er. This was the secret of Abbie's
"strangeness." Mr. Foster was one of those rare and wonderful men
about whom one occasionally reads but almost never meets, and of
course Abbie, being so constantly under his influence, was constantly
led by him. Very few could expect to attain to such a hight; certainly
she, with her social disadvantages and unhelpful surroundings, must
not hope for it.

She was rapidly returning to her former state of self-satisfaction.
There were certain things to be done. For instance, that first chapter
of John should receive more close attention at her next reading; and
there were various other duties which should be taken up and carefully
observed. But, on the whole, Ester felt that she had been rather
unnecessarily exercised, and that she must not expect to be perfect.
And so once more there was raised a flag of truce between her
conscience and her life.

CHAPTER XVII.

STEPPING BETWEEN.

They lingered together for a few minutes in the sitting-room, Abbie,
Ester, Ralph and Mr. Foster. They had been having a half sad, half
merry talk. It was the evening before the wedding. Ere this time
to-morrow Abbie would have left them, and in just a little while the
ocean would roll between them. Ester drew a heavy sigh as she thought
of it all. This magic three weeks, which had glowed in beauty for her,
such, as she told herself, her life would never see again, were just
on the eve of departure; only two days now before she would carry that
same restless, unhappy heart back among the clattering dishes in
that pantry and dining-room at home. Ralph broke the little moment of
silence which had fallen between them. "Foster, listen to the sweet
tones of that distant clock. It is the last time that you, being a
free man, will hear it strike five."

"Unless I prove to be an early riser on the morrow, which necessity
will compel me to become if I tarry longer here at present. Abbie,
I must be busy this entire evening. That funeral obliged me to
defer some important business matters that I meant should have been
dispatched early in the day."

"It isn't possible that you have been to a funeral to-day! How you do
mix things." Ralph uttered this sentence in real or pretended horror.

"Why not?" Mr. Foster answered gently, and added: "It is true
though; life and death are very strangely mixed. It was our little
Sabbath-school girl, Sallie, whom we laid to rest to-day. It didn't
jar as some funerals wo