ing strains of
Lampert's "Trust Song."

No mere gala barge, gay with paint and gaudy with pennons, was his
religion; no fair summer-day toy bearing him lightly across the
sun-kissed, breeze-dimpled sea of prosperity and happiness, and frail
as the foam that draped its prow with lace; but a staunch, trim,
steady, unpretending bark, that with unfaltering faith at the helm,
rode firmly all the billows of adversity, and steered unerringly
harborward through howling tempests and impenetrable gloom. Human
friendships and sympathy he considered unstable and treacherous as
Peter, when he shrank from his Lord; but Christian trust was one of
the silver-tongued angels of God, ringing chimes of patience and
peace, far above the din of wailing, bleeding hearts, and the fierce
flames of flesh martyrdom.

One o'clock found Dr. Grey sitting near the pillow, where for five
hours Mrs. Gerome had slept as quietly as a tired child. The
fever-glow had burned itself out, and left an ashen hue on the lips
and cheeks.

Wishing to arouse her, he spoke to her several times and raised her
head, but though she drank the powerful stimulant he held to her
mouth, her heavy eyelids were not lifted, and when he smoothed the
pillow and laid her comfortably upon it, she slumbered once more.

At the foot of the bed, with his keen yellow eyes fastened on his
mistress, crouched the greyhound, his silky head on his paws; and on a
pallet in one corner of the room slept Katie, ready to render any
assistance that might be required.

The apartment was elegantly furnished, and green and gold tinted all
its appointments. On an Egyptian marble table stood a work-box
curiously inlaid with malachite and richly gilded, and there lay some
withered flowers, a small thimble, and a pair of scissors with
mother-of-pearl handles. Around the walls hung a number of paintings,
which, with one exception, were landscapes or ocean-views; and as Dr.
Grey sat watching the shimmer of lamp-light on their carved frames and
varnished surfaces, they seemed to furnish images of

"Green glaring glaciers, purple clouds of pine,
White walls of ever-roaring cataracts;
Blue thunder drifting over thirsty tracts,
Rose-latticed casements, lone in summer lands,--
Some witch's bower; pale sailors on the marge
Of magic seas, in an enchanted barge
Stranded at sunset, upon jewelled sands.
Some cup of dim hills, where a white moon lies,
Dropt out of weary skies without a b