"God grant it! And yet the thought of her future makes me very unhappy." "She will not be lost, if she is not determined to lose herself. Even were all who now love her and tend her to be called away, all human kindness would not have died. And if she marks well the hand of God, and the way He would lead her, she will bless her blindness, which from her childhood upwards has kept her from the false glitter of the world, and brought her nearer to what is true." Clement interrupted the conversation. "You cannot think," he cried, "how beautiful the night is. I would give one of my eyes, if Mary could have it, to see this glory of the stars! I hope the noise of the waterfall does not keep her awake. I cannot forgive myself for letting her sit so long in the cold." "Speak lower, dearest son," said the mother; "she is sleeping close to us, and the best thing you can do is to go to rest too." Whisperingly the boy bade them "Good-night!" When his mother went into Mary's room, she found her tranquil, and apparently sleeping. That strange expression of her features had given place to a sweet tranquillity. The storm had passed over, and had destroyed nothing of the beautiful within her. Even shame and regret hardly made themselves felt, so powerfully reigned within her the joyous peace which had been preached to her from the neighbouring room. For the evil gains its influence over us slowly and creepingly; the victory of the good is soon decided. CHAPTER V. Her friends remarked with astonishment, the next morning, the change which had passed over her. The rector's wife could not but believe that Mary had overheard their conversation through the partition. "So much the better." said the rector; "now I shall have nothing more to say." Most moving was the lovingness of manner which Mary showed towards Clement and his parents. She wished for nothing more than to be permitted to belong to them. She received their love almost with surprise, as something to which she had no claim. She did not, indeed, speak much more than before, but what she said was cheerful and kindly. There was a deprecating shrinking expression about her whole being, as if she was silently entreating forgiveness. She took Clement's arm again when they walked. She often begged that she might be allowed to sit down and rest, not that she was tired, but in order to leave the boy in freedom to clamber where he would. She smiled when he returned and told her all that he had seen: her old jealousy had disappeared since she had begun to demand nothing more for herself than the happiness of knowing him happy.