e night of sorrow reigned
The dawn shall bring us light--"

Thus reads our noble paraphrase--and thus reads the providence of God.
This it was we sang that day; and this all broken hearts shall one day
sing, when life's long twilight breaks.

After the congregation had dispersed, I saw Margaret lead her mother to
the pew. It was beautiful, my wife's gentle grace to the timid stranger,
for Margaret received of her mother whatever of that gift she hath--and
I have always said her mother's is the rarer of the two. I heard her bid
her new-found friend to the manse, and I echoed the mandate to the man
beside me, his head still bowed in prayer.

The elders retired in a body to the vestry, there to be dismissed by the
benediction, which I pronounced upon them, the triune blessing of the
triune God. Usually, they lingered for a little subdued conversation,
but this day they went out with unwonted speed, each grasping the hands
of the old elder and the new, and each without a word.

In a moment I saw their purpose, and went out along with them, leaving
those twain together, the father and the son. We heard no word; but we
knew the best robe, and the ring, and the shoes, were there, and that
God would dispense them in sacramental love.

It was not long till they came out again, life's fragrance about them as
they came. I had lingered in the church.

"Just wait a minute," I said as they came in, "I left my notes in the
vestry and I will be back immediately."

I had hardly reached the room when a light footfall was heard behind me.
It was my daughter.

"Margaret! Is this you? I thought you had gone home. Where is your
mother?" Lovely was her face and beautiful the light of joy upon it.

She did not seem to hear, but came straight on, and in a moment her arms
were about my neck, and the brave heart told all its story in tears of
utter gladness.

"Daughter mine," I whispered, "you will forgive"--but the gentle hand
stopped the words.

"Where is your mother?" I asked again.

"Gone to the manse--they went together," and the sun shone through the
rain--"I waited for you."

"Wait a moment," I said, "stay here a moment,"--for I knew the ways of
love.

I hurried without, and in the church I found the two men lingering for
me.

"Mr. Blake, we will walk down to the manse together--Margaret is waiting
for you in my room, Angus."

No maiden's fluttering form betrays the soul of love as doth a strong
man's face. Ah me