that David was 'well' when he could say, 'Thou
hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet
from falling.' Also the man described in another place--'He that
dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the
shadow of the Almighty.'"

There came a slight quiver across Diana's face, but her words were
moved by another feeling.

"Those were people of the old times; I don't know anything about them.
I mean people of to-day."

"I think Paul was 'well' when he could say, 'I have learned, in
whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.'"

"O, but that is nonsense, Mr. Masters!"

"It was Paul's experience."

"Yes, but it cannot be the experience of other people. Paul was
inspired."

"To write what was true,--not what was false," said the minister,
looking at her. "You don't think peace and content come by inspiration,
do you?"

"I did not think about it," said Diana. "But I am sure it is impossible
to be as he said."

"I never heard Paul's truth questioned before," said the minister, with
a dry sort of comicality.

"No, but, Mr. Masters," said Diana, half by way of apology, "I spoke
from my own experience."

"And he spoke from his."

"But, sir,--Mr. Masters,--seriously, do you think it is possible to be
contented when one is in trouble?"

"Miss Diana, One greater than David or Paul said this, 'If a man love
me, he will keep my words; and my Father will love him; and we will
come unto him, and make our abode with him.' Where there is that
indwelling, believe me, there is no trouble that can overthrow content."

"Content and pain together?" said Diana.

"Sometimes pain and very great joy."

"You are speaking of what I do not understand in the least," said
Diana. And her face looked half incredulous, half sad.

"I wish you did know it," he said. No more; only those few words had a
simplicity, a truth, an accent of sympathy and affection, that reached
the very depth of the heart he was speaking to; as the same things from
his lips had often reached other hearts. He promised to take care of
the book in his hand, and presently went away, with one of the warm,
frank, lingering grasps of the hand, that were also a characteristic of
Basil Masters. Diana stood at the door watching him ride away. It
cannot be said she was soothed by his words, and perhaps he did not
mean she should be. She stood with a weary feeling of want in her
heart; but she thought only of the want