it, for love; and that she was naturally gifted with a strong will, the position in which she stood in relation to the count proving only that it was not strong enough, and not that it was weak.  Such a character must, for any good, be ruled by itself, and not by circumstances.  To have been overcome in the process of time by the persistent goodness of Margaret, might have been the blessed fate of a weaker and worse woman; but if Euphra did not overcome herself, there was no hope of further victory.  If Margaret could even wither the power of her oppressor, it would be but to transfer the lordship from a bad man to a good woman; and that would not be enough.  It would not be freedom.  And indeed, the aid that Margaret had to give her, could only be bestowed on one who already had freedom enough to act in some degree from duty.  She knew she ought to go and apologize to Margaret.  She went.

In Margaret’s presence, and in such a mood, she was subjected at once to the holy enchantment of her loving-kindness.  She had never received any tenderness from a woman before.  Perhaps she had never been in the right mood to profit by it if she had.  Nor had she ever before seen what Margaret was.  It was only when service —­ divine service —­ flowed from her in full outgoing, that she reached the height of her loveliness.  Then her whole form was beautiful.  So was it interpenetrated by, and respondent to, the uprising soul within, that it radiated thought and feeling as if it had been all spirit.  This beauty rose to its best in her eyes.  When she was ministering to any one in need, her eyes seemed to worship the object of her faithfulness, as if all the time she felt that she was doing it unto Him.  Her deeds were devotion.  She was the receiver and not the giver.  Before this, Euphra had seen only the still waiting face; and, as I have said, she had been repelled by it.  Once within the sphere of the radiation of her attraction, she was drawn towards her, as towards the haven of her peace:  she loved her.

To this, at length, had her struggle with herself in the silence of her own room, and her meditations on her couch, conducted her.  Shall we say that these alone had been and were leading her?  Or that to all these there was a hidden root, and an informing spirit?  Who would not rather believe that his thoughts come from an infinite, self-sphered, self-constituting thought, than that they rise somehow out of a blank abyss of darkness, and are only thought when he thinks them, which thinking he cannot pre-determine or even foresee?

When Euphra woke, her first breath was like a deep draught of spiritual water.  She felt as if some sorrow had passed from her, and some gladness come in its stead.  She thought and thought, and found that the gladness was Margaret.  She had scarcely made the discovery, when the door gently opened, and Margaret peeped in to see if she were awake.

“May I come in?” she said.