slowly to her heart, as she sat down, looking out of the window with
that peculiar vividness of interest which we always feel in seeing
familiar objects after convalescence.

The gorgeousness and wealth of the autumn had gone by during her
illness; a few red and golden trees, contrasted with the hemlocks and
pines in sheltered hollows; but, on the hill-tops, half the trees had
cast off their leaves, while those which clung to the boughs had lost
all their vivid tints, and thrilled mournfully to every breath of wind,
like humanity trembling at the approach of death.

But the calm flow of the Hudson was the same. Its hills might be
stripped of their affluent foliage, the grass grow crisp along its
banks, but this had no effect on the grand, old stream, that flowed on
ever the same, like that river of Christian faith that Mabel fed from
the humble springs of a heart, already smitten down to its deepest
waters.

She was a strong woman, that Mabel Harrington, and knew well that no
trouble could fall upon her, of which she had not already tasted the
bitterness, and lived.

But the flow of those waters, gliding by her ever and returning no more,
filled her with mournfulness. She felt like a pilgrim who drops his
scrip on the wayside for a moment's rest, and dreads the hour when he
must take it up and toil on, with a patient hope of finding some shrine
at which he may repose, though none is in sight.

"Well," she murmured with a patient smile, which came across her mobile
features with a gleam of heavenly beauty, "Let it flow on, this earthly
life; be it laggard or fast, the moments that we leave behind but send
us onward with a swifter speed. The descent grows steeper every day, and
years rush on impetuously, as hours did in that beautiful time of youth.
The stream of life was impetuous then. Now it is slow and powerful, nor
stops to foam and ripple at the troubles that are always falling, like
drift-wood upon it."

Thus Mabel mused within herself--confident that some stern trial was at
hand, but resolved to meet it steadily, and trust to God for help. She
needed such help; for, in solemn truth, the great battle of her life was
at hand.

The door opened softly behind her, as she sat gazing upon the river. The
back of her chair was toward him, and James Harrington saw only the
garments of a female flowing downward to the carpet; and, thinking that
it was Lina, he came into the room. He, too, had been gazing upon the
sc