told his news.

"Dear Miss Faith, you must wait a little longer yet. May I write by
to-night's mail and ask why the letter hasn't come?--it may have been
lost."

Faith started up, with first a flush and then a great sinking of
colour, and steadying herself with one hand on the back of the couch
looked into her messenger's face as if there she could track the
missing letter or discern the cause that kept it from her. But Reuben's
face discovered nothing but his sorrow and sympathy; and Faith sank
back on her pillow again with a face robbed of colour beyond all the
power of fever's wasting to do.

"Yes--write!" she said.

Reuben stood still, his hands lightly clasped, his heart full of
thoughts he had perhaps no right to utter, if he could have found words.

"I wish you'd write, Reuben," she repeated after a moment.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, "I will. Only--dear Miss Faith! you know 'the
darkness and the light are both alike to Him.'" Reuben was gone.

Faith lay for a few minutes as he had left her, and then slipped off
the couch and kneeled beside it; for she felt as if the burden of the
time could be borne only so. She laid her head and heart down together,
and for a long time was very still; "setting her foot on the lowest
step" of some of those ladders, if she could not mount by them. A
foot-hold is something.

She was there yet, she had not stirred, when another foot-step in the
passage and other fingers at the door made her know the approach of Dr.
Harrison. Faith started up and met him standing. The doctor looked at
her as he came up. So pale, so very quiet, so purely gentle, and yet
with such soft strength in her eye,--he had not seen her look just so,
nor anybody else, before.

"How do you do?" he said reverentially as he took her hand.

"I am--well,"--said Faith.

"Are you?" said the doctor gravely, eyeing the mark of unconquered
fever and its wasting effects even on her then.--"I am very glad to
hear it, indeed!"

"I mean, that I feel--well," said Faith correcting herself.

"You will feel better if you will take a more resting position," said
the doctor putting her into the chair. And then he stood and looked at
her; and Faith looked at her little clock, with her foot on that step
of her "ladder."--"He knoweth thy walking through this great
wilderness."

"What have you been doing to yourself these two days?" said the doctor.

"Nothing--" she said;--"more than usual."

He laid her appearance a