"She will yet return to us--our beautiful prodigal--our lost child," continued the old man, lifting his meek eyes heavenward. "We have waited long; but the time will come." "If I could only think so," said the woman, shaking her head drearily--"If I could but think so!" "I know it," said the old man, lifting his clasped hands upward, while his face glowed with the holy faith that was in him; "God has filled my soul with this belief. It has given me life when food was wanting. It grows stronger with each breath that I draw. The time will come when I shall be called to redeem our child, even to the laying down of life, it may be. I sometimes had a thought, wife, that her regeneration will be thus accomplished." "How? What do you mean to say, husband?" "How, I cannot tell that; but the God of heaven will, in His own good time. Let us wait and watch." "Oh! if she comes at last, I could be so patient! But think of the years that are gone, and no news, not a word. While we have suffered so much, every month, more and more--ah, husband, how can I be patient?" "Wait," said the old man, solemnly; "keep still while God does his work. We know that our child has committed a great sin; but she was good once, and--" "Oh, how kind, how good she was! I think she was more like an angel than any thing on earth, till _he_ came." "Hush! When he is mentioned, bitter wrath rises in my bosom; I cannot crush it out--I cannot pray it out. God help me! Oh, my God, help me to hear this one name with charity." "Benjamin--my husband!" cried the old woman, regarding the strong anguish in his face with affright, as his uplifted hands shook in their tight grip on each other, and his whole frame began to tremble. He did not heed her pathetic cry, but sat down again by the hearth, and with a thin hand pressed hard upon each knee, bent forward, gazing into the smouldering fire, gloomy and silent. The old woman stole one hand over his and pressed it gently. It returned no answering token of her sympathy, but still rigidly held its grasp on his knee. Again she touched his hand, and the loved name, that had been so sweet to her in youth, filled his ear with pathetic tenderness. "Benjamin!" He lifted his head, looked earnestly in her face, and then sunk slowly to his knees. With his locked hands pressed down upon the hearth, and his head bent low like one preparing to cast off a heavy weight, he broke forth in a prayer of such stern, passionate entreaty, that the very storm seemed to pause and listen to the outbreak of a soul more impetuous than itself. Never in God's holiest temple has the altar been sanctified by a prayer, more full of majestic eloquence, than that which rose from the hearth of the miserable cellar that night. The old man truly wrestled with the angels, and called for help against his own rebellious nature, till his forehead was beaded with drops of anguish, and every word seemed to burn and quiver like fire upon his meagre lips.