“Oh! what a luxury it is to weep,
  And find in tears a sad relief!”

And calmly Florence wept, not bitterly, for she had had much of sorrow to bear, and schooled her heart to meet grief and sadness.  Yet it was hard to come back to her cherished home and miss from her side the gentle playmate of her youth, the parent she had almost idolized, and feel that she had left them in far distant resting-places.  She heard her husband’s step along the hall, and saw him enter—­she strove to repress her tears and seem happy, but the quivering lips refused to smile.  He sat down, and drawing his arm around her, pressed her face to his bosom, and tenderly said: 

“My mother had much to say, after my long absence, and I could not leave her till this moment My own heart told me that you suffered, and I longed to come to you and sympathize and cheer.”

“Do not think me weak, Mr. Stewart, because you find me weeping.  It is seldom I give vent to my feelings, but to-night I am overwhelmed with recollections of the past.  Oh! now, for the first time, I realize that Mary has indeed gone forever.  Mary!  Mary! my heart aches already for you, and your warm unchanging love!  Oh! how can I look forward to the long coming years, and feel that I shall never see her again?”

“Florence, my own Florence, I would not have you repress a single tear.  I know how sadly altered all things are, and what a dreary look your home must bear.  All I ask is, that when you feel lonely and unhappy, instead of hiding your grief, come to me, lay your weary head upon my shoulder, and I will strive to cheer you my precious wife!  Let nothing induce you to keep aught from me—­let perfect confidence reign between us:  and do not, for a moment, doubt that I wish you other than you are.  The past is very painful both to you and to me, and the memory of Frank and Mary constantly saddens my spirit.  Yet we will look forward to a happier future, and strive to guide and cheer each other.”  He kissed the broad brow as he spoke, and drew tighter the arm which encircled his wife, as though no danger could assail while he was near.

“Of late, Mr. Stewart, I have wondered much how you ever learned to love me; for I am much changed, and in my girlhood I was cold, proud, and often contemptuous in my manner.  Ah, Mary, how different from you!  If I have higher aims in life, and purer joys, I owe it all to her, for she led me to love the law of God, and exemplified in her daily life the teachings of Christ!  But for her, I shudder to think what I should now have been!  O God, I thank thee that I am saved even as a burning brand from the fire!  I have hope of happiness on earth, and at last a joyful reunion with the loved ones that have gone on home before me.  And you, my husband, help me to conquer myself to break down my pride, and to be more like Mary.  Oh, forgive my weaknesses, and ever love me as you now do!”

He clasped her to his heart, and whispered—­“Fear not, Florence, that I will ever love you less!  I, too, have faults which you may be called on to excuse, yet all is bright for us, and I trust no common share of happiness will be our portion through life!”