At length, Mrs. Brown grew tired, for her ill-temper had this quality-- it was vehement, not slow and irritating, the infliction ceased--Rachel remained alone. Mrs. Brown had taken possession of the room that had once been Rachel's. Thomas Gray slept in the back parlour; and in order to remain within reach of aid, Rachel slept on the floor of the front room. In this room it was that Mrs. Brown had left her. Softly Rachel went and opened the door of her father's room; it was dark and quiet; but in its stillness, she heard his regular breathing--he slept, and little, did he know how much that calm sleep of his cost his daughter. She closed the door, and sat down in her own room; but she thought not of sleep; the tempter was with her in that hour. Her heart was full of bitterness--full even to overflowing. On a dark and dreary sea, her lot seemed cast; she saw not the guiding star of faith over her head. She saw not before her the haven of blessed peace. The words "Thy will be done," fell from her lips; they were not in her heart. Nothing was there, nothing but wounded pride, resentment, and the sense of unmerited wrong. In vain, thinking of her tyrant, Rachel said to herself, "I forgive that woman--I forgive her freely." She felt that she did not; that anger against this pitiless tormentor of her life smouldered in her heart like the red coal living beneath pale ashes; and Rachel was startled, and justly, to feel that so strange and unusual an emotion, anger against another, had found place in her bosom, and that though she bade it go, it stayed, and would not depart. To be gentle is not to be passionless. The spirit of Rachel had been early subdued, too much subdued for her happiness; but it was too noble ever to have been quenched. It still burned within her, a flame pure and free, though invisible. But now, alas! the vapours of earthly passion dimmed its brightness: and it was darkened with human wrath. Through such moments of temptation and trial all have passed; and then it is, indeed, when we are not blinded by pride, that we feel our miserable weakness, a weakness for which there is but one remedy, but then it is a divine one--the strength of God. That strength Rachel now invoked. _De Profundis_, from the depths of her sorrow she cried out to the Lord, not that her burden might grow less, but that her strength to bear it, to endure and forgive, might increase eyen with it And strength was granted unto her. It came, not at once, not like the living waters that flowed from the arid rock, when the prophet spoke, but slowly, like the heavenly manna that fell softly in the silence of the night, and was gathered ere the sun rose above the desert.