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so repugnant to man's nature, that there are but few who do not shrink from the dread encounter. Poor Margaret had more to fear than this. She dreaded not only the misery and poverty her tedious illness would entail upon them, but she wept the bitterest tears when she thought of her orphan child, poor, alone, and uncared for, when she should be taken away. She was, however, too sincere a believer to remain long within the shadow of the cloud. The God in whom she had ever trusted was ever faithful to his own word. Had he not promised, "Leave thy fatherless children to me, I will preserve them alive?" and is not his favour better than life! And when she prayed, "Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me," like Him whose true servant she was, she also added, "nevertheless, not my will be done, but thine." When does the Christian fail to receive comfort, when the child-like submission inculcated in the gospel is exercised? Is not the chastening rod in the hand of a Father who wounds but to heal? and he, who sees the end from the beginning, nevertheless afflicts his children. Margaret Raymond was therefore able to give up all into the unerring hand, knowing that He who feeds the raven and clothes the lily would not forsake her orphan child, but lead him, it might be by a narrow and rugged path--but such is the way that leads to the strait gate, and all who find eternal life must tread it. CHAPTER III. AN ORPHAN INDEED. The spring advanced into summer, and on one of its calm and bright evenings, Margaret, exerting her little strength, took William to the grave-yard, and both seated themselves on the little green hillock beneath which George Raymond awaited in peace the resurrection from the dust. No costly monuments nor storied urns were in that simple grave-yard. Some plain marble tablets marked the resting-places of the dead; but there were memorials of deeper meaning and more lovely. Trees waved their branches protectingly over the little mounds; kind hands had planted them with flowers and kept them sacred. Thus it was a pleasant spot, and full of hallowed remembrances. Margaret had never spoken of her coming death to her son; but now, seated on the spot of earth which must ere long be opened to afford a resting-place for herself, she told him that soon, in a few weeks most likely, he would be an orphan indeed, alone in the world, and with no friend but God. How can the sorrow and astonishment
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