e privilege
that was denied her, kneeling at the grave of one she loved. How
peaceful looked this silent home of the dead! "They rest from their
labors," she mused, "and pleased God, in His own good time, I, too,
shall be at peace."

It was strange, in one so young; but, Clemence Graystone never spoke or
acted as though she had a long lifetime of usefulness or enjoyment
before her. A feeling, that amounted almost to presentiment, told her
that she had not long to wait for the morning that dawneth only upon
eternity; and she thought she was content to work and wait until the
summons came. It might have been, in part, owing to the morbid state
into which she had fallen, after the death of her parents, and these
subsequent severe and long-continued trials of her strength, which was
by no means great, but it was only in part. If there are some of the
great heroes upon life's battle-field, who have had the future faintly
foreshadowed to them, just as truly this shrinking, sensitive girl knew
that, whatever might come to her now, whether of pleasure or pain, she
should be upheld and borne through it, and that a crown, "more to be
chosen" than the laurel wreath of a changeful and fickle world, would be
her sweet reward; even that "crown of glory, which fadeth not away." She
knelt down where she had been sitting, and asked God to give her
patience and humility for what might come, then walked on comforted, to
find Ruth. The child was waiting for her, and as she came along, slid
her little hand confidingly into hers. Clemence saw that she had been
crying, for the great brown eyes were humid, and tears still glittered
on the silken lashes. She stooped and kissed her, but forbore to speak,
and together they went into the meeting house. The congregation were
already assembled, and were singing the beautiful hymn which will never
grow old or forgotten, commencing, "My faith looks up to thee!"
Clemence seated herself, and bowed her head, and the sweet words went
down into the sacred recesses of her spirit. An admirable author has
remarked, "there are moments when, whatever be the attitude of the body,
the soul is on its knees." And, although Clemence's lips syllabled no
words, her thoughts were those of the most exalted devotion. She seemed
wrapped about in a spell of dreamy silence, and the words of the sermon
came faintly to an ear that was all unheeding. When it was over, and
they rose to sing the last hymn, she sat abstractedly,