Could one marvel if a feeling of faintness crept over the gentle Sarah, or that a beseeching look set the seal upon the awful stillness that followed? Her face grew first scarlet, then very, very white. Uncle Joseph’s voice sounded strange in her ear. She feared she should fall, but as the tones grew clearer, something else impressed her. “Sarah, thee has a more receptive spirit than my own. I have sometimes longed to see aright in regard to the formation of a closer bond with thee, and I rejoice that through my own ill-chosen speech thee has been led to point the way.” He took her trembling hand between his own, and smiled down upon the sweet but tearful face; then her lips were opened, the pain went forever out of her heart, and she whispered only: “Dear Joseph.” But her trial was not quite over. We were already summoned to the dining room when Uncle Joseph and Sarah Sidney entered the door together. I glanced about me, and was certain that I saw more than one look of satisfaction exchanged by the company present. The moment of silent blessing was past. My mother moved as if to begin serving the soup, but she caught Uncle Joseph’s eye, and awaited his slow words: “Dear friends,” he said with a little tremor in his voice, “rejoice with me, for to-day has our beloved Sarah Sidney revealed to me the message that the Lord has given into her keeping.” He paused, and with a flush brightening her soft cheeks Sarah asked calmly: “Joseph, will thee kindly explain thyself?” I never knew him to do anything so well as he now related to us the manner in which he had obtained an insight into the secret knowledge of Sarah Sidney’s heart. As he ceased speaking, her own rhythmic tones filled the room in tender thanksgiving to the Lord for his gift of companionship, and this has evermore remained in my memory as one of the most beautiful supplications I have been privileged to hear. MY GRANDAME’S SECRET. Almost a hundred years ago, there was born into a staid Quaker household a child whose very physique set at defiance all the rules of the orderly family. The father, Daniel, and the mother, Lucretia Chester, were fair, colorless persons, and the brown hair of the latter was severely banded beneath her clear muslin cap. One can imagine the tinge of dismay that must have clouded the fatherly affection for his firstborn, when Daniel perceived that the babe was a dimpled, dark-eyed daughter, whose wealth of raven locks fell into soft rings about her brow.