The light had not yet come to the poor soul that felt itself afflicted past endurance and could find no reason for such pain. It could not be said that Elizabeth bore her trouble better than other girls would have borne theirs under like circumstances. She fretted and grew thin, and dashed herself wildly against the inevitable, only reproaching herself for her selfishness and want of submission when she looked at her father's care-worn face. But then came a time when light and peace revisited the wrecked heart,--when confused reasonings no longer beset the poor weak brain and filled it with dismay and doubt,--when the Divine will became her will, and there was no longer submission, but a most joyful surrender. And no one, and least of all she herself, knew when the darkness was vanquished by that clear uprising of pure radiance, or how those brooding wings of peace settled on her soul. From that time, every human being that came within her radius was welcome as a new object of love. To give and yet to give, and never to be satisfied, was a daily necessity of life to Elizabeth. "Now there is some one more to love," she would say to herself, when a new acquaintance was brought to her; and, as the old adage is true that tells us love begets love, there was no more popular person in Hadleigh than Elizabeth Middleton. She had something to say in praise of every one; not that she was blind to the faults of her neighbors, but she preferred to be silent and ignore them. And she was especially kind to Mattie. In the early days of their intimacy, the young vicar would often speak to her of his sister Grace and lament their enforced separation from each other. Miss Middleton listened sympathetically, with the same sweet attention that she gave to every man, woman, and child that laid claim to it; but once, when he had finished, she said, rather gravely,-- "Do you know, Mr. Drummond, that I think your mother was right?" "Right in dooming Grace to such a life?" he said, pausing in utter surprise at her remark. "Pardon me; it is not her mother who dooms her," returned Miss Middleton, quickly, "but duty,--her own sense of right,--everything that is sacred. If Mrs. Drummond had not decided that she could not be spared, I am convinced from all you tell me, that Grace would still have remained at home: her conscience would have been too strong for her." "Well, perhaps you are right," he admitted, reluctantly. "Grace is a noble creature, and capable of any amount of self-sacrifice." "I am sure of it," returned Miss Middleton, with sparkling eyes. "How I should like to know her! it would be a real pleasure and privilege; but I am very fond of your sister Mattie, too." "Fond of Mattie!" It was hardly brotherly, but he could not help that incredulous tone in his voice. How could such a superior woman as Miss Middleton be even tolerant of Mattie?