s her poor eyes did penance! But they were a precious rain
upon her parched soul; it was softened by them, and though she had as
yet no clear conception of her relationship to God, as a wandering
daughter, far from His presence--but never beyond His love--she had
many moments of tender, vague mystery, in which, weeping and
sorrowful, she was brought very close to Him. For it is often in the
dry time, and the barren time, that God reaches out His hand, and puts
into the heart the hopeful resolve, "I will arise and go to my
Father!" In some sense this was the cry that broke passionately from
Rose's lips on one night which had ended a day full to the brim of
those small, shameful household annoyances, through which servants
torture those whom they can torture.

"I will arise and go to my husband!" That was the first step on the
right road, and the resolve sprang suddenly from a heart broken and
wounded, and hungry and thirsty for help and sympathy.

"In Antony's heart there is love and to spare," she cried. "He would
not suffer me to be tormented and neglected. He would put his strong
arms round me, and the very south wind he would not let blow too
rudely on my face. Oh, Antony! Antony! If you only knew how I long for
you! How sorry I am for all the cruel words I said! How sorry I was
even while saying them! I will go to Antony. I will tell him that I
cannot forgive myself until he forgives me. I will tell him how truly
I love him; how lonely and tired and sick and poor and wretched I am.
He will forgive me. He will love me again. I shall begin to go
_now_--at this very moment."

She rose up with the words, and felt the strength of her resolve. She
looked at her watch. It was not quite nine o'clock. She rang the bell
and ordered her carriage. The man hesitated, but finally obeyed the
order. She was driven directly to her father's house. Mrs. Filmer had
gone out with Harry and Adriana, but Mr. Filmer was in his study. He
was amazed and terrified, when he saw Rose enter.

"My dear Rose! what are you doing here?" he cried. "You are ill,
Rose."

"Ill or well, father, I want you. Oh, I need you so much!" and she
covered her face with her hands, and wept with all her heart. "I have
been ill, but you have never been to see me, father--did you not know
how ill I was? Do you not care for me?" she sobbed.

Mr. Filmer pulled a chair to his side. "Come here, my girl," he
answered, "for I cannot come to you. Look at my bandaged