“Doubtless you are right, Eunice,” he then said, speaking in a subdued voice. “Something of this I have heard before, but it never impressed me as it does now. I never _felt_ that it was true. Fifty or sixty years is nothing to an eternal existence. The things of time are, therefore, of small moment, compared to the things of eternity; and the wealth of this world dross compared to heavenly riches.” The eyes of Eunice were filled with tears as they turned with looks of happy affection upon the face of her father, and her voice was half broken as she said, “To be able to see and feel this, father, is a great attainment, and not dearly bought, even at the price you have paid for it.” “Perhaps not,” he replied. “The price has certainly been large.” “Now it appears so; but the time will come, I hope, when the price that has been paid will seem really insignificant, compared to the good it procured; nay, I am sure it will come.” “I trust it may, Eunice; but it has not come yet,” said Mr. Townsend, again sighing deeply. His natural affections still clung to the good things of natural life, while his perception of spiritual things, seen clearly only for a few moments in the light of his daughter’s mind, were but dim and confused. Still, there had been some progress. The uses of misfortune had been, to some small extent, realized. CHAPTER XVIII. MORE SACRIFICES. “I met your old sweetheart to-day,” said a young friend to Rufus Albertson. “Ah! who was she?” “Miss Townsend.” “Indeed!” “Yes; she looked badly; poor thing! Her proud old father would not say much to the contrary if you were to renew your acquaintance in that quarter. I think you were lucky.” “Do you?” “Yes; I don’t believe he is worth a copper.” “You are mistaken; he is rich.” “Rich!” “The richest man I know.” “Didn’t he lose every thing he had by the failure of the United States Bank?” “Not by any means.” “Oh, but I am sure he did. He’s been doing a small commission business, and, to my certain knowledge, has lost several valuable consignments, because he was unable to make advances. They came to our house.” “That may be, and yet Mr. Townsend not be so very poor. I happen to know that he possesses a treasure of priceless value.” “Not transmutable into gold, I presume. No doubt there are a good many others rich in the same way. You mean in his children--in this daughter of whom we were speaking, perhaps.” “Yes, that is what I mean. No man who has a child like Eunice Townsend should be called poor.” “Really! I was not aware that your inclinations lay in that direction. I presume you will find no difficulty in obtaining the hand of Eunice, if such be your desire.” “Where did you see Miss Townsend?” asked Albertson. “I saw her coming out of Trist & Lee’s auction store. A strange place for a young lady to be seen; don’t you think so?”