at surprise, the student came in, and sitting down before the
table, opened the Bible and read a chapter. Then all knelt and he prayed.
There was a strange spell on the visitor; in all this there was something
so unexpected. It was the first time she had ever knelt around the family
altar, and, as she rose, that sitting-room seemed suddenly converted into a
temple of worship. Mutual "good nights" were exchanged, and as Irene turned
toward the young minister, he held out his hand. She gave him hers, and he
pressed it gently, saying--

"I trust this is the first of many pleasant evenings which we shall spend
together."

"Thank you, sir. I hope so too, for I have not been so happy since I left
home."

He smiled, and she walked on.

"Louisa, how came your brother to be a minister?" asked Irene, when they
had reached their apartment.

"When he was a boy he said he intended to preach, and father never
dissuaded him. Harvey is a singular man--so silent, so equable, so cold in
his manner, and yet he has a warm heart. He has declined two calls since
his ordination; Dr. Melville's health is very poor, and Harvey frequently
fills his pulpit. I know you will like him when you know him well;
everybody loves Harvey."

The inclemency of the weather confined the girls to the house the following
day. Harvey was absent at breakfast, and at dinner the chair opposite
Irene's was still vacant. The afternoon wore away, and at dusk Louisa
opened the piano and began to play Thalberg's "Home, Sweet Home."

Somebody took a seat near Irene, and though the room was dim, she knew the
tall form and the touch of his hand.

"Good evening, Miss Irene; we have had a gloomy day. How have you and
Louisa spent it?"

"Not very profitably, I dare say, though it has not appeared at all gloomy
to me. Have you been out in the snow?"

"Yes, my work has been sad. I buried a mother and child this afternoon, and
have just come from a house of orphanage and grief. It is a difficult
matter to realize how many aching hearts there are in this great city. Our
mahogany doors shut out the wail that hourly goes up to God from the
thousand sufferers in our midst."

As he talked she lifted her beautiful eyes and looked steadily at him, and
he thought that, of all the lovely things he had ever seen, that face was
the most peerless. She drew closer to him, and said earnestly--

"You do not seem to me a very happy man."

"There you mistake me. I presume there ar