“That care and trial seem at last,
   Through Memory’s sunset air,
   Like mountain ranges overpast,
   In purple distance fair.”

The note fluttered to the floor, the hands folded themselves together, and she raised her eyes to utter an humble, fervent “Thank God!” But the words froze on her lips; for as she looked up, she saw Mr. Murray standing a few feet from her.

“God has pardoned all my sins, and accepted me as a laborer worthy to enter His vineyard.  Is Edna Earl more righteous than the Lord she worships?”

His face was almost as pale as hers, and his voice trembled as he extended his arms toward her.

She stood motionless, looking up at him with eyes that brightened until their joyful radiance seemed indeed unearthly; and the faint, delicate blush on her cheeks deepened and burned, as with a quivering cry of gladness that told volumes, she hid her face in her hands.

He came nearer, and the sound of his low, mellow voice thrilled her heart as no other music had ever done.

“Edna, have you a right to refuse me forgiveness, when the blood of Christ has purified me from the guilt of other years?”

She trembled and said brokenly: 

“Mr. Murray—­you never wronged me—­and I have nothing to forgive.”

“Do you still believe me an unprincipled hypocrite?”

“Oh! no, no, no!”

“Do you believe that my repentance has been sincere, and acceptable to my insulted God?  Do you believe that I am now as faithfully endeavoring to serve Him, as a remorseful man possibly can?”

“I hope so, Mr. Murray.”

“Edna, can you trust me now?”

Some seconds elapsed before she answered, and then the words were scarcely audible.

“I trust you.”

“Thank God!”

There was a brief pause, and she heard a heavily-drawn sigh escape him.

“Edna, it is useless to tell you how devotedly I love you, for you have known that for years; and yet you have shown my love no mercy.  But perhaps if you could realize how much I need your help in my holy work, how much more good I could accomplish in the world if you were with me, you might listen, without steeling yourself against me, as you have so long done.  Can you, will you trust me fully?  Can you be a minister’s wife, and aid him as only you can?  Oh, my darling, my darling!  I never expect to be worthy of you!  But you can make me less unworthy!  My own darling, come to me.”

He stood within two feet of her, but he was—­too humble?  Nay, nay, too proud to touch her without permission.

Her hands fell from her crimson cheeks, and she looked up at the countenance of her king.

In her fond eyes he seemed noble and sanctified, and worthy of all confidence; and as he opened his arms once more, she glided into them and laid her head on his shoulder, whispering: 

“Oh!  I trust you!  I trust you fully!”