After a while the game ended, good-nights were exchanged, the party dispersed, doors were closed, and all grew silent. While Edna wrote on, an unexpected sound arrested her pen. She listened, and heard the slow walk of a horse beneath her window. As it passed she rose and looked out. The moon was up, and Mr. Murray was riding down the avenue. The girl returned to her MS., and worked on without intermission for another hour; then the last paragraph was carefully punctuated, the long and difficult chapter was finished. She laid aside her pen, and locked her desk. Shaking down the mass of hair that had been tightly coiled at the back of her head, she extinguished the light, and drawing a chair to the window, seated herself. Silence and peace brooded over the world; not a sound broke the solemn repose of nature. The summer breeze had rocked itself to rest in the elm boughs, and only the waning moon seemed alive and toiling as it climbed slowly up a cloudless sky, passing starry sentinels whose mighty challenge was lost in vast vortices of blue, as they paced their ceaseless round in the mighty camp of constellations. With her eyes fixed on the gloomy, groined archway of elms, where an occasional slip of moonshine silvered the ground, Edna watched and waited. The blood beat heavily in her temples and throbbed sullenly at her heart; but she sat mute and motionless as the summer night, reviewing all that had occurred during the day. Presently the distant sound of hoofs on the rocky road leading to town fell upon her strained ear; the hard, quick gallop ceased at the gate, and very slowly Mr. Murray walked his horse up the dusky avenue, and on toward the stable. From the shadow of her muslin curtain, Edna looked down on the walk beneath, and after a few moments saw him coming to the house. He paused on the terrace, took off his hat, swept back the thick hair from his forehead, and stood looking out over the quiet lawn. Then a heavy, heavy sigh, almost a moan, seemed to burst from the depths of his heart, and he turned and went into the house. The night was far spent, and the moon had cradled herself on the tree-tops, when Edna raised her face all blistered with tears. Stretching out her arms she fell on her knees, while a passionate, sobbing prayer struggled brokenly across her trembling lips: "O my God! have mercy upon him! save his wretched soul from eternal death! Help me so to live and govern myself that I bring no shame on the cause of Christ. And if it be thy will, O my God! grant that I may be instrumental in winning this precious but wandering, sinful soul back to the faith as it is in Jesus!" Ah! verily-- ... "More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore let thy voice Rise like a fountain for him night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats, That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves, and those who call them friend?"