kened her pace a little, enjoying the sense of solitude which a few
hours before had been intolerable to her. The Divine Presence did not now
seem far off, where she had not wings to reach it; prayer itself seemed
superfluous in those moments of calm trust. The temptation which had so
lately made her shudder before the possibilities of the future, was now a
source of confidence; for had she not been delivered from it? Had not
rescue come in the extremity of danger? Yes; Infinite Love was caring for
her. She felt like a little child whose hand is firmly grasped by its
father, as its frail limbs make their way over the rough ground; if it
should stumble, the father will not let it go.

That walk in the dewy starlight remained for ever in Janet's memory as
one of those baptismal epochs, when the soul, dipped in the sacred waters
of joy and peace, rises from them with new energies, with more
unalterable longings.

When she reached home she found Mrs. Pettifer there, anxious for her
return. After thanking her for coming, Janet only said, 'I have been to
Mr. Tryan's; I wanted to speak to him;' and then remembering how she had
left the bureau and papers, she went into the back-room, where,
apparently, no one had been since she quitted it; for there lay the
fragments of glass, and the room was still full of the hateful odour. How
feeble and miserable the temptation seemed to her at this moment! She
rang for Kitty to come and pick up the fragments and rub the floor, while
she herself replaced the papers and locked up the bureau.

The next morning, when seated at breakfast with Mrs. Pettifer, Janet
said,--'What a dreary unhealthy-looking place that is where Mr. Tryan
lives! I'm sure it must be very bad for him to live there. Do you know,
all this morning, since I've been awake, I've been turning over a little
plan in my mind. I think it a charming one--all the more, because you are
concerned in it.'

'Why, what can that be?'

'You know that house on the Redhill road they call Holly Mount; it is
shut up now. That is Robert's house; at least, it is mine now, and it
stands on one of the healthiest spots about here. Now, I've been settling
in my own mind, that if a dear good woman of my acquaintance, who knows
how to make a home as comfortable and cosy as a bird's nest, were to take
up her abode there, and have Mr. Tryan as a lodger, she would be doing
one of the most useful deeds in all her useful life.'

'You've such a way of