Literary women, whose avocation is selected simply because they fancy, it easier to write than to sew for bread, or because they covet the applause and adulation heaped upon successful genius, or desire mere notoriety, generally barter their birthright of quiet, life-long happiness in the peaceful seclusion of home for a nauseous mess of poisoned pottage that will not appease their hunger; and they go down to untimely graves disappointed, embittered, hating the public for whose praises they toiled, cheated out of the price for which they bargained away fireside joys and domestic serenity.

The fondest hope of Edna’s heart was to be useful in “her day and generation”—­to be an instrument of some good to her race; and while she hoped for popularity as an avenue to the accomplishment of her object, the fear of ridicule and censure had no power to deter her from the line of labor upon which she constantly invoked the guidance and blessing of God.

The noble words of Kepler rang a ceaseless silvery chime in her soul, and while they sustained and strengthened her, she sought to mould her life in harmony with their sublime teachings: 

“Lo!  I have done the work of my life with that power of intellect which thou hast given.  If I, a worm before Thine eyes, and born in the bonds of sin, have brought forth anything that is unworthy of Thy counsels, inspire me with Thy spirit, that I may correct it.  If by the wonderful beauty of Thy works I have been led into boldness—­ if I have sought my own honor among men as I advanced in the work which was destined to Thine honor, pardon me in kindness and charity, and by Thy grace grant that my teaching may be to Thy glory and the welfare of all men.  Praise ye the Lord, ye heavenly harmonies! and ye that understand the new harmonies, praise ye the Lord!”

CHAPTER XVIII.

“Mr. Hammond, are you ill?  What can be the matter?”

Edna threw down her books and put her hand on the old man’s shoulder.  His face was concealed in his arms, and his half-stifled groan told that some fierce trial had over-taken him.

“Oh, child!  I am troubled, perplexed, and my heart is heavy with a sorrow which I thought I had crushed.”

He raised his head for a moment, looked sadly into the girl’s face, and dropped his furrowed cheek on his hand.

“Has anything happened since I saw you yesterday?”

“Yes, I have been surprised by the arrival of some of my relatives, whose presence in my house revives very painful associations connected with earlier years.  My niece, Mrs. Powell, and her daughter Gertrude, came very unexpectedly last night to make me a visit of some length; and to you, my child, I can frankly say the surprise is a painful one.  Many years have elapsed since I received any tidings of Agnes Powell, and I knew not, until she suddenly appeared before me last night, that she was a widow, and bereft of a handsome fortune.  She claims a temporary home under my roof; and, though she has caused me much suffering, I feel that I must endeavor to be patient and kind to her and her child.  I have endured many trials, but this is one of the severest I have yet been called to pass through.”