ave
fallen; how can they even remember that behind that screen of darkness
there is a flood of glory? There came in sounds at the window too, from
the garden and the wood on the hillside; chirruping sounds of insects,
mingled with the slight rustle of leaves and the trickle of water from
a little brook which made all the noise it could over the stones in its
way down the hill. The voices were of tender peace; the roses and the
small life of nature all really told of love and care which can as
little fail for the Lord's children as for the furniture of their
dwelling-place. Yet that very unchangeableness of nature hurts, which
should comfort. Diana stood still, desolate, to her own sense seeming a
ruin already; and her husband sat in his place, also still, but he was
calm. They were quiet long enough to think of many things.

"You are very good, Basil!" Diana said at last.

It was one of those words which hurt unreasonably. Not because they are
not true words and heartily meant, but because they are the poor
substitute for those we would like to hear, and give us an ugly scale
to measure distances and differences by. Basil made no sort of answer.
Diana stood still. In her confusion of thoughts she did not miss the
answer. Then she began again.

"Evan--I mean, Basil!"--and she started;--"I wish we could get away."

"From Pleasant Valley?"

"Yes."

"My work is here."

Is mine here too? thought Diana, as she slowly went away into the other
room. What is mine? To die by this fire that burns in me; or to freeze
stiff in the cold that sometimes almost stops my heart's beating? She
came up to the side of her baby's crib and stood there looking, dimly
conscious of an inner voice that said her work was not death.

CHAPTER XXX.

SUNSHINE.

A few days later, the minister came home one evening with a message for
his wife.

"Good old Mother Bartlett is going home, Diana, and she wants to see
you."

"Home? Is she dying, do you mean?"

"_She_ does not mean it. To her, it is entering into life."

"But what's the matter?"

"You know she had that bad cold. I think the treatment was worse than
the disease; and under the effects of both, her strength seems to have
given way. She is sinking quietly."

"I will go down there in the morning."

So the next day, early, Basil drove his wife down and left her at the
cottage. It was somehow to Diana's feeling just such another day as had
been that other wonderful