ll guided safely to His rest at last, it matters little
though the way be rough. `I will trust, and not be afraid.'"

Long after the tired children slept, the sisters sat conversing about
many things. Not about the future. Firm as was their trust in God, the
future seemed dark indeed, and each shrank from paining the other by
speaking her fears aloud. Of her husband Mrs Elder spoke with
thankfulness and joy, though with many tears. He had known and loved
the Saviour, and had died rejoicing in His salvation. She had prayed
that God would give her submission to His will as the end drew near;--
and He had given her not only submission, but blessed peace; and no
trouble, however heavy, should make her distrust His love again.

Had her husband been cut off in the midst of his days, without warning,
she must have believed that it was well with him now. But, in the
memory of the time before his death, the blessedness of his present
state seemed less a matter of faith than of sure and certain knowledge.
There could be no gloom, either in the past or the future, so thick but
the light of that blessed assurance might penetrate it. In the darkest
hours that had fallen on her since then (and some hours had been dark
indeed), it had cheered and comforted her to think of the last months of
his life. It was, in truth, the long abiding in the land of Beulah, the
valley and the shadow of death long past, and the towers and gates of
the celestial city full in sight.

"No; whatever may come upon us now," she added humbly, "nothing can take
away the knowledge that it is well with him."

Through the whole of the long history, given with many tears, Mrs Elder
never spoke of the poverty that had fallen upon them, or of her own
ill-remunerated toil. His last days had been days of comfort,
undisturbed by any apprehension with regard to the future of his wife
and children; for the stroke which deprived them of the last remnant of
their means did not fall till he was at rest.

The candle had long since sunk in the socket, and they were sitting in
the darkness, which the moonlight, streaming in through the small attic
window, only partially dispelled. Not a sound but the soft breathing of
the sleeping children, and the hum of voices from the city below, broke
the stillness of the pause which followed. Each was busy with her own
thoughts. The prevailing feeling in Mrs Blair's heart was gratitude,
both for her dead brother and her l