Quiet at all times, the stillness of the scene was now unbroken, save by the twittering of some belated swallow, the chirp of the cricket, or the evening hymn of the forest songsters, ere they sank to grateful rest.  All was peace without, but troubled and anxious was the heart of the solitary occupant of that apartment, who, though for a moment aroused from deep, and, as it appeared from the expression of her countenance, painful thought, by the beauty of the landscape, again summoned her wandering thoughts, and returned to the theme which had so deeply engrossed her.

A slight tap at the door once more aroused her, and in answer to her invitation, “Walk in,” a lady entered the room, and affectionately addressed the young girl.

“Forgive my intrusion, my dear Miss Wiltshire, but I feared, from your remaining so long in your room, that you were not well, and have come to ascertain whether I am correct or not.”

“I am much obliged for your kindness, but I am quite well, in body, at least,” was the reply, while the lips quivered, and the eyes were suffused with tears.

There was silence for a few moments between them, for Mrs. Gordon was too delicate to allude to emotions, which her companion evidently strove to conceal, and with the nature of which she was totally unacquainted.  At length, however, she broke the quiet that had reigned for some moments in the apartment, by an observation on the service they had both that day attended.

“Accustomed, as you are, to city churches and city congregations, it could scarcely be expected that our unpretending house of prayer, with its humble worshippers, could have found much favor in your eyes, Miss Wiltshire?”

“And yet, strange to say,” exclaimed Agnes, lifting her fine dark eyes to Mrs. Gordon’s sweet, though pensive face, “that unpretending church, those earnest worshippers, and, above all, that simple, faithful discourse, affected me far more deeply than any heard from the lips of the most eloquent divine, in a gorgeous edifice crowded with the =elite= of the city, and where the solemn notes of the full-toned organ ought, perhaps, to have filled the soul with sacred and heavenly thoughts.  Those words, so thrillingly pronounced, shall I ever forget them?  ’To whom much is given, of him shall much be required.’  They seem still to ring in my ears, for I, alas, am among those who have received much, yet rendered back nothing.”

The speaker paused, overcome with emotion, but the countenance of the listener grew radiant with delight,—­not that delight which arises from the realization of some worldly hope, but, rather, a heavenly joy, which lent to the pale and pensive face a beauty not of this world; it beamed in the sunken, yet soft blue eye, and flushed the hollow cheek; it was the joy of a saint, nay, it was the joy of an angel, at the return of the stray sheep to its Father’s fold.  But it soon found expression in words.