"It was all right," she answered in low, sweet tones. "He was with me who has promised never to leave nor forsake those who trust in Him." "I knew He would be, and that was my consolation," Kenneth returned in moved tones. Then glancing about as they entered the house, "Where is Marian?" he asked. The mother explained that she had gone on an errand to a neighbor's half a mile away, and would not probably be back for an hour or more. Vashti was summoned, bade her young master welcome with tears of joy, and hastened to set refreshments before him. But he did them scant justice. His heart was too full of contending emotions to allow of much appetite, though he had not tasted food for some hours. Gazing upon the loved face he had not seen for years, listening to the well remembered tones of the dear voice that had been wont to soothe his childish griefs, to give the well earned meed of praise which was the highly prized reward of his boyish efforts to be and do all that was good, noble, and manly, he forgot to eat. She had much to tell of all that had occurred in the family during his absence, but her principal theme was the sickness and death of her husband. Kenneth listened with intense, sorrowful interest to her description of that last scene, and seemed to feel no surprise when she told of the joy and thankfulness with which she had parted from her heart's best treasure. He had risen from the table and drawn a chair to her side. "Dear mother," he said in faltering accents, taking her hand in his, "what a life yours has been! What but the grace of God could have sustained you through it all!" "Blessed be His holy name, it has always been sufficient for me!" she answered. "'Hitherto hath the Lord helped me,' and I am persuaded that He will help me to the end." A moment's silence, which Kenneth was the first to break. "Tell me of Marian, mother," he said. "She has grown? I shall doubtless find her greatly changed." "More perhaps than you think; the dear child has shot up into a tall, graceful, blooming girl, very sweet and lovable, in her mother's eyes at least, with a beauty that oftentimes makes me tremble for her future. Kenneth, Kenneth, the child will surely be sought in marriage, and what shall we do?" With the last words her voice took on a tone of keen distress and the eyes she lifted to his were full of anguish. "It must not, must not be!" he answered hurriedly, his brow contracting in a spasm of pain. "Mother, keep her secluded here with you; let her have no communication with the other sex, old or young." "Alas, I fear the utmost vigilance will not prevent it!" she cried, heaving a deep drawn sigh. "Oh, my darling, my darling, your mother's heart bleeds for you!" "Dear mother," he said, again taking her hand and speaking low and tremulously, "can you not cast this burden also upon the Lord?"