The young gifted pastor of St. Paul’s Church was never more appreciated than now by these hardworking, warm-hearted pioneers.  It was their daily wonder and thanksgiving that such a man should ever have been sent to them.  Nothing that they could do for him was too much, and their loving devotion was like balm to his weary soul.  His people were scattered for miles away, but the pastoral calls were as faithfully made as when they were comprehended within the limits of a few squares.  The mild winter climate of that region was like one long autumn of the Eastern States.  Mounted on his faithful pony, he spent a large part of every day riding over the prairies.  The blue skies and the bright sunshine were tonics to the heart as well as to the body.  Sometimes his route lay for miles through the woods, where perfect solitude reigned but for the chatter of birds that circled about him.  In these long rides his heart went back over the past, reviving the memory of those first precious days with Vida.  They seemed far away, and their recollection, like the perfume of wilted flowers plucked from the grave of a dear one.  If he could not have prayed for her then, hourly, his heart would have broken.

Mrs. Irving changed her residence, putting many hundred miles between her new and the old home, so that Vida might begin life anew, as she phrased it, without embarrassment.  In a large hotel in the great city, with seaside and mountain trips, parties and operas was much more to Vida’s taste than dull life in a quiet parsonage, and she expected to play the role of a pastor’s wife.

With her mother as chaperon she led a gay life, going, coming, revelling at will in her freedom.  As before her marriage, she attracted much attention.  Admired and courted, suitors innumerable paid her homage.  But a positive nature and strong will asserted themselves here.  Only such attentions as befitted a wife to receive were tolerated.  She knew the law did not count her free; and if she had analyzed her secret heart, there was no true reason why she cared to be free.  No face she met had power to quicken her pulses or extract from her a second thought.  The inner heart had long ago been pre-empted, but the blind wilful creature knew it not.  The face most often seen in her dreams; the voice that whispered in her ear; the sad dark eyes that seemed to follow her reproachfully, belonged to none of the gay gallants about her.  Her previous history being unknown she was a problem in that circle.

There came a change.  Mrs. Irving’s health began to fail.  The eminent physicians far and near were consulted in vain; and as the symptoms became more denned and alarming, Vida could not shut her eyes to the fact that her mother was in a most critical state.  She was a devoted daughter, though the weeds of selfishness, fostered by the mother’s hand, at times almost overtopped filial affection.  Now she shut herself in from society and devoted herself to her mother with unremitting care.  Every whim of the invalid was gratified.