tasted once more the rapture of peace and thankfulness. Presently he
was on his knees. Saved this once, the almost despairing soul which had
faintly spoken to God, "I do not rebel," was passionate now in the
fervour of thankful devotion. The rapture of this respite, this return
to common blessings, was almost too ecstatic to be borne.

It was nearly dusk before he could show himself to his children; when he
stole upstairs to look at his little Nancy she was again asleep. "Mrs.
Walker had gone back to her own house for the night," the nurse said,
"but she had promised to come back after breakfast."

That night Emily slept exquisitely. The luxury of a long peaceful
interval, free from anxiety and responsibility, was delightful to her.
She came down very late, and after her breakfast sauntered into the
drawing-room, looking fresh as a white blush rose, lovely and content;
next to the joy of possession stands, to such as she was, the good of
doing good, and being necessary to the objects of their love.

A little tired still, she was sitting idly on a sofa, more wistfully
sweet and gravely glad than usual, when suddenly John Mortimer appeared,
walking quickly through her garden.

"He was sure to come and thank me," she said simply, and half aloud. "I
knew he would sooner or later," and she said and thought no more.

But as he advanced, and she saw his face, she remembered her kiss, hoped
that he did not, and blushing beautifully, rose and came a step or two
forward to meet him. "None but good news, I hope," she said.

"No, they are all better, thank God; and my little Nancy also. Emily,
how can I ever thank you? My obligation is too deep for words."

"Who could help wishing to be of use under such circumstances? Am I not
enough thanked by seeing you all better?"

"I hardly know how I could have presumed to intrude here and disturb you
and--and trouble you with such things as I can say--when you are come
home for an interval of rest and quiet. Emily, if I had lost her, poor
little girl, I never could have lifted up my head again. It was hard on
that blameless little life, to be placed in such peril; but I suffered
more than she did. Did you sometimes think so? Did you sometimes feel
for me when you were watching her day and night, night and day?"

"Yes, John, I did."

"I hoped so."

"But now that the greatest part of the sorrow is over, fold it up and
put it away, lay it at the feet of the Saviour; it is his, for