“Perhaps you have not been looking for it in the right place, Mr. Bernard.  There are many whose religion consists in outward observances, while the heart is given up to its idol; but, granting there was not one in the world who was really the possessor of true religion, ’What is that to thee?’ The claims of Heaven are not less binding on you, because not recognized or responded to by the multitude, for each must render an account of himself, whether the offering of the heart, the only acceptable one, has been presented, or whether we have turned coldly away from the voice of the charmer, charm it ever so wisely.”

There was silence for a few moments, which was broken by an observation from Arthur.

“Do you know of whom you remind me, Miss Wiltshire?  Of a distant relative of my mother’s, who resided with us for a time, when I was but a boy.  She was a young woman then; I, a wild, heedless boy; but her look, her smile, her very words, are indelibly impressed on my mind.  What a lovely example of all Christian graces was she, for in her they seemed blended, like the exquisite tints of the rainbow, into a perfect whole.  Her gentle reproof,—­her winning manner ever alluring us to that which was right,—­her unwearied endeavor to make all around her happy,—­these, combined with every womanly charm, made her appear, in my eyes, more than human; and when death came, much and deeply as I lamented the loss, I could scarcely wonder that Heaven had reclaimed its own.”

There was a pause, and then Arthur added,—­“That I have not gone to the same extent in folly as others, I believe I owe to her, for when tempted, by my gay companions at college, to join them in the pleasures of sin, her look of mild entreaty seemed ever before me, deterring me from ill; and I often think, had she lived, I might to-day have been a better and more useful man.”

Agnes had been an attentive listener.  “I do not wonder,” she said, as he ceased speaking, “that you so highly estimate woman’s influence, for you have largely benefited by it; but though dead, she yet speaketh.  Do you remember what Young says respecting dying friends?  That they are

      ’Angels sent on errands full of love,
    For us they sicken, and for us they die.’

We sometimes wonder at the mysterious Providence which often suddenly removes the excellent from earth; while the wicked are allowed to remain; but may it not be graciously ordered thus, to excite in us an ardent desire for that preparation which shall enable us to greet our friends on the shores of the better land.  Oh, without such a hope what would life be.

    ’It lifts the fainting spirit up,
    It brings to life the dead.’

How often should I be ready to sink in despair,” and Agnes’s lips quivered with emotion, “were it not that I am permitted to look forward to that inheritance which is incorruptible and undefiled, and which shall prove an abundant recompense for those ’light afflictions which are but for a moment.’”