Goldie rushed from the house, as from the den of a serpent, with a determination never to enter it again. The reed on which he had leaned had pierced him to the heart, all that he had hoped for once had been attained only to make him more wretched. Vanity of vanities was written upon what he had most loved! And yet what right had the worldly man to complain! He had taught his children to break the Fourth Commandment, could he wonder that they disregarded the Fifth: he had lived all his life in rebellion and disobedience to his Heavenly Father and dare he hope to find affection in his own children! Evils were thickening upon him—troubles unsanctified, and therefore intolerable. The ruin of Mat gave the finishing stroke to the misery of his unhappy mother. She lay on her death-bed, broken-hearted, desponding! Goldie had seen one son cut off in the flower of his days, another was dragging him down to poverty and shame, the third, his darling, the pride of his soul, had inflicted on the heart of his parent perhaps the deepest wound of all. Sickness, bereavement, and far sharper poverty had visited the home of Viner; but to him every evil had brought forth good, every evil was certain to end in joy. In the words of the suffering apostle, he could say, "Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory!" But oh! The bitterness of spirit of him who has lived for the world, and sought nothing beyond, when he finds at last that his idol is but dust and ashes? With regret for the past, disappointment in the present, and no hope to brighten the future—only age, and the grave, and the judgment before him—he, indeed, is tasting of the dregs of life—is reaping a harvest of woe! Poverty may rouse industry, sickness show forth patience, sorrow increase submission—death lead to glory—Sin is the one great evil to be feared. O Lord!— "DELIVER US FROM EVIL." [Illustration] CHAPTER IX. "For Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory." THE hail was falling fast, drifted by the piercing wind which howled in the chimneys, and seemed to shake the dwelling. "I wish that my father had come back," said Nelly, as she returned again from the little gate whence she had been anxiously watching for her parent. "Our good clergyman will keep him under shelter," said Walter, "he will not be back till this hailstorm is over!" "I almost dread his return," sighed Nelly. "I know that I ought to wish him success in his endeavours to procure that situation for you in London—and yet—" "You feel, surely, that it is right that I should go?" "It is right, Walter," replied the girl. "To remain here in E— would be only to suffer with us, not to help us. If it should please Heaven that you should return—if you should over come back—." She could not go on, but turned her head aside to hide the tears that would have their course.