"Ah, my dear maiden," said the Bishop, smiling somewhat sadly, "we shall have sorrow enough, never fear—quite as much as is good for us, without seeking or making any. I wonder if Mr. Penrose ever thought that with all the commands to rejoice, to be exceeding glad, to rejoice evermore, and so on, there is not one single direct command to mourn, in the New Testament. I would have you go on your way rejoicing. I would have you gather every flower which your Father plants in your path, and take delight in every innocent pleasure, because 'tis a gift from His hand. And even when trouble comes, as come it does to all, I would have you rejoice because you are in the hand of One who never afflicts willingly, and who is bound, by all His attributes, to bring you safely through." Much more he said, but this is what I remember best—what I am sure I shall never forgot as long as I live. I have felt all day as though a great burden which I had been trying to carry, but which was beyond my strength, had been suddenly lifted off, and I had been told to go on my way without it. When I came in, my Lady asked me if I had heard any good news, that my face was so bright. The Bishop preached for us in the chapel this evening. There was a great congregation—all the Fultons, and many other neighboring gentry, besides Mrs. Corbet and her son, all of whom were entertained at supper afterward. Lady Betty sat in her corner, only somewhat more out of sight than before, and I by her. The Bishop's text was out of the third of St. John's Gospel— "Whoso believeth on Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life." I shall never forget it while I live—so clear and plain was it, so full of beauty, and delivered with such eloquence, yet so expressed as that the youngest and simplest person present could take in somewhat of the doctrine. I saw many looks exchanged, mostly of approval, though Lady Jemima was evidently ill-pleased, and I thought Mr. Penrose somewhat dubious. As for my Lord, he slept through most of it, as he does at all sermons. I did not go to the supper table, but Lady Betty and I supped sumptuously in Mrs. Judith's room afterward—a great delight to the child, to whom every change is a treat. Mrs. Corbet came in to speak to her, and spent an hour with us talking about the sermon, which, she said, had made her young again. Mr. Corbet was here, but I did not see him, save for a moment, as he came to speak to me in the chapel. Poor Mr. Penrose looks very pale and downcast, but did give me a very kindly greeting, and a message from Mistress Parnell, whom he has begged to remain in the rectory and keep his house for him. "I thought you would have one of your sisters," said I, when he told me this bit of news.