“Well, the person in coming to see you, or in approaching the place where you were, thought of you so distinctly that she was present to your mind, or spirit, and you saw her with the eyes of your mind.  If this be the right explanation, as I believe it is, then, if we think intently of others, and especially if we think with a strong affection, we are present with them so fully that they think of us, and see our forms with the eyes of their spirits.  And now, Polly, keeping this in mind, we may see how praying, in tender love for another, may enable God to do him good; for you know that men and angels are co-workers with God in all good.  On the wings of our thought and love, angelic spirits, who are present with us in prayer, may pass with us to the object of our tender interest and thus gaining audience, as it were, stir the heart with good impulses.  And who can tell how effectual this may be, if of daily act and long continuance?”

I paused to see if I was comprehended.  Polly was listening intently, with her eyes upon the floor.  She looked up, after a moment, her countenance calmer than before, but bearing so hopeful an aspect that I was touched with wonder.

“I will pray for him morning, noon, and night,” she said, “and if, bodily, I cannot be near him, my spirit shall be present with his many times each day.  Oh, if I could but draw him back from the evil into which he has fallen!”

“A sister’s loving prayer, and the memory of his mother in heaven, will prove, I trust, Polly, too potent for all his enemies.  Take courage!”

In the silence that followed this last remark, Polly arose and stood as if there was something yet unsaid in her mind.  I understood her, and made the way plain for both of us.

“If I had known of this before, it would have explained to me some things that gave my mind an unfavorable impression.  You have not been like yourself for some time past.”

“How could I, ma’am?” Polly’s voice trembled and her eyes again filled with tears.  “I never meant to displease you; but——­”

“All is explained,” said I, interrupting her.  “I see just how it is; and if I have said a word that hurt you, I am sorry for it.  No one could have given better satisfaction in a family than you have given.”

“I have always tried to do right,” murmured the poor girl, sadly.

“I know it, Polly.”  My tones were encouraging.  “And if you will forget the unkind way in which I spoke to you this morning, and let things remain as they were, it may be better for both of us.  You are not fit, taking your state of mind as it now is, to go among strangers.”

Polly looked at me with gratitude and forgiveness in her wet eyes.  There was a motion of reply about her lips, but she did not trust herself to speak.

“Shall it be as it was, Polly?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am!  I don’t wish to leave you; and particularly, not now.  I am not fit, as you say, to go among strangers.  But you must bear with me a little; for I can’t always keep my thoughts about me.”