t, owning its weakness, making known its
want. She prayed for submission, but her deeper need was seen, and when
she asked for patience to endure, Heaven sent her power to act, and out
of this sharp trial brought her a better strength and clearer knowledge
of herself than years of smoother experience could have bestowed. A
sense of security, of stability, came to her as that entire reliance
assured her by its all-sustaining power that she had found what she most
needed to make life clear to her and duty sweet. With her face in her
hands, she sat, forgetful that she was not alone, as in that brief but
precious moment she felt the exceeding comfort of a childlike faith in
the one Friend who, when we are deserted by all, even by ourselves, puts
forth His hand and gathers us tenderly to Himself.

Her husband's voice recalled her, and looking up she showed him such an
earnest, patient countenance, it touched him like an unconscious rebuke.
The first tears she had seen rose to his eyes, and all the old
tenderness came back into his voice, softening the dismissal which had
been more coldly begun.

"Dear, silence and rest are best for both of us to-night. We cannot
treat this trouble as we should till we are calmer; then we will take
counsel how soonest to end what never should have been begun. Forgive
me, pray for me, and in sleep forget me for a little while."

He held the door for her, but as she passed Sylvia lifted her face for
the good night caress without which she had never left him since she
became his wife. She did not speak, but her eye humbly besought this
token of forgiveness; nor was it denied. Moor laid his hand upon her
lips, saying, "these are Adam's now," and kissed her on the forehead.

Such a little thing: but it overcame Sylvia with the sorrowful certainty
of the loss which had befallen both, and she crept away, feeling herself
an exile from the heart and home whose happy mistress she could never be
again.

Moor watched the little figure going upward, and weeping softly as it
went, as if he echoed the sad "never any more," which those tears
expressed, and when it vanished with a backward look, shut himself in
alone with his great sorrow.

CHAPTER XVIII.

WHAT NEXT?

Sylvia laid her head down on her pillow, believing that this night would
be the longest, saddest she had ever known. But before she had time to
sigh for sleep it wrapt her in its comfortable arms, and held her till
day broke. S