“Not only for mission maidens,” said Robin; “surely it holds good with mission couples. What a helper you are to Harold! You cheer him in trouble, you share his joys, you work amongst the wives and daughters of those whose worst hindrances are in their homes. You break away the thorns that would wound your husband, you strengthen his hands in the Lord, you sharpen his weapons for fight. You make Harold realize the truth of that word from Scripture—_A prudent wife is a gift from the Lord_.” “May you also prove its truth one day, dear Robin,” said Alicia, with a smile of gratification. Robin flushed till his very brow was suffused with crimson. Had his sister guessed the secret which he thought that he had so carefully concealed from all? “Alicia, I can speak on one subject more freely to you than I can even to Harold,” said Robin with an effort. “You know that I can earn something now—enough, more than enough, for two with simple tastes, who live out of the world as we do, who care not for earthly show, who ask but for daily food and raiment, and a humble place in God’s vineyard. Do you think, dare I hope, that I could make Miranda happy?” “You had better ask that question of herself,” said Alicia, smiling. “I see that the kahars are setting down her doli in the veranda. Suppose that you help her out, and leave me undisturbed to finish my wedding-day cake.” Robin went readily enough; and yet his heart beat faster than it ever had done in a moment of danger, and he experienced more of fear. He felt as if all his earthly happiness were staked on the issue of one brief interview with one around whom every fibre of his loving heart was twined. We will not record the conversation which passed in the veranda of “Paradise.” Before it was ended, Mr. Hartley and Harold, with baby Robin perched on his father’s shoulder, had come through the connecting doorway which had been made between the bungalows, and joined Alicia, who had just completed her cake. “Where is our good brother?” asked Harold. “Is he at his composition at this holiday time?” “Robin is beginning his life-poem, I think,” observed the smiling Alicia, glancing towards the veranda. The words were yet on her lips when Robin, his face beaming with happiness, came in, leading one who was indeed to him _a gift from the Lord_. And here we leave the Hartleys, rich in the joy which is multiplied tenfold by having God’s blessing upon it. Robin’s playful words came true: he _did_ marry a bride who went to church in good strong boots instead of in satin slippers. Miranda proved a good and loving wife, an active, devoted worker for God. Mr. Hartley was a shrewd observer and a clever judge, but he never was able to decide the question which often presented itself to his mind: which was the better daughter, worker, and wife—the young convert from heathen darkness, or her fair sister, HAROLD’S BRIDE.