rs?"

"With your abilities, that is a question easy to answer. Work, write,
take the place in scholastic or social literature which I have trained
you to fill. For you, fame and fortune lie in an inkstand; your mind
is a golden key that will open to your sight all that is worth seeing
in the world, and pass you into its most pleasant places. You can
become a famous woman, Angela."

She turned upon him sadly.

"I had such ideas; for Arthur's sake I wished to do something great;
indeed I had already formed a plan. But, Mr. Fraser, like many
another, when I lost my love I lost my ambition too; both lie buried
in his grave. I have nothing left to work for; I do not care for fame
or money for myself, they would only have been valuable to give to
him. At twenty-one I seem to have done with the world's rewards and
punishments, its blanks and prizes, its satisfactions and desires,
even before I have learnt what they are. My hopes are as dull and
leaden as that sky, and yet the sun is behind it. Yes, that is my only
hope, the sun is behind it though we cannot see it. Do not talk to me
of ambition, Mr. Fraser. I am broken-spirited, and my only ambition is
for rest, the rest He gives to His beloved----"

"Rest, Angela! that is the cry of us all, we strive for rest, and here
we never find it. You suffer, but do not think that you are alone,
everybody suffers in their degree, though perhaps such as you, with
the nerves of your mind bared to the roughness of the world's weather,
feel mental pain the more acutely. But, my dear, there are few really
refined men and women of sensitive organization, who have not at times
sent up that prayer for rest, any rest, even eternal sleep. It is the
price they pay for their refinement. But they are not alone. If the
heart's cry of every being who endures in this great universe could be
collected into a single prayer, that prayer would be, 'Thou who made
us, in pity give us rest.'"

"Yes, we suffer, no doubt, all of us, and implore a peace that does
not come. We must learn

"'How black is night when golden day is done,
How drear the blindness that hath seen the sun!'

"You can tell me that; but tell me, you who are a clergyman, and
stronger to stand against sorrow than I, how can we win even a partial
peace and draw the sting from suffering? If you know a way, however
hard, tell it me, for do you know," and she put her hand to her head
and a vacant look came into her ey