Through all these anxious, weary days and nights, in the midst of her duties,—and they were onerous,—Mrs. Cheriton was supported by the thought, "God will help me: he has promised to help those who ask him." In after-days she used to say, "I seemed to be living in a dream. Whenever the thought of Mr. Alford came into my mind, or the recollection of his vague suggestions recurred to me, I shivered, while my cheeks burned like fire. Then the conduct of Geenie, ungovernable and unloving, continually reminded me of another precipice from which I had been drawn back. "On the other hand, I wondered at myself, at the sweet peace which at times filled my soul. How good God has been to me! How kind, how loving, how tender! Sometimes when Geenie slept I found time to read a few verses in the Bible. I found verses written expressly for me: 'Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.' 'For he knoweth our frame, he remembereth that we are dust.' I could scarcely believe that these precious words were in God's own book. I put in a mark and read them again and again." But it was impossible for such a radical change to take place in Mrs. Cheriton without the fact becoming visible to those about her. Even before her mother noticed anything, the servants talked about it. "She must believe he is going to die," one girl said to another, "else she wouldn't speak so kindly, and thank me as she does." The first thing indicating a change noticed by her mother was one morning, when the chamber-girl, having put everything in order, had left the room, Juliette came from the adjoining chamber with a smile on her face. Approaching the bed, she kissed her mother, saying, softly,— "Geenie is asleep. If you like, I'll read to you," laying her hand on the Bible as she spoke. "Thank you, dear. That would indeed be a pleasure." "Where shall I read? But here is your mark in St. John's Gospel." In a low, and, to her mother, inexpressibly sweet voice, she read the last words of Christ to his disciples, frequently pausing as she read, as though applying the precious words to her own case. Mrs. Douglass lay with her eyes fixed on the pale countenance of the reader, wondering what made her so beautiful. The rich bloom had gone, the dark eyes no longer flashed; but never had there been such a serene smile wreathing the lips. It seemed to indicate an inward peace. At last, Juliette, raising her eyes from the book met her mother's gaze fixed intently on her. "Can I do anything more for you, dear?" she said, rising and leaning over the bed. "O Juliette! If you could, if you would, pray: we need help so much."