan turned to enjoy the glorious prospect above and
around her, Dr. Grey went in search of the lonely women who now
continually occupied his thoughts.

She was standing under the pyramidal cedars, looking down at the
new grave, where Salome's wreath hung on the head-board, and
hearing approaching footsteps would have moved away, but he said,
pleadingly,--

"Do not avoid me."

She paused, and suddenly held out her hands to him.

"Ah,--is it you? Dr. Grey, what shall I do? How can I bear to live
here,--alone,--alone."

He took her hands and looked down into her white, chill face.

"My dear friend, take your suffering heart to God, and He will
heal, and comfort, and strengthen you. If He has sorely afflicted you,
try to believe that Infinite love and mercy directed all things, and
that ultimately every sorrow of earth will be overruled for your
eternal repose and happiness. Remember that this world is but a
threshing-floor, where angels use afflictions as flails, to beat
the chaff and dust from our hearts, and present them as perfect
grain for the garners of God. I know that you are desolate, but you
can never be utterly alone, since the precious promise, 'Lo! I am
with you alway, even unto the end of the world.'"

Despairingly she shook her head.

"All that might comfort some people, but it falls on my ears and heart
like the sound of the clods on Elsie's coffin. I have no religion,--no
faith,--no hope,--in time or eternity. My miserable past entombs all
things."

"Do not unearth your woes,--let the grave seal them. Your life stands
waiting to be sanctified,--dedicated to Him who gave it. My dear
friend,--

'Cleanse it and make it pure, and fashion it
After His image: heal thyself; from grief
Comes glory, like a rainbow from a cloud.'"

The sound of his voice, more than the import of his words, seemed to
soothe her, for her eyes softened; but the effect was transitory, and
presently she exclaimed,--

"Mere 'sounding brass, and a tinkling cymbal!' Pretty words, and
musical; but empty as those polished shells yonder that echo only
hollow strains of the never silent sea. Once, Dr. Grey,--"

She