Mary Clinton was silent a moment, then she said gently, “When I think I can add to the ease or enjoyment of any person present, I take pleasure in staying; but when I feel that I am rather a restraint than otherwise, I retire—­to weep.  You are yet young and beautiful, my child, for you have never known such feelings.  I am too selfish, or I would not be sad so often; it is right that I should pass through such a school of discipline.  I hope it has already made me better.”  The look of resignation that beamed from Miss Clinton’s tearful eyes, caused a chord in Alice’s heart to tremble with a strange blending of love, sweetness, and sorrow.

“You should be happy, if any one should, dear aunt,” she said in a low voice, and she partly averted her head, to conceal the tears that started down her cheek.  “I am happy so often, she resumed, turning around and seating herself upon an ottoman at her aunt’s feet.  “You deserve so much more than I—­to be as good as you are, Aunt Mary, I would almost change situations, for then I should be sure of going to heaven.”

“You can be just as sure in your own position, as in that of any other person.  But, dear child, the more deeply we scan our hearts, the more we see there to conquer, in order that we may become fit companions for the angels.”

Alice remained thoughtful for some moments, then she folded her hands over Aunt Mary’s lap, and lifted her eyes to the loving face that bent over her.  “Be my guardian angel,” she prayed tearfully, “your love is so pure; a gentleness comes over me, when I am with you.  All tumultuous feelings sink down to repose.  I have not known you, Aunt Mary; you have shown me to-day how lovely goodness is.  I can feel it in your presence.  Oh! to possess it!  I fear it will be long years before I grow so gentle in my spirit—­so unselfish—­so like a child of Heaven!”

“Hush, hush!” was Mary Clinton’s gentle interruption.  “You do not know me yet, Alice.  Perhaps I appear far better than I am.”

Alice smiled, and laying her arm around Aunt Mary’s neck, drew down her face, and kissed her affectionately, whispering, “You will be my guide, I ask no better.”

“Thank you, thank you,” broke from Aunt Mary’s lips; she pressed Alice’s cheek with the ardent haste of love and gratitude; then yielding to the emotions that thrilled her heart, she burst into tears, and wept with a joy she had long been a stranger to.  She felt that her life would no longer be useless, if she could live for Alice, and lift up to God her heart.  How beautiful in its freshness, is the early day when the light of a good resolve breaks like a halo over the soul, and by its power, seeks to win it from its selfish idols!  Earnest and strong is the hopefulness that bids us labour trustingly to become all we yearn to be—­all we may be.  How tremblingly Mary Clinton leaned upon her Saviour! experience had taught her the weakness of her fluttering heart; sorrow was familiar, yet