“The Lord is in his holy temple, the Lord’s throne is in heaven:  his eyes behold, his eyelids try the children of men.”

And nobody spoke.

“Thou art my Father, my God, and the rock of my salvation.  Thou wilt light my candle:  the Lord my God will enlighten my darkness.  For with thee is the fountain of life:  in thy light shall we see light.”

Then came the hush again, and Dan started to his feet, and began to walk up and down the room as if something drove him; but wearying, he stood and leaned his head on the chimney there.  And mother’s voice broke the stillness anew, and she said,—­

“Hath God forgotten to be gracious?  His mercy endureth forever.  And none of them that trust in him shall be desolate.”

There was something in mother’s tone that made me forget myself and my sorrow, and look; and there she was, as she hadn’t been before for six months, half risen from the bed, one hand up, and her whole face white and shining with confident faith.  Well, when I see all that such trust has buoyed mother over, I wish to goodness I had it:  I take more after Martha.  But never mind, do well here and you’ll do well there, say I. Perhaps you think it wasn’t much, the quiet and the few texts breathed through it; but sometimes when one’s soul’s at a white heat, it may be moulded like wax with a finger.  As for me, maybe God hardened Pharaoh’s heart,—­though how that was Pharaoh’s fault I never could see.  But Dan,—­he felt what it was to have a refuge in trouble, to have a great love always extending over him like a wing; he longed for it; he couldn’t believe it was his now, he was so suddenly convicted of all sin and wickedness; and something sprang up in his heart, a kind of holy passion that he felt to be possible for this great and tender Divine Being; and he came and fell on his knees by the side of the bed, crying out for mother to show him the way; and mother, she put her hand on his head and prayed,—­prayed, oh, so beautifully, that it makes the water stand in my eyes now to remember what she said.  But I didn’t feel so then, my heart and my soul were rebellious, and love for Dan alone kept me under, not love for God.  And in fact, if ever I’d got to heaven then, love for Dan’d have been my only saving grace; for I was mighty high-spirited, as a girl.  Well, Dan he never made open profession; but when he left the house, he went and asked Faith to marry him.

Now Faith didn’t care anything about Dan,—­except the quiet attachment that she couldn’t help, from living in the house with him, and he’d always petted and made much of her, and dressed her like a doll,—­he wasn’t the kind of man to take her fancy:  she’d have maybe liked some slender, smooth-faced chap; but Dan was a black, shaggy fellow, with shoulders like the cross-tree, and a length of limb like Saul’s, and eyes set deep, like lamps in caverns.  And he had a great, powerful heart,—­and, oh, how it was lost! for she might have won it, she might have made him