It was at this juncture that good old Mr. Mellis had proved himself so true a friend to the almost broken-hearted mother, and the faith which had always been so precious to Margaret Duncan became even more so under the fostering guidance and help of the good Rector of St. Jude’s. By a fortunate turn of events it so happened that both Dr. Duncan and his son Magnus were able to accompany “little mother” to St. Jude’s on the evening of this last Sunday in Lent. It was a fine church, and there was, as usual, a full congregation, for people will rally round a consistent Christian man, such as Mr. Mellis. Were there more like him, we should less frequently hear the familiar remark, “such a poor congregation.” The service proceeded as usual until after the Third Collect, when the curate announced that “The words of the anthem would be found in the three hundred and thirty-second hymn.” There was a slight pause, and then the opening bars of Gounod’s “There is a green hill” rang through the church. Magnus Duncan drew a long breath of delighted anticipation. Presently the tones of a rich mellow contralto voice floated down the aisles and up to the vaulted roof of the building. It was a voice of rarest quality, powerful but sweet, and the singer sang as though her whole soul was wrapped up in the words and music. The tender pathetic verses seemed to have gained a new meaning when sung as Marielle Heritage sang them that night. Magnus craned his neck to get a glimpse of the singer, but she was almost hidden from view by the reading-desk, for she had taken a seat in the choir-stalls on entering the church that evening, and a mass of fair hair under a black hat was all that could be seen. On and on sang that glorious voice till the last verse was reached, and then with what tender insistence came the repetition of the words, “we must love Him too,” as if in pleading with a most precious child. Mrs. Duncan glanced up at her husband’s face, to see there an expression which it had never worn before, and one which made a glad hope spring up in her heart. As the last notes died away, a tear, noticed by the loving eyes that watched him, trickled slowly down the doctor’s face, and with a long-drawn sigh he sank upon his knees as the congregation knelt for the rest of the prayers. “For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters, and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes,” was the text of the curate’s sermon that night. He was only a young man, but very earnest, and Dr. Duncan could not help thinking that he himself, though so much older, was as a very child in comparison, with regard to spiritual things. Only God knew how fervently John Duncan prayed to be led to the “living fountains of waters” that night!