“If we were certain of the future, we would not bear it all,” he remarked, “but grow impatient and exacting like children who rise in the night to examine the Christmas stocking, rather than wait until morning.  Most often we should join those we loved rather than bide our time if we were certain.  Moreover, what merit would there be in faith or fortitude?  No, Miriam, it is best as it is, believe me.  Every thing is for the best that God has done; we must not dare to question the ways any more than the will of the Eternal.”

“You ought to have been a preacher, Dr. Pemberton,” I said, smiling sadly, “instead of a physician.”

“No, my dear little girl, I ought to have been just what I am, since it was God’s will.  And now be calm and self-sustaining until I come again, which will be before long, I think.”

I tried as far as in me lay to regard the instructions of my kind friend and physician (and happy are those who unite both in one person), but, prepare as we may to receive the waves of the sea when we bathe in its margin, and skillful as we may believe ourselves in buffeting or avoiding them, there comes one now and then with a strength and suddenness that sweeps us from our feet, overthrows us, and lays us prostrate at the sandy bottom of the ocean, to emerge therefrom half stifled with the bitter brine.

Such experience was destined to be mine before many hours.

CHAPTER V.

Mr. Gerald Stanbury had been especially invited to attend the reading of my father’s will, by a polite note from Mr. Bainrothe, in which the interest that both bore in this testament was plainly set forth.  With the exception of our excellent old neighbor and the two Mr. Bainrothes, the circle assembled for the solemn occasion was composed entirely of Mr. Monfort’s household and was truly a funereal one.  I wore my deep-mourning dress for the first time that day, and Mabel, similarly attired, sat beside me.  Claude Bainrothe was alone on a distant sofa.

Evelyn assumed my father’s chair, and wore, with the weeds customary to widows, a demeanor of great dignity and reserve suitable to the head of the family.  Mr. Gerald Stanbury had a seat near mine, on which he sat uneasily, and Mrs. Austin, Franklin, and Morton, were ranged together stiffly in chairs placed against the wall, likewise attired in deep mourning.  Mr. Bainrothe was seated near the study-table, looking unusually pale and subdued, from one of the drawers of which he had drawn forth the will, unlocking and locking it again with a key suspended to his guard-chain.