g,
Vida, mounted on a fleet little pony, attended by her trusty guide,
rode quietly away. Her heart beat wildly when they drew near the
settlement. They came at last upon the church, standing in a lovely
grove of maples. The door stood slightly ajar. At a little distance
from it Vida dismounted, and directed Moses to wait there for her.
She had a consuming desire to look into the church where her husband
preached, to stand a moment in the very spot where he stood Sabbath
after Sabbath.

She stepped softly in, and there, kneeling by the little pulpit, his
head bowed upon the desk, was--her husband!

Timidly and slowly, as one who has no right, she noiselessly drew
near and knelt beside him. Stranger eyes may not look upon a scene so
sacred; but the two souls bowed together before that altar came
nearer to heaven than mortals often get.

Had not the waning light warned them that they were still upon the
earth, they might never have tired of looking into one another's
eyes, and telling each to each the experiences of that lifetime they
had lived since their separation, and striving to put into words the
depths of joy that crowned this blessed hour.

Before they left the church they knelt again in that sacred spot, and
each in low fervent words poured out thanksgivings, craving a
blessing on their reunited lives, and, by a mutual and irresistible
impulse, both spoke again their marriage vows before the Lord, in his
temple.

When they rode away that Christmas Eve on their second bridal tour,
the setting sun, smiling through the trees and slanting across their
pathway, fell on them like a benediction. Slowly and dreamily they
went on their way, willing that this ride over crackling twigs and
rustling leaves, with the soft, light of the dying day closing about
them, should go on for ever. The earnest admiring gaze of the husband
brought girlish blushes to the face of the bride. He was drawing
contrasts; the sweet humble face and the simple adornings of her who
rode by his side, made a fairer picture than the queenly lady of
haughty airs and magnificent attire, who seemed to have passed out of
existence.

Never was fairer Christmas tide than this, in that merry household;
those memorable evergreens festooning it as a bower--and a romance--a
poem--lived out--not written. There were no costly gifts, and yet,
gifts the most precious--two souls given back to each other. If the
joy bells in their hearts but had voice, their