"I can easily believe that," she said, with one of her smiles, which always made his heart so warm. "If I were not very good-natured I should reproach you with winning away Ethel's love from me. Isn't she a darling?" For answer he bent down and pressed a kiss on the warm, red lips held up so temptingly to his. The child at this minute had come into the room to bid him and Marion good night; having done so, she danced away again, hugging Frances, her favorite dolly, in her arms. "'Of such is the kingdom of heaven,'" murmured the pastor, his eye following her fairy-like figure; "and we are told that unless we are like them, we cannot be admitted to that glorious home." After a pause he added, "Eugene interested me deeply, but not at all in the way Ethel does. He is as full of mischief as he can hold; nothing ethereal about him. He is earthly even in his beauty, while Ethel seems just fresh from heaven. Dear child! I have learned many a lesson from her." "You have interested me deeply in your friends, Mr. Angus. I wish now I could stay another day at least, but I cannot." Recalling the business which sent her home so soon, there was an earnestness in her voice, as she repeated, "Oh, no, I cannot stay!" that rather surprised her hearer. Meeting the questioning glance, it was as much as the impulsive girl could do to check herself from saying,— "I go for your sake, to give you that which will restore peace to your heart." "But I hope to be so successful in my business that I can come again soon. I will ask Aunt Asbury to visit them, if you wish." "It is not a case of poverty,—at least I think not. The mother— she seems very young—needs sympathy and counsel; she would only take it from one she loved." He seemed to be urging a duty upon her, though he did not so intend it; and Marion grew excited, wondering whether she ought to write Dr. B— about Mary, and postpone her other business for another day. "I wish I knew which was my duty: I have set my heart on something. I ought not to have delayed it so long. I have been forgetful of a sacred charge, and I wish to atone for it as soon as possible." She gazed wistfully in his face, longing to give him a ray of the hope she felt almost sure was in store for him,—almost, not quite. "If, after all, I am wrong, and he is not the one, it would be inexcusable in me to excite hopes only to crush them." "Miss Howard," he began, unable to endure the sight of her distress, which by turns suffused her cheeks and blanched them, "can you not trust me to decide for you?" "In almost any other case but this, I could. It would be cruel to tell you now." She stood one moment, her hands tightly clasped, her eyes fixed on the carpet; then, with a sudden change, she looked smiling in his face as she said,— "Give me the exact direction to your protégé's, and I'll go to-morrow morning. I can write this evening to Dr. B—."