d heavily.

"Florry, it is very late; our candle has burnt low--see, it is
flickering in the socket; we have not heeded the lapse of time." She
rose and replaced the books she had been consulting.

"Mary, Mary! why have you shaken my faith? I had thought to find
comfort in future, but you have torn my hope from me, and peace flies
with the foundations which you have removed!"

"Florry, you have been blinded, deceived. They have cried unto you,
Peace! peace! when there was no peace. But oh! there is a source
of rest, and strength, and comfort, which is to be attained not
by confession, or the intercession of the dead or living, but
by repentance for the past, and an active, trusting faith in the
mediation of our blessed Lord Jesus Christ"

CHAPTER XVII.

"The purple clouds
Are putting on their gold and violet,
To look the meeter for the sun's bright coming.
How hallowed is the hour of morning! Meet--
Ay! beautifully meet--for the pure prayer."

WILLIS.

Morn broke in the East; or, in the beautiful language of the Son of
Fingal, "Sol's yellow hair streamed on the Eastern gale." Awakened by
the first chirping of the feathered tribe, Florence rose as the gray
morning light stole into her chamber, and seating herself at the
window, looked out on the town before her. Quiet reigned as yet,
broken only by the murmuring and gurgling of the river, which roiled
swiftly on, just below their little gate. How delightful to her seemed

"The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour
To meditation due."

Calmly she now weighed the conversation of the preceding night, and,
engrossed in earnest thought, sat gazing out till the Orient shone
resplendent, and an October sun poured his rays gloriously around her.
Then she knelt, and prayed as she had never done before. She sought
the "pure fountain of light," and implored strength and guidance
in her search after truth. Rising, her glance fell on her sleeping
cousin, and she was struck with the change which within the last month
had taken place in her appearance. Approaching the bed, she lifted the
masses of chestnut hair that clung to the damp brow. As she looked on
the pure, pale face, there came a gush of tenderness into her soul,
and bending, she imprinted a long, warm kiss. Mary stirred, and opened
her eyes.

"Ah, Florry, you are up earlier than usual." She closed them again,
murmuring slowly, "I feel as though I had no strength remaining; I can