t it was the step of Ernest; but my pulse throbbed with a
quickened motion.

"Gabriella, my child, you must not sit here in this chill damp evening
air."

It was Mrs. Linwood, who took me by the hand and drew me from the seat.
It was not Ernest. He had not missed me. He had not feared for me the
chill dews of night.

"I do not feel cold," I answered, with a slight shudder.

"Come in," she repeated, leading me to the house with gentle force.

"Not there," I said, shrinking from the open door of the parlor, through
which I could see Ernest, with his head leaning on both hands, while his
elbows rested on the back of Edith's chair. She was still singing, and
the notes of her voice, sweet as they were, like the odor of the
night-flowers, had something languishing and oppressive. I hurried by,
and ascended the stairs. Mrs. Linwood followed me to the door of my
apartment, then taking me by both hands, she looked me full in the face,
with a mildly reproachful glance.

"O, Gabriella! if your spirit sink thus early, if you cannot bear the
burden you have assumed, in the bright morning hour of love, how will
you be able to support it in the sultry noon of life, or in the
weariness of its declining day? You are very young,--you have a long
pilgrimage before you. If you droop now, where will be the strength to
sustain in a later, darker hour?"

"I shall not meet it," I answered, trying in vain to repress the rising
sob. "I do not wish a long life, unless it be happier than it now
promises to be."

"What! so young, and so hopeless! Where is the strength and vitality of
your love? The fervor and steadfastness of your faith? My child, you
have borne nothing yet, and you promised to hope all and endure all. Be
strong, be patient, be hopeful, and you shall yet reap your reward."

"Alas! my mother, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

"There is no task appointed to man or woman," she answered, "which may
not be performed, through the power of God and the influences of the
Holy Spirit. Remember this, my beloved daughter; and remember, too, that
the heart which _bends_ will not _break_. Good-night! We had better not
renew this theme. 'Patient continuance in well-doing;' let this be your
motto, and if happiness in this world be not your reward, immortality
and glory in the next will be yours."

I looked after her as she gently retreated, and as the light glanced on
the folds of her silver gray dress, she seemed to me