speak of
her as "Minnie"?

What was the mystery, and upon whom must rest the blame, possibly the
lifelong shame?

"Not you, dear sad-eyed mother. Let the whole world condemn, deride,
and despise us; but only your own lips shall teach me to doubt you.
Everything else may crumble beneath me, all may drift away; but faith
and trust in mother shall stand fast--as Jacob's ladder, linking me
with the angels who will surely come down its golden rounds and
comfort me. Oh, mother I the time has come when you and I must clasp
hands and fight the battle together; and God will be merciful to the
right."

Standing there in her blue cashmere dress, relieved by dainty collar
and cuffs of lace, she seemed indeed no longer a young almost
childish girl, but one who had passed the threshold and entered the
mysterious realm of early womanhood.

Rather below than above medium height, her figure was exquisitely
moulded, and the beautiful head was poised on the shoulders with that
indescribable proud grace one sometimes sees in perfect marble
sculpture. But the delicate woeful Oenone face, as white and
gleaming under its shining coil of ebon hair, as a statue carved from
the heart of Lygdos; how shall mere words ever portray its peculiar
loveliness, its faultless purity? Unconsciously she had paused in the
exact position selected for that beautiful figure of "Faith" which
Palmer has given to the world; and standing with drooping clasped
hands and uplifted eyes gazing upon her mother's portrait, as the
"Faith" looks to the lonely cross above her the resemblance in form
and features was so striking, that all who have studied that
exquisite marble can readily recall the countenance of the girl in
the library.

Turning away, she opened the organ, drew out the stops and began to
play.

As the soft yet sacredly solemn strains rolled through the long room,
hallowed associations of the old parsonage life floated up,
clustering like familiar faces around her. Once more she heard the
cooing of ring-doves in the honeysuckle, and the loved voices, now
silent in death, or far, far away among the palms of India.

"Cast thy burden on the Lord" had been one of their favourite
selections at V----, and now hoping for comfort she sang it.

It was the first time she had attempted it since the evening before
the storm, when Mr. Lindsay had sung it with her, while Mr. Hargrove
softly hummed the base, as he walked up and down the verandah, with
his arm