Mr. Abercrombie, shading his
face with his hand.

"Only three dollars! How can they live on that? Mrs. Archer says
that Edward is one of the best of lads--that he nurses his mother,
and cares for her with unfailing tenderness; indeed, he is her only
attendant. They are too poor to pay for the services of a domestic.
Could you not afford to increase his wages?"

"I might, perhaps," said Mr. Abercrombie, abstractedly, still
shading his face.

"I wish you could," was the earnest reply. "It will be a real
charity."

Mr. Abercrombie made no response; and his wife pursued the subject
no further. But the former lay awake for hours after retiring to
bed, pondering the events of the day which had just closed.

The sun had gone down amid clouds and shadows; but the morrow dawned
brightly. The brow of Mrs. Abercrombie was undimmed as she met her
family at the breakfast-table on the next morning, and every
countenance reflected its cheerful light. Even Mr. Abercrombie, who
had something on his conscience that troubled him, gave back his
portion of the general good feeling. Lighter far was his step as he
went forth and took his way to his store. His first act on his
arriving there, was, to ease his conscience of the pressure thereon,
by sending for Edward Wilson, and restoring him to his place under
new and better auspices.

And thus the shadows passed; yet, not wholly were they expelled. The
remembrance of pain abides long after the smarting wound has healed,
and the heart which has once been enveloped in shadows, never loses
entirely its sense of gloomy oppression. How guarded all should be
lest clouds gather upon the brow, for we know not on whose hearts
may fall their shadows.

GENTLE HAND.

I DID not hear the maiden's name; but in my thought I have ever
since called her "Gentle Hand." What a magic lay in her touch! It
was wonderful.

When and where, it matters not now to relate--but once upon a time
as I was passing through a thinly peopled district of country, night
came down upon me, almost unawares. Being on foot, I could not hope
to gain the village toward which my steps were directed, until a
late hour; and I therefore preferred seeking shelter and a night's
lodging at the first humble dwelling that presented itself.

Dusky twilight was giving place to deeper shadows, when I found
myself in the vicinity of a dwelling, from the small uncurtained
windows of which the light shone with a pleasant promis