"Is it not a comfort to think that we cannot get away from the ever-present watchfulness of God? As the Psalmist puts it: 'Whither shall I go from thy spirit, or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.' Yes, yes, my friends, 'God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear--'" Somehow, what the minister said after that came very indistinctly to Chester Lawrence. He heard the words, but was aware only of a peculiar feeling, a dim perception of where he was and what he was hearing. There seemed to him to be a genuine feeling in the voice that uttered those beautiful words of scripture. They clung to his heart, and the minister himself became transfigured for an instant into some other being,--stern of countenance, yet loveliness in the depths of his soul, spiritually far away, yet heart yearning with nearness of love. Chester came fully to himself only when Elder Malby took his arm and together they paced a few turns around the deck. That same Sunday evening as Chester stood alone on the promenade deck watching the moonlight lay as a golden coverlet on the placid sea, his attention was attracted to the figure of a girl mounting the steps leading to the deck where he stood. She paused half way as if to rest, then came slowly up to where he was standing. Her breath came heavily, and she looked around to find a place to rest. Chester instinctively took her arm and led her to a deck chair. "O thank you," said Lucy, "I--my heart bothered me pretty badly that time. I am forbidden to climb stairs, but I couldn't find you on the lower deck." "Did you wish to see me?" asked Chester. "Yes; I--you'll not think me over bold, will you, but I had to find you--won't you sit down here--I can't talk very loudly tonight." Chester drew a chair close to hers. A light wrap clung about her and the moonlight streamed on head and face. The young man, in the most matter-of-course-way adjusted the wrap to the girl's shoulders as he said: "You are not well, tonight." "Oh, I'm as well as usual--thank you." She smiled faintly. "Will you forgive us?" He was about to reply, "Forgive you for what?" but he checked himself. Somehow, he could not feign ignorance as to what she meant, neither could he use meaningless words to her. "We were very rude to you yesterday, both father and I; and I wanted to make some explanations to you, so you would understand. I am so sorry."