n't in natur' -- you can't help
it."

"But suppose I don't love him, Karen?" said Elizabeth, her
voice choking as she said it. "I don't know him yet -- I don't
know him enough to love him."

There was a little pause; and then without looking at her,
Karen said in her trembling voice, a little more trembling
than it was,

"I don't know, Miss 'Lizabeth -- 'To them gave he power to
become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his
name!' -- I heard a man preach that once."

The tears rushed in full measure to Elizabeth's eyes. She
stood, not heeding Karen nor anything else, and the thick veil
of tears hiding everything from her sight. It was a moment of
strong joy; for she knew she believed in him! She was, or she
would be, one of 'his people.' Her strong pillar of assurance
she clasped again, and leaned her heart upon, with unspeakable
rest.

She stood, till the water had cleared itself from her eyes;
and then she was turning into the house, but turned back
again, and went close up to the old black woman.

"Thank you, Karen," said she. "You have given me comfort."

"You hain't got it all," said Karen without looking at her.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you ever read a book called the 'Pilgrim's Progress,'
young lady?"

"No."

"I ain't much like the people there," said Karen, "but they
was always glad to hear of one more that was going to be a
pilgrim; and clapped their hands, they did."

"Did _you_ ever read it, Karen?"

"I hearn Mis' Landholm read it -- and the Governor."

Elizabeth turned away, and she had not half crossed the
kitchen when she heard Karen strike up, in a sweet refrain,

"I'll march to Canaan's land,
"I'll land on Canaan's shore," --

Then something stopped the song, and Elizabeth came back to
her room. She sat down by the window. The light was changed.
There seemed a strange clear brightness on all things without
that they had not a little while ago, and that they never had
before. And her bread was sweet to her that night.

CHAPTER XIV.

Heaven doth with us as we with torches do;
Not light them for themselves: for if our virtues
Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
As if we had them not.
SHAKSPEARE.

Much against Mrs. Nettley's will, she was despatched on her
journey homewards within a few days after. She begged to be
allowed to stay yet a week or two, or three; but Elizabeth was
unmoveable. "It would make no difference," she said, "or at
least I woul