Violet, close at his side, regarded him with pitying eyes. "I fear you suffer a great deal, sir," she said, low and feelingly, when Mary, her next neighbor, had introduced them. "Yes, a good deal, but less than when I came." "Then the sea air is doing you good, I hope." "I'm thankful to say I think it is. There's an increase of pain to-night, but that is always to be expected in rainy weather." "You are very patient, Mr. Moses," Mary remarked. "And why shouldn't I be patient?" he returned; "didn't Christ suffer far more than I do?" "And he comforts you in the midst of it all, does he not?" asked Mrs. Perkins. "He does, indeed, ma'am." "I have always found him faithful to his promises," she said. "And I," remarked another lady sitting near; "strength has always been given me according to my day, in the past, and I am glad to leave the future with him." "Humph! it's plain to be seen that you two don't know what trouble is," put in Mrs. Moses, glancing fretfully at her crippled spouse; whereat the poor man burst into tears. Vi's tender heart ached for him, and the countenances of all within hearing of the remark expressed sincere pity and sympathy. A child began drumming on the piano, and Mr. Moses sent a helpless, half despairing glance in that direction that spoke of tortured nerves. Vi saw it, and, as he turned to her with, "Don't you play and sing, my dear? You look like it, and I should be much gratified to hear you," she rose and went at once to the instrument, thinking of nothing but trying to bring help and comfort to the poor sufferer. "Will you let me play a little?" she said to the child, with look and tone of winning sweetness, and the piano-stool was promptly vacated. Seating herself, she touched a few chords, and instantly a hush fell upon the room. She played a short prelude; then, in a voice full, rich and sweet, sang-- "'O Jesus! Friend unfailing, How dear art thou to me! And cares or fears assailing, I find my rest in thee! Why should my feet grow weary Of this my pilgrim way; Rough though the path and dreary It ends in perfect day. "'Naught, naught I count as treasure, Compared, O Christ, with thee; Thy sorrow without measure Earned peace and joy for me. I love to own, Lord Jesus, Thy claims o'er me and mine, Bought with thy blood most precious, Whose can I be but thine! "'For every tribulation, For every sore distress. In Christ I've full salvation, Sure help and quiet rest. No fear of foes prevailing, I triumph, Lord, in thee. O Jesus, Friend unfailing! How dear art thou to me!'"* * I know not who is the author of these beautiful lines. Edward had made his way to her side as soon as he perceived her purpose. "You have left out half," he whispered, leaning over her, "and the words are all so sweet." "Yes, I know, but I feared it was too long."