that she would not go; but for all that, when the time
came, she could not resist the desire to be present, even at the risk of
being thought changeable. She went, after the rest, and from her corner
saw the whole. From where she sat she had a full view of his
face--grave, earnest, calm, evidently feeling how much was implied in
the ordination vows. As she returned before the others, they were quite
unaware that she had been there, and she, little hypocrite, listened
gravely to all Emily's descriptions.

In the evening Isabel walked on the lawn in the pale moon's silvery
beams, musing of all that had taken place that day, and thinking how
very happy Everard must feel to-night. Suddenly that gentleman accosted
her: "Why did you refuse to be present at the ordination to-day?" he
asked. Isabel was silent. "How is it," he continued, "that while others
were so anxious, you manifested no interest at all? It is, to say the
least, unkind."

"You may be sure that I wish you all prosperity in your new vocation,"
she said. "I would have said so before, had I thought you wished or
expected it."

"I did not expect," he said, almost angrily, "such a calm expression of
a cold regard; I wished and expected kindly sympathy, if nothing more."

"As you think I should say more, accept my sincere wishes for your
happiness; and believe me when I say that the lot which you have chosen
is, in my estimation, the highest to which man can aspire, and may your
labors be blessed with abundant success."

"Your kind wishes, though so reluctantly expressed, are not least
valued," he returned, warmly. "But, Isabel, you say that you wish my
happiness. My happiness, as I told you long ago, rests with you. Here I
can refer to the old subject without breaking my promise, and I cannot
leave for my distant mission without making one more appeal. Listen to
me patiently for a few minutes. You seemed to adhere so strictly to what
you said, that I considered it my duty to give you up; but it was a duty
that, with all my endeavors, I was unable to perform. I sought relief in
study--hard, excessive study--almost night and day. You know how that
ended. My mother left me much to you, and your kindness only made
matters worse. Afterwards, when you were away, I determined on the
course I am now pursuing, and I persuaded myself that my heart was in
the work, and so it is, but it is not yours the less. What I endure is
almost insupportable--it is too hard. Often I