With a feeling of adoration that no language could adequately express, Edna had watched and studied this costly painted window for five long years; had found a marvellous fascination in the pallid face stained with purplish blood-drops; in the parted lips quivering with human pain and anguish of spirit; in the unfathomable, divine eyes that pierced the veil and rested upon the Father’s face.  Not all the sermons of Bossuet, or Chalmers, or Jeremy Taylor, or Melville, had power to stir the great deeps of her soul like one glance at that pale, thorn-crowned Christ, who looked in voiceless woe and sublime resignation over the world he was dying to redeem.

To-day she gazed up at the picture of Emmanuel till her eyes grew dim with tears, and she leaned her head against the mahogany railing and murmured sadly: 

“’And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me!’ Strengthen me, O my Saviour! so that I neither faint nor stagger under mine!”

The echo of her words died away among the arches of the roof, and all was still in the sanctuary.  The swaying of the trees outside of the windows threw now a golden shimmer, then a violet shadow over the gleaming altar pavement; and the sun sunk lower, and the nimbus faded, and the wan Christ looked ghastly and toil-spent.

“Edna!  My darling! my darling!”

The pleading cry, the tremulous, tender voice so full of pathos, rang startlingly through the silent church, and the orphan sprang up and saw Mr. Murray standing at her side, with his arms extended toward her, and a glow on his face and a look in his eyes which she had never seen there before.

She drew back a few steps and gazed wonderingly at him; but he followed, threw his arm around her, and, despite her resistance, strained her to his heart.

“Did you believe that I would let you go?  Did you dream that I would see my darling leave me, and go out into the world to be buffeted and sorely tried, to struggle with poverty—­and to suffer alone?  Oh, silly child!  I would part with my own life sooner than give you up!  Of what value would it be without you, my pearl, my sole hope, my only love, my own, pure Edna—­”

“Such language you have no right to utter, and I none to hear!  It is dishonorable in you and insulting to me.  Gertrude’s lover can not, and shall not, address such words to me.  Unwind your arms instantly!  Let me go!”

She struggled hard to free herself, but his clasp tightened, and as he pressed her face against his bosom, he threw his head back and laughed: 

“‘Gertrude’s lover!’ Knowing my history, how could you believe that possible?  Am I, think you, so meek and forgiving a spirit as to turn and kiss the hand that smote me?  Gertrude’s lover!  Ha! ha!!  Your jealousy blinds you, my—­”

“I know nothing of your history; I have never asked; I have never been told one word!  But I am not blind, I know that you love her, and I know, too, that she fully returns your affection.  If you do not wish me to despise you utterly, leave me at once.”