gain."

"_In_ the world, or _through_ the world?" asked Mrs. Markland, in a
voice and with an expression of countenance that left her meaning in
no doubt.

He looked at her for several moments, his face changing until the
light fading left it almost shadowed.

"Edward," said Mrs. Markland, leaning toward him, and speaking
earnestly, but, lovingly, "you look for a better time. How better?
Are we not happy here? Nay, did we ever know more of true happiness
than since we gathered closer together in this pleasant home? Have
we not found a better time in a true appreciation of the ends of
life? Have we not learned to live, in some feeble degree, that inner
and higher life, from the development of which alone comes the
soul's tranquillity? Ah, Edward, do not let go of these truths that
we have learned. Do not let your eyes become so dazzled by the
splendour of the sun of this world as to lose the power to see into
the inner world of your spirit, and behold the brighter sun that can
make all glorious there."

Markland bent his head, and for a little while a feeling of sadness
oppressed him. The hope of worldly elevation, which had sprung up
with so sudden and brilliant a flame, faded slowly away, and in its
partial death the pains of dissolution were felt. The outer,
visible, tangible world had strong attractions for his natural mind;
and its wealth, distinctions, luxuries, and honours, looked
fascinating in the light of his natural affections; yet glimpses had
already been given to him of another world of higher and diviner
beauty. He had listened, entranced, to its melodies, that came as
from afar off; its fragrant airs had awakened his delighted sense;
he had seen, as in a vision, the beauty of its inhabitants, and now
the words of his wife restored all to his remembrance.

"The good time for which all are looking, and toiling, and waiting
so impatiently," said Mrs. Markland, after a pause, "will never come
to any unless in a change of affection."

"The life must be changed."

"Yes, or, in better words, the love. If that be fixed on mere
outward and natural things, life will be only a restless seeking
after the unattainable--for the natural affections only grow by what
they feed upon--desire ever increasing, until the still panting,
unsatisfied heart has made for itself a hell of misery."

"Thanks, angel of my life!" returned Markland, as soon as he had, in
a measure, recovered himself. "Even the painful lessons