"One of the chief beauties of this Christianity is that it goes into every thought and action," said Kate, thoughtfully, adjusting her hair. "Oh!" she added a moment later, "I forgot to give you the letter that came to-day." She pulled it out of her pocket all crumpled and gave it to Grace, who glanced at her name on the envelope and then grew white about the mouth as she hastily put it into her pocket, remarking in an ordinary tone, "It will keep a little longer." Little was said by either for some time. Grace was preoccupied and Kate furtively watched her face, for this was an unaccountable procedure, although occasionally Grace had been affected the same way before. She insisted on washing the dishes, and was glad indeed that she had it to do, while Kate poured her thoughts into music, feeling that she could best show sympathy for her friend by this, to her, most expressive way. As for Grace, she waited till she had quite finished her work and then sat down to read the letter. She well knew it was from Leon Carrington, a suitor, whom she had rejected on the plea that she wished to be wedded solely to her art. Pride had forbidden her being frank enough to tell him the real reason, caused by an impeachment made against his character, by one whom she implicitly trusted as a friend. Her bitter resolve was the result, and while it was true she loved and desired to spend her life in pursuing her art, she had compelled herself to think she loved it best, and so told him it was first choice. Hers was a proud, deep nature, and rather than admit that she had loved or could love one whom she considered unworthy, she cut the matter short by a decided rejection. It had cost her a mighty effort to come to this decision, and when she came out of the trial, she had lost her faith in all men. On all other points but this, Grace was sound and sweet in her general disposition, but any talk on marriage she would never tolerate even with Kate. This was the third letter he had written in the two years since he went away, and as in the preceding, he fervently begged her to reconsider. CHAPTER XXV. "Life hath its Tabor heights, Its lofty mounts of heavenly recognition, Whose unveiled glories flash to earth munition Of love, and truth, and clearer intuition: Hail! mount of all delights!" --_I. C. Gilbert._ "MARLOW, September ----.