Morning after morning, Dr. Eben and Hetty went together out of the chamber, and stood in the open doorway, watching the crimson dawn on the eastern hills. At such times, the doctor felt so near Hetty that he was repeatedly on the point of saying again the words of love he had spoken six months before. But a great fear deterred him. "If she refuses me once more, that would settle it for ever," he said to himself, and forced the words back. One morning after a night of great anxiety and fear, they left Sally's room while it was yet dark. It was bitterly cold; the winter stars shone keen and glittering in the bleak sky. Hetty threw on a heavy cloak, and opening the hall-door, said: "Let us go out into the cold air; it will do us good." Silently they walked up and down the piazza. The great pines were weighed down to the ground by masses of snow. Now and then, when the wind stirred the upper branches, avalanches slid noiselessly off, and built themselves again into banks below. There was no moon, but the starlight was so brilliant that the snow crystals glistened in it. As they looked at the sky, a star suddenly fell. It moved very slowly, and was more than a minute in full sight. "One lighthouse less," said Dr. Eben. "Oh," exclaimed Hetty, "what a lovely idea! who said that? Who called the stars light-houses?" "I forget," said the doctor; "in fact I think I never knew; I think it was an anonymous little poem in which I saw the idea, years ago. It struck me at the time as being a singularly happy one. I think I can repeat a stanza or two of it." GOD'S LIGHT-HOUSES. When night falls on the earth, the sea From east to west lies twinkling bright With shining beams from beacons high, Which send afar their friendly light. The sailors' eyes, like eyes in prayer, Turn unto them for guiding ray: If storms obscure their radiance, The great ships helpless grope their way. When night falls on the earth, the sky Looks like a wide, a boundless main; Who knows what voyagers sail there? Who names the ports they seek and gain? Are not the stars like beacons set, To guide the argosies that go From universe to universe, Our little world above, below? On their great errands solemn bent, In their vast journeys unaware Of our small planet's name or place Revolving in the lower air. Oh thought too vast! oh thought too glad: An awe most rapturous it stirs. From world to world God's beacons shine: God means to save his mariners! Hetty was silent. The mention of light-houses had carried her thoughts back to that last night at "The Runs," when, with Dr. Eben by her side, she had watched the great revolving light in the stone tower on the bar. Dr. Eben was thinking of the same thing; he wondered if Hetty were not: after a few moments' silence, he became so sure of it that he said: