mind was of a lofty stamp;
he had not sunk under his sufferings. He had timely considered the
_reality_ of these things. He had learned to connect--really, truly,
faithfully--the trials and sorrows of this world with the retributions
of another. He had accepted the part allotted to him in the mysterious
scheme; had played it as best he could, and was now prepared for its
impending close.

It is consoling to know one thing. In his character of minister of the
holy word of God he had been allowed the privilege of attending the last
illness of both mother and sister, both so deeply, deeply, yet silently
beloved, in spite of all; and, through those blessed means, the full
value and mercy of which, perhaps such grievous sinners are alone able
to entirely estimate, he had reconciled them, as he trusted, with that
God "who forgiveth all our iniquities and healeth all our diseases."
Having been allowed to do this, he felt as if it would be the basest
ingratitude to murmur because his services in the pulpit were suddenly
arrested by the disease in his chest, and with it a stop put to further
usefulness, and even to the supply of his daily bread.

He was calmly expecting to die in the receipt of parish relief; for he
had not a penny beyond his curate's salary; and it was impossible to
allow Mr. Thomas, who was a poor man himself, to continue that, now the
hope of restoration to usefulness seemed at an end. It was not likely,
indeed, that he should, upon the spare hermit's diet which his scanty
means allowed, recover from a complaint of which weakness was the
foundation.

He had tried to maintain himself by his pen; but the complaint which
prevented his preaching was equally against the position when writing.
He could do so little in this way that it would not furnish him with a
loaf a week. A ray of genuine pleasure, however, shot to his eye, and a
faint but beautiful flush mounted to his cheek, when Edgar entered and
cordially held out his hand.

He was such a dear warm-hearted fellow, was Edgar. St. Leger had loved
him so entirely at school; and those days were not so _very_ long since!
The impression old Time had not even yet attempted with his busy fingers
to efface.

"I am so glad to have found you out, my dear fellow," Edgar began. "Who
would have thought of meeting you, of all people in the world, here,
ensconsed in such a quiet nook of this busy island--a place where the
noise and bustle and stir of the Great Babylo