ll varying moods, successes and defeats, a sincere desire
for happiness the best and highest, was the little rushlight of her soul
that never wavered or went out.

She never had known friendship in its truest sense, for next to love it
is the most abused of words. She had called many "friend," but was still
ignorant of that sentiment, cooler than passion, warmer than respect,
more just and generous than either, which recognizes a kindred spirit in
another, and claiming its right, keeps it sacred by the wise reserve
that is to friendship what the purple bloom is to the grape, a charm
which once destroyed can never be restored. Love she had desired, yet
dreaded, knowing her own passionate nature, and when it came to her,
making that brief holiday the fateful point of her life, she gave
herself to it wholly. Before that time she had rejoiced over a more
tranquil pleasure, and believed that she had found her friend in the
neighbor who after long absence had returned to his old place.

Nature had done much for Geoffrey Moor, but the wise mother also gave
him those teachers to whose hard lessons she often leaves her dearest
children. Five years spent in the service of a sister, who, through the
sharp discipline of pain was fitting her meek soul for heaven, had
given him an experience such as few young men receive. This fraternal
devotion proved a blessing in disguise; it preserved him from any
profanation of his youth, and the companionship of the helpless creature
whom he loved had proved an ever present stimulant to all that was best
and sweetest in the man. A single duty faithfully performed had set the
seal of integrity upon his character, and given him grace to see at
thirty the rich compensation he had received for the ambitions silently
sacrificed at twenty-five. When his long vigil was over he looked into
the world to find his place again. But the old desires were dead, the
old allurements had lost their charm, and while he waited for time to
show him what good work he should espouse, no longing was so strong as
that for a home, where he might bless and be blessed in writing that
immortal poem a virtuous and happy life.

Sylvia soon felt the power and beauty of this nature, and remembering
how well he had ministered to a physical affliction, often looked into
the face whose serenity was a perpetual rebuke, longing to ask him to
help and heal the mental ills that perplexed and burdened her. Moor soon
divined the real