As John sat there, and held the little frail hand, his thoughts went back to the time when the wild impulse of his heart had been to break away from this woman, and never see her face again; and he gave thanks to God, who had led him in a better way.

* * * * *

And so, at last, passed away the little story of Lillie’s life.  But in the home which she has left now grows another Lillie, fairer and sweeter than she,—­the tender confidant, the trusted friend of her father.  And often, when he lays his hand on her golden head, he says, “Dear child, how like your mother you look!”

Of all that was painful in that experience, nothing now remains.  John thinks of her only as he thought of her in the fair illusion of first love,—­the dearest and most sacred of all illusions.

The Lillie who guides his household, and is so motherly to the younger children; who shares every thought of his heart; who enters into every feeling and sympathy,—­she is the pure reward of his faithfulness and constancy.  She is a sacred and saintly Lillie, springing out of the sod where he laid her mother, forgetting all her faults for ever.

[Illustration]