"God grant that you may not be disappointed," returned the lady, with a cordial pressure of the hand, and, as Margaret hastened out, her friend inwardly marvelled at the strong faith which, during a lifetime of neglect and cruelty, had sustained her poorer sister through terrible seasons of hardship and toil. Margaret Seymour had early left a Christian home to become the wife of a man, who, destitute of any real religion himself, soon commenced to mock and persecute the woman who had been induced to take a false step, hoping to win her husband to seek for himself the joys which were hers. But, hitherto, the hope had proved vain. Richard Seymour had sunk lower and lower, until, enfeebled in health by his drunkenness and follies, his family mainly depended upon the exertions of the wife and mother for daily bread. Still, Margaret's faith did not fail. If she worked incessantly all day long, and often far into the night, her prayers went up without intermission to the Throne of Grace. There had been a time when she had trusted the answer was at hand, for her husband had been induced to attend a small Mission Hall near by, and whilst there had been powerfully moved, and for a few weeks had given up some of his sinful pursuits; but just when Margaret and the friends from the Hall were beginning to rejoice over Richard as a "brand plucked from the burning," he fell back into his former habits. Margaret was sorely disappointed; but, casting herself again upon the faithful word of her God, she took up the cross apportioned to her, and went on her way in confident assurance of coming blessing. But for some weeks past her desire for her husband's salvation had intensified, and she had felt moved to pray with an earnestness that surprised even herself. Her cry became that of the patriarch: "I will not let Thee go, except Thou bless me." But no apparent result manifested itself. Indeed, Richard appeared to grow more hardened and desperate than ever, and it required all the grace and patience that Margaret possessed, to endure his continual cruelty with meekness. On the Saturday evening preceding the Sunday when she had expressed her conviction of a joyful termination to her anxious watching, a knock was heard at her door, and opening it, the kindly face of one of the workers from the Mission Hall was seen. "Is your husband in, Mrs. Seymour?" asked the man. "Yes," answered Margaret, in an undertone, "he's just sitting down a bit before going out for the evening; but come in and you'll catch him nicely." "Good-evening, Mr. Seymour, I'm glad to find you at home," were the words that caused Richard to look up in angry surprise. "Evenin'," he muttered by way of reply, without removing his pipe from his mouth.