e spoke to
herself. With her forefinger she idly traced some hieroglyphics on her
lap.

"What says your heart, my Lilybell?" asked Kate, softly, as she caressed
the hand that was at liberty.

"'The prisoned bird doth ofttimes sing, but never at the bidding of its
jailer,'" was the low reply, with a faint smile, but tearful eyes.

"Poor Lilybell; she can not bloom before her time. I can wait for her to
open now, for I am close to her throbbing heart. Wait, dear Grace. Let
us sit silently and ask the Father for guidance."

Sweet and solemn moment, when with one accord, they waited for the
Spirit to pour out the full vials of love and wisdom. It was a precious
time of sweet communion, of giving and receiving the best, a
consecration of self to better efforts, higher aims, holier living; a
baptism of strength and peace and lovely thoughts.

Grace had entered upon a new epoch. The past, with its longings and
struggles, its loneliness and bitterness, was already fading into the
background of memory like some dark, ill-favored picture, and in its
place came the present, with its balmy atmosphere and dainty colorings,
promising joy and peace. The morning looked fair. How would be the noon
and eventide?

Ah, no questioning when you ask the Father's guidance! Have you not
asked, dear heart?

Wait till the answer comes. Wait till the soundless message is delivered
into your heart's safe keeping....

The last beams of the setting sun came through the window and bathed
them in its red-gold glory. In her exalted mood, it seemed to Kate like
a heavenly vision. She saw Grace glorified with a divine radiance,
baptized with a new peace. White-winged angels hovered near, like pure
thoughts personified. Every glinting sunbeam seemed a golden shaft of
love.

The glory paled into a mellow twilight. The enchanting picture faded,
but the essence of its beauty changed into a heart-melody of softened
sacred joy. What but music could speak in this hallowed moment?

Kate's very soul would utter itself. She went to the piano as in a
dream. Soft, low notes, faint and sweet, breathed of tender questionings
and tremulous doubts; then a higher, more triumphant strain of victory
swelled the notes that lingered but a moment, ere a tone of sadness and
regret struck the keys, whispering of sacred duty and solemn
responsibility.... Again the music changed. Now peace and joy thrilled
and rippled through the melodious chords....

Dearer than ev