She followed where her pastor led--she sought the Saviour and found Him not far off. Here Margaret received her first deep religious impressions--impressions that not all the stormy waves that dashed over her after-life were able to efface. In religion she found her greatest, her sweetest, her only all-sufficient comfort. So it was in following the strong attractions of her spirit that Margaret gradually advanced until she became a fervent Christian. It was on Monday of the third week of Margaret’s visit that, just at sunset, Mr. Helmstedt arrived at Plover’s Point. And, reader, if you had been, however justly, angry with Philip Helmstedt, you must still have forgiven him that day, before the woe that was stamped upon his brow. His innocent daughter’s tempestuous sobs and tears had been healthful and refreshing compared to the silent, dry, acrid, burning and consuming grief that preyed upon the heart and conscience of this stricken and remorseful man. Scarcely waiting to return the greeting of the doctor and his family, Mr. Helmstedt, in a deep, husky voice, whispered to his daughter: “Come, Margaret, show me where they have laid her.” She arose and went before, he following, through the deep woods, down beside the grassy grave. “Here is her resting place, my father.” “Go and leave me here, my girl.” “But, my father----” “Obey me, Margaret.” She reluctantly withdrew, and left the proud mourner, who could not brook that even his child should look upon his bitter, sombre, remorseful grief. “I have killed her, I have killed her!” he groaned in the spirit. “I have killed her as surely as if my dirk’s point had reached her breast! I crushed that strong, high heart under the iron heel of my pride! I have killed her! I have killed her! I have killed her in her glorious prime, ere yet one silver thread had mingled with her ebon locks! And I! What am I now? Ah, pride! Ah, devil pride! do you laugh now to see to what you have driven me? Do you laugh to see that I have done to death the noblest creature that ever stepped upon this earth? Yes, laugh, pride! laugh Satan! for that is your other name.” Oh! terrible is grief when it is mixed with remorse, and more terrible are both when without hope--without God! They become despair--they may become--madness! It was late that evening when Mr. Helmstedt rejoined the family in the drawing-room of Plover’s Point. And his sombre, reserved manner repelled those kind friends who would otherwise have sought means to console him. The next day Mrs. Houston came to make another effort to recover her adopted daughter. Mr. Helmstedt met the bosom friend of his late wife with deep yet well-controlled emotion. He begged for a private interview, and, in the conversation that ensued, apologized for the necessity, and questioned her closely as to the details of his wife’s last illness.