he wife and mother.

"_Speak to me for Thy Compassion's sake_," she prayed from the little
book of Confessions that her mother had given her. "_I will follow after
Thy Voice!_"

"Would you betray your trust?" asked conscience.

"No, not intentionally."

"Would you desert your post?"

"Never, willingly."

"You have divided the family; taken a little quail bird out of the
home-nest and left sorrow behind you. Would God justify you in that?"

For the first time Susanna's "No" rang clearly enough for her to hear it
plainly; for the first time it was followed by no vague misgivings, no
bewilderment, no unrest or indecision. "_I turn hither and thither; Thy
purposes are hid from me, but I commend my soul to Thee!_"

Then a sentence from the dear old book came into her memory: "_And thy
dead things shall revive, and thy weak things shall be made whole._"

She listened, laying hold of every word, till the nervous clenching of
her hands subsided, her face relaxed into peace. Then she lay down
beside Sue, creeping close to her for the warmth and comfort and healing
of her innocent touch, and, closing her eyes serenely, knew no more till
the morning broke, the Sabbath morning of Confession Day.

X

BROTHER AND SISTER

[Illustration]

If Susanna's path had grown more difficult, more filled with anxieties,
so had John Hathaway's. The protracted absence of his wife made the
gossips conclude that the break was a final one. Jack was only half
contented with his aunt, and would be fairly mutinous in the winter,
while Louisa's general attitude was such as to show clearly that she
only kept the boy for Susanna's sake.

Now and then there was a terrifying hint of winter in the air, and the
days of Susanna's absence seemed eternal to John Hathaway. Yet he was a
man about whom there would have been but one opinion: that when deprived
of a rather superior and high-minded wife and the steadying influence
of home and children, he would go completely "to the dogs," whither he
seemed to be hurrying when Susanna's wifely courage failed. That he had
done precisely the opposite and the unexpected thing, shows us perhaps
that men are not on the whole as capable of estimating the forces of
their fellow men as is God the maker of men, who probably expects
something of the worst of them up to the very last.

It was at the end of a hopeless Sunday when John took his boy back to
his aunt's towards night. He wondered drearily how