‘But,’ said Janet, ’I can feel no trust in God.  He seems always to have left me to myself.  I have sometimes prayed to Him to help me, and yet everything has been just the same as before.  If you felt like me, how did you come to have hope and trust?’

’Do not believe that God has left you to yourself.  How can you tell but that the hardest trials you have known have been only the road by which He was leading you to that complete sense of your own sin and helplessness, without which you would never have renounced all other hopes, and trusted in His love alone?  I know, dear Mrs. Dempster, I know it is hard to bear.  I would not speak lightly of your sorrows.  I feel that the mystery of our life is great, and at one time it seemed as dark to me as it does to you.’  Mr. Tryan hesitated again.  He saw that the first thing Janet needed was to be assured of sympathy.  She must be made to feel that her anguish was not strange to him; that he entered into the only half-expressed secrets of her spiritual weakness, before any other message of consolation could find its way to her heart.  The tale of the Divine Pity was never yet believed from lips that were not felt to be moved by human pity.  And Janet’s anguish was not strange to Mr. Tryan.  He had never been in the presence of a sorrow and a self-despair that had sent so strong a thrill through all the recesses of his saddest experience; and it is because sympathy is but a living again through our own past in a new form, that confession often prompts a response of confession.  Mr. Tryan felt this prompting, and his judgement, too, told him that in obeying it he would be taking the best means of administering comfort to Janet.  Yet he hesitated; as we tremble to let in the daylight on a chamber of relics which we have never visited except in curtained silence.  But the first impulse triumphed, and he went on.  ’I had lived all my life at a distance from God.  My youth was spent in thoughtless self-indulgence, and all my hopes were of a vain worldly kind.  I had no thought of entering the Church; I looked forward to a political career, for my father was private secretary to a man high in the Whig Ministry, and had been promised strong interest in my behalf.  At college I lived in intimacy with the gayest men, even adopting follies and vices for which I had no taste, out of mere pliancy and the love of standing well with my companions.  You see, I was more guilty even then than you have been, for I threw away all the rich blessings of untroubled youth and health; I had no excuse in my outward lot.  But while I was at college that event in my life occurred, which in the end brought on the state of mind I have mentioned to you—­the state of self-reproach and despair, which enables me to understand to the full what you are suffering; and I tell you the facts, because I want you to be assured that I am not uttering mere vague words when I say that I have been raised from as low a depth of sin and sorrow as that in which