“’Twas one of those delicious nights, So common in the climes of Greece, When day withdraws but half his lights, And all is moonshine, balm and peace.” Ernest and Mr. Hillston were sitting in the gallery of the preacher’s residence. The young man was sad and silent. “Ernest,” said Mr. Hillston kindly, “what is the matter with you? You have not been like yourself for two or three days. You seem to be in deep trouble.” “So I am, Mr. Hillston. I am wading through the ‘deep waters’ about which you sing.” “I knew there was something the matter. Is it anything you can tell? Sometimes it is a great relief to unbosom ourselves to a kind friend, who can sympathize with us, if nothing more.” “I do not mind telling you, Mr. Hillston, though I cannot see that it will do any good.” “You do not know that. I have lived a long time in this world, and have, at least, tried to comfort a great many people under clouds of sorrow. Probably I might be able to give you some advice which would be useful.” “Well, you know I was engaged to be married to Clara Vanclure?” “Yes; you told me that.” “She has broken the engagement.” “For what reason?” “I suspect that Comston has deceived her.” “Did you have no quarrel with her? Frequently young people fall out about trifles, and soon become reconciled.” “No; we had no quarrel. She discarded me coolly and deliberately.” “Well, my dear boy,” said Mr. Hillston, with tenderness, “it is no more than I expected.” “Why?” asked Ernest. “Do you not remember some weeks ago, when you told me about the affair, that you thought I did not approve your choice?” “Yes, sir, distinctly.” “I did not think you had made a wise selection, and as I did not congratulate you then, I now congratulate you on the happy termination of the affair.” “You are cruel, Mr. Hillston,” said Ernest, in a tone of bitterness. “Far from it, my boy. I know you must suffer for a while. But mark what I say: you will, no doubt, see the day when you will regard it as the best that could have happened to you. I was surprised at your choice, but as the poet says: ‘Lovers are blind, and cannot see The petty faults themselves commit.’ But I could see that Miss Clara would not suit you at all. She has as few qualifications for a minister’s wife as any lady of my acquaintance.” “Minister’s wife!” exclaimed Ernest. “She would not have been a minister’s wife.” “I see you are still disposed to disobey the Divine call; but you would better yield, or your present trouble will be only the beginning of sorrows. I have no doubt that it is foreordained that you shall be a preacher of the gospel.” “Look here, Mr. Hillston,” cried Ernest suddenly, “I have been reading my Bible to discover if that doctrine of predestination is taught.” “Well, do you find it in God’s Word?” quietly asked Mr. Hillston. “I think not, sir. On the contrary, I find all through it that man is a free agent.”