"I have been wanting to see you, ever since my inopportune proposal yesterday," said he in a low tone,--"to make my peace with you." "It is made, sir," said Faith, giving him a smile. "How do you do to-day?" "Very well!" she told him. The doctor listened to the sound of her voice, and thought with himself that as regarded the moral part of her nature the words were certainly true. "Let me have the pleasure of relieving you of that,"--he said, taking Faith's little Bible gently away from her. "I am going your way. Miss Derrick--you spoke yesterday of particular work to be done on Sunday. Have you any objection to tell me what you meant by it? I confess to you, your words are somewhat dark to me. That is my fault, of course. Will you give me light?" It was a gentle, grave, quiet tone of questioning. "Others might do it far better, sir," said Faith. "I would far rather hear it from you!" The colour came a little into Faith's cheeks, but her words were given with great simplicity. "The other days are taken up very much with the work of this world--Sunday is meant more particularly for the work that belongs to the other world." "And what is that? if you do not object to tell me. I confess, as I tell you, I am ignorant." She forgot herself now, and looked steadily at him. "To learn to know God--with whom we have so much to do, here and there;--to learn to know his will and to do it, and to bring others to do it too, if we can.--And if we know and love him already, to enjoy it and take the good of it,"--she added a little lower, and with a softening of expression. Dr. Harrison read her look fixedly, till she turned it away from him. "And are these what you call pleasant things?" said he somewhat curiously. But Faith's answer rang out from her heart. "Oh yes!"-- She stopped there, but evidently not for want of what to say. "You are a happy thing," said the doctor, but not in a way to make his words other than graceful. "I wish you would make me as good as you are." She looked at him, and answered very much as if she had been speaking to a child. "God will make you much better, Dr. Harrison, if you ask him." He was silent a minute after that, without looking at her. When he spoke again, it was with a change of tone. "You are of a different world from that in which I live; and the flowers that are sweet to you, belong, I am afraid, to a Flora that I have no knowledge of. What, for instance, would you call pleasant things to talk about--if you were choosing a subject of conversation?" Faith looked a little surprised. "A great many things are pleasant to me," she said smiling. "I am sure of that! But indulge me--what would you name as supremely such, to talk about?" "If they are talked about _right_," said Faith gently, "I don't know anything so pleasant as those things I was speaking of--what God will have us do in this world, and what he will do for us in the next."