"Does the length of its roots alter the kind of the plant?" she asked. "Do we not know in all nature and history that God likes to see things grow? That must be the best way. It may be the only right way. If that ring was given to my mother against the time when the last child of her race should find herself otherwise helpless, would the fact that the provision was made so early turn the result into a mere chance meeting of necessity and subsidy? Am I bound to call every good thing I receive a chance, except an angel come down visibly out of the blue sky and give it to me? That would be to believe in a God who could not work His will by His own laws. Here I am, free and hopeful--all I needed. Every thing was dark and troubled yesterday; the sun is up to-day." "There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood leads on to fortune," said the doctor. "I begin to fear you mean what you say, Mr. Faber. I hoped it was only for argument's sake," returned Miss Meredith. She did not raise her eyes from her work this time. Faber saw that she was distressed if not hurt, and that her soul had closed its lips to him. He sprang to his feet, and stood bending before her. "Miss Meredith," he said, "forgive me. I have offended you." "You have not offended me," she said quietly. "Hurt you then, which is worse." "How should I have got through," she said, as if to herself, and dropped her hands with her work on her knees, "if I had not believed there was One caring for me all the time, even when I was most alone!" "Do you never lose that faith?" asked the doctor. "Yes; many and many a time. But it always comes back." "Comes and goes with your health." "No--is strongest sometimes when I am furthest from well." "When you are most feverish," said the doctor. "What a fool I am to go on contradicting her!" he added to himself. "I think I know you better than you imagine, Mr. Faber," said Miss Meredith, after just a moment's pause. "You are one of those men who like to represent themselves worse than they are. I at least am bound to think better of you than you would have me. One who lives as you do for other people, can not be so far from the truth as your words." Faber honestly repudiated the praise, for he felt it more than he deserved. He did try to do well by his neighbor, but was aware of no such devotion as it implied. Of late he had found his work bore him not a little--especially when riding away from Owlkirk. The praise, notwithstanding, sounded sweet from her lips, was sweeter still from her eyes, and from the warmer white of her cheek, which had begun to resume its soft roundness.