A bright blush mantled the young face, and a light beamed from the deep blue eyes, illumining the whole countenance, which Madeline did not care to be wholly revealed, for she dropped the lids hastily, lest the eyes should speak too much. The Saturday school assembled before Roland returned to New York. On a visit to Effie, he had the pleasure of being present at one of these gatherings. Madeline was much embarrassed, and could scarcely proceed with her work in his presence. Understanding her feelings, he said, kindly, "Is there anything that I can do, Miss Madeline?" "If you will make the opening prayer, I should be pleased. I use our forms of prayer, but I would rather hear yours to-day." Roland poured forth a simple, heart-felt, earnest prayer, remembering all the members of that household, as well as the children kneeling around them. Madeline had never heard him pray, and when he named her as the young teacher of the little flock, she felt that more earnestness marked those petitions, and deeply was she moved by the glowing language of that solemn supplication. He took Effie's class, and although apparently engrossed by the employment of the hour, watched with deep emotion the humble, affectionate manner with which Madeline performed her duty towards her young pupils. He did not wonder at their interest, when he glanced at the earnest glow of her lovely countenance, nor at the reverence of the young faces, when he listened to the simple instruction which she endeavored to impart. At the close, Madeline took her seat at the piano, and played one of her childish hymns, in which they all joined; then the bunch of flowers, as usual, was the kind dismissal. "Please, ma'am, granny is very bad with the rheumatiz," said little Betsy Smith; "she wants you to come and see her." "I will come to-morrow, Betsy." "And please, ma'am," said another, "daddy broke his leg last week; won't you stop at our house?" Madeline blushed as she saw the expression with which Roland regarded her, as she answered the humble petitioners. "God bless you, Miss Madeline, in your good work," said the young man, as he warmly pressed her hand; "but this is a novel kind of school in a young lady's sitting-room, in the midst of flowers and music, and such teachers." "Our accommodations are not suitable, we know; but we hope for something better some of these days." "The children will be sorry to move away from this," was the quick reply. "But we can teach so few in this room, and we might as well have more." Roland was more pleased than he could express with all that he had seen, and when he took his departure, his last words were, "God bless you, Miss Madeline, and do not forget another book." CHAPTER XX. OUT IN THE LIGHT. It is a bright and beautiful day--Madeline looks tenderly upon the drooping invalid reclining upon the couch in her pleasant sitting-room. "Will you walk this morning, Effie? the air is so pure and fresh, it will revive you."