ften told me of the sin of distrusting the All-wise
Being, who has cared for us all our lives thus far? Let us put our trust
in Him, and He will 'never leave nor forsake us.' Can you not trust Him,
precious mother?"

"My child, I could bear it for myself; but you, my all of earth, my
heart's dearest treasure, to be exposed to poverty and toil for your
daily bread--who have been so delicately reared that the winds of heaven
have not been permitted to blow too roughly upon you! My poor,
fatherless darling, how can you bear it?"

"'God is our father.' We are not friendless, nor alone. 'He who
tempereth the wind to the shorn lamb,' will guide and guard me. Let us
commit ourselves to His care."

She knelt down, and the sunshine, stealing in at the window that May
afternoon, circled her young head like a glory. Faint and tremulous rose
the sweet voice in prayer, and little widow Graystone's sobs ceased, and
a kind of awe stole over her as she listened. And a sweet peace filled
her soul, for "angels came and ministered unto her." Up from the
mother's heart went a pleading cry. "God keep my darling from harm!" and
as she gazed fondly upon the beautiful face before her, with its exalted
look of wrapt devotion, a fierce pain struggled at her heart, for she
thought of the time in the not distant future, when her only one would
be motherless.

One little year ago she had been the imperious woman of fashion, and
Clemence had seemed little more than a child, in spite of the seventeen
summers that had smiled upon her young head. Indeed, she had often
experienced a feeling akin to contempt at the unworldliness of her
daughter, and sighed in secret to see Clemence just as agreeable to Carl
Alwyn, the poor but talented artist, as she was to young Reginald
Germaine, the heir to half a million.

"Just like your father, my dear," she would say, scornfully, "and nobody
knows what I have suffered from his low notions. Just to think of his
always insisting upon my inviting those frightful Dinsmore's to my
exclusive entertainments, because, years before you were born, Mr.
Dinsmore's father did him some service. Why can't he pay them for it,
and have an end of it? It is perfectly shocking! The idea of bringing
_me_, a Leveridge of Leveridge, into contact with such vulgar people."

"Mamma!" and Clemence's fine eyes glow with generous indignation, "how
_can_ you speak thus of one of the noblest traits of my father's
character? I love and ho