ferent ways. Some grow weary of the strenuous strife, give up the
contest with a sigh and retire, as it were, to the shade of the trees
and with more or less of yearning await the coming of the deeper shades
of the evening eternal. Others, fully conscious that they have been
entrusted with a world message, confront a mountain with as much courage
as they do a sand dune, and press onward, whether the stars are in a
guiding or a hiding mood.

Mrs. Arabelle Seabright, aspirant for world honors, sat in a
rocking-chair in her room in the Domain Hotel, Almaville, the stopping
place of the wealthiest and most aristocratic visitors. Her small well
shaped hands were lying one upon the other, resting on the back of an
open book which was in her lap, face downward. Slowly she rocked
backward and forward, tapping first one foot and then the other upon the
floor. It was very evident that she was thinking, but a glance at the
face was all that was needed to tell one that this thinking was not due
to irresolution or uncertainty of purpose.

Nothing was ever more plainly written upon the human countenance than
that this woman knew her own mind and knew the course which she was to
pursue. Her thinking now is with a view to making travel along the
elected course as agreeable as possible. The door to her room opened and
there entered a young man of medium height with delicate, almost
feminine features. His face was covered with a full beard that was so
black as to appear almost uncanny, and it seemed so much out of place on
one so young, the wearer not being over twenty-five at most.

"You have come to say 'yes,' my boy," said Mrs. Seabright, rising to
meet her son.

The young man had really come to say "no," but that firm, unyielding
look in his mother's eyes halted him. Instead of the determined stand
which he had resolved to take, in the presence of his mother's imperious
will, all he could say was, "Mother, I--I--I--had hoped otherwise."

His mother shook her head and looked him directly in the eyes. She
wanted him to see the determination written in her own eyes.

He saw and collapsed. "I will go, mother," said he. "Be seated, mother,"
he requested.

Mrs. Seabright, directing a look of inquiry at her son, sat down.

He now dropped on his knees and rested his head upon her lap. "Mother,
say to me the prayer that you taught me in my childhood--days when you
were not this way. Lead me back there once more, for something within