On one of these visits, after contemplating her despairing but most lovely face, and noticing that it grew visibly thinner, paler, and more shadowy, he took her slender hand and said:— “My child, I would not for the world seek to intrude upon your confidence; but your countenance too plainly betrays that you are the victim of some deep, consuming, almost incurable grief. Whatever that grief may be—and I do not seek to know—this dreary scene and lonely life is not the way to wrestle with it successfully; for it is overcoming you—you are dying under it.” “Were that all, indeed, that were well!” replied the lady mournfully. “Not so, my child; for life has duties. You have no right to drop the burden of existence; we must all first earn the Heavenly rest. You are not a native of this place, lady; for you there is no healing in these solitary scenes; you must arise and go hence; you have means; go into the crowded city; seek out the unfortunate with which the lanes and alleys are thronged—find the lost men, the wretched women, and destitute children; forget your own, in ministering to their greater sorrows.” “‘Greater sorrows’, good Heavens!” echoed Estelle, in mournful incredulity. “Yes! _greater_ sorrows! however great yours may be—I repeat that there are many, very many who all their mortal lives labor under greater sorrows. You—whatever your grief may be—have youth, health, beauty, intellect, education, competence, a conscience void of offense, and, above all, you are not ‘without God in the world.’ Your single sorrow is a disappointment, or a bereavement. That is all you probably have to suffer. But for many others,—to disappointment, and to bereavement, is added age, illness, famine, cold, squalor, the evils of ignorance, the remorse of guilt,—and under all the horrors of a practical atheism! Behold! I have given you a glimpse of an existing Gehenna, of which you had never heard or dreamed; but to which you will go as a ministering, and redeeming angel.” Estelle was deeply moved; pale and breathless she arose and placing her hand in that of the pastor, murmured faintly: “That is my work. I thank you for indicating it. I will go.” He laid his hand on her head— “Go! an unprofessed sister of charity, among the poor, the ignorant, the sick, and the prisoners. Go! hand-maiden of the Man of Sorrows, follow Him in works of mercy, and He will give you His ‘peace—not as the world giveth will He give it you.’ And so God bless you!” And the good old man departed.