"I am not so sure about that. I know many eminent saints in the church who will eat lobster salad for supper, and then send for the doctor and minister before morning. There is a precious twaddle about 'mysterious Providence.' Providence isn't half so mysterious as people make out. The doctor is expected to look serious and sympathetic, and call their law-breaking and its penalty by some outlandish Latin name that no one can understand. I give 'em the square truth, and tell 'em they've been breaking the commandments." Dennis could not forbear smiling at the doctor's rough handling of humbug, even in one of its most respectable guises. Then, remembering his mother, he added, gravely: "I am truly anxious about my mother, she has grown so feeble. I want, and yet dread, the truth." The bantering manner of the good old doctor changed at once, and he said, kindly, "I'll come, my boy, within a few days, though I am nearly run off my feet." He went off, muttering, "Why don't the people send for some of the youngsters that sit kicking up their heels in their offices all day?" Dennis soon fell into the routine of work and rapidly grew stronger. But his face had acquired a gravity, a something in expression that only experience gives, which made him appear older by ten years. All trace of the boy had gone, and his countenance was now that of the man, and of one who had suffered. As soon as he recovered sufficient strength to act with decision, he indignantly tried to banish Christine's image from his memory. But he found this impossible. Though at times his eyes would flash, in view of her treatment, they would soon grow gentle and tender, and he found himself excusing and extenuating, by the most special pleadings, that which he had justly condemned. One evening his mother startled him out of a long revery, in which he had almost vindicated Christine, by saying, "A very pleasant smile has been gradually dawning on your face, my son." "Mother," replied he, hesitatingly, "perhaps I have judged Miss Ludolph harshly." "Your love, not your reason, has evidently been pleading for her." "Well, mother, I suppose you are right." "So I suppose the Divine love pleads for the weak and sinful," said Mrs. Fleet, dreamily. "That is a very pleasant thought, mother, for sometimes it seems that my love could make black white." "That the Divine love has done, but at infinite cost to itself." "Oh that my love at any cost to itself could lead her into the new life of the believer!" said Dennis, in a low, earnest tone.