"And the queer part of it all," said Mrs. Lyman, "is that after he had been here a few days I must needs go and break my ankle, as if to test his skill as a surgeon. There is no loss, though, without some gain. Perhaps you will take pity on me and come oftener to see me because of my affliction. But you must sing the song now, and read the poem that I was cheated out of yesterday." After that they had a long talk. Esther's girl friends were never taken into such close confidence as Mrs. Lyman, and, if girls would but believe it, a wise, sweet-spirited, youthful-hearted old lady is a valuable friend for a girl to have. Who should know the dangers of the way so well as those who have just passed over it? "Your face has a shadow on it this morning, dear child," Mrs. Lyman said presently; "I like to feel that everybody is happy when I am so happy." Esther wanted counsel and comfort sorely, so she told her troubles. "Did I do wrong? Ought I to have gone with Mr. Langdon, do you think?" she asked. "Perhaps the wrong is further back than that. Did you wish to go, but thought it your duty to come here because you had promised?" "To tell the truth, I preferred coming here to taking a long ride," Esther said, laughing and flushing. "I enjoy bringing flowers here so much; perhaps I was selfish, and then, I did want to keep my promise." "Can it be that hearts have changed since I was a girl?" the old lady said archly. "What would have tempted me to stay at home when Eleazer asked me to go with him—anywhere? A long ride in the country! Why, that would have been blessed. Are you sure you care for this young man in the right way, dear—if I may ask you a plain question?" "Why, I don't know," Esther said, stammeringly. "I suppose I do. I try to." "My dear little girl," said Mrs. Lyman, "can you really think of marrying a person for whom you entertain such a vague uncertain affection?" "Why, that's the trouble," said Esther. "I don't really want to marry anybody ever. I wish I could be let alone, and not be perplexed about these things, and yet it is very pleasant to have people fond of you, and not feel alone as I do." "You poor little bud of a girl," Mrs. Lyman said, putting her arms about her, "you should not have been disturbed for a long time yet; you needed a mother to shield you; but you ought to be told that when the one God intends for you crosses your path you will not find it necessary to try to love him. You will, instead, have to pray God to keep you from making him an idol, and where he is, there you will wish to be. Marriage may be the highest state of earthly happiness, and it may be the bitterest bondage. Take care, dear child, how you take vows upon you that your soul revolts from. I believe much of the misery of this life is God's protest against the profanation of this holy ordinance."