And Carry Lamont did ask; asked with such earnestness of petition that the hearts of those around her were carried away with it. Emily's eyes were overflowing now, as she listened to the earnest entreaties for blessings on herself, and especially on her dear husband. Oh, would not God, the hearer of prayer, hear these prayers put up for them, even though from young lips? Yes, she felt He would, and that they should be blessed.

"Dear Maggie," she exclaimed, as Carry Lamont ceased, "here is a text for you—'Is anything too hard for the Lord?'" But Maggie only answered in sobs-she could not speak—and Emily, entreating in few, fervent words a blessing from their Heavenly Father upon their little assembly, concluded the meeting.

It was over. They had all gone, and Emily was alone alone to repeat again and again that last text to herself, in humility and love, "Is anything too hard for the Lord?"

CHAPTER XVI.

THE OUTSIDE HEARER.

"Will ye comfort yourselves in misery, by denying the existence of delight?

And from experience in woes, will ye reason that none are

happy?

Joy is not in your path, for it loveth not that bleak broad

road;

But its flowers are hung upon the hedges, that love a narrower way." TUPPER.

Ir had passed; the commencement, the dreaded commencement, of their little meetings was over, and Emily's faith was all the stronger for the trial. She no longer shrank from what had become an absolute duty, but prayerfully resolved, in the face of every difficulty, to go forward. Her husband more than encouraged her; he rejoiced with her, stimulating her to achieve; reminding her again and again of the Saviour's promise to be with those who meet in His name.

And the little meeting grew and prospered. Another and another were added to the number, till the little back sitting-room became well filled, and Emily had a full assembly to conduct. A few of the married women even requested admission amongst the number, but Emily would not hear of this.

It

was for the young people only, she said; and they would fail in courage, and would most likely cease to attend, if others more advanced in age and Christian life were admitted. And so she held on her way as ever, rejoicing in the increased attendance, and looking forward to good results.

One very warm evening, when there was a full attendance, they were under the necessity of having both doors and windows open to the widest extent. This they thought they could indulge in in safety, the house being so secluded, and so few visitors ever approaching it, particularly on Tuesday evening— for it had become pretty generally known how that evening was spent.

There was one visitor, who, of all others, they had least calculated on choosing that particular evening for a call; but she had nevertheless strolled out of her garden-gate with a little basket of fruit and flowers in her hand, as a gift to Mrs. Owen. Very slowly this visitor had walked over the hillside, just as the sunset was glowing in crimson upon it, and a soft little refreshing breeze shook the long grass and rustled among the thin oak leaves, rendering the walk very inviting.

She only knew that on Tuesday evening Emily was always alone-or, rather, that Mr. Owen was always away; and of any other arrangement or engagement she had heard nothing. So she was quietly rejoicing in another tête-à-tête, which, since the last, she very much desired-indeed, almost craved after; when the sound of many voices, sweet and harmonious, joining in sacred songs, brought her to a sudden stand, just under the verandah.

"What did it mean? To whom did the voices belong? Had Mrs. Owen given a party?" And she shrank within herself at the thought-shrank out of the possibility of sight, behind the door. Scarcely knowing what she did, or why she did so, she stayed and listened to the sounds within. It was

Emily's voice she heard, and the words she uttered fell soothingly on her ear:

"With me if of old thou hast strove,

And strangely withheld me from sin,
And tried, by the lure of Thy love,
My worthless affections to win,
The works of Thy mercy revive,

Thy uttermost mercy exert,
And kindly continue to strive

And hold, till I yield Thee my heart."

Once more the same melody arose, and was sustained till the end of the verse. Still Lilian moved not. She seemed rooted to the spot on which she stood, though for worlds she would not have been discovered. All again was hushed, but the silence was again presently broken by Emily's musical voice quietly reading that beautiful chapter from Isaiah, commencing—

"Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and ye that hath no money, come ye and eat. Yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price."

"Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not? Hearken diligently unto, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness."

"Incline your ear, and come unto me; hear, and your soul shall live.”

Lilian heard no more, though Emily continued reading. One word had arrested her attention, it so well described her own case. She could understand that well, the "spending labour for that which satisfieth not." Day after day she was doing this, working hard to meet with something to satisfy, and finding nothing. But the question of the text was, "Why do ye this?" and the injunction that followed was, "Eat ye that which is good." That good she had not yet discovered.

While she still stood in troubled perplexity, she recognised the soft voice in prayer. How quietly, yet how earnestly, she prayed that they might, none of them, seek to find satisfaction out of Christ. How warm her entreaties that Jesus would reveal Himself in the hearts of those who were yet afar off from Him; who were yet unacquainted with His beauty and loveliness, and who were yet seeking satisfaction in fading things. Lilian Spencer was evidently in the thoughts of the fair young minister's wife, though little suspicion had she that that same Lilian Spencer was an outside hearer."

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Not to be so any longer, though. It seemed to her that she had been already discovered, and as they again commenced singing, she crept softly away to the parlour window, and placing the little basket on the ledge within, having first twisted a tiny note, written in pencil, among the flowers, she stole very softly out of the garden gate, and slowly, slowly, turned homewards.

Turned homeward with the same unsatisfied feeling in her heart-the same gnawing grief within; but also with an intense desire to know more of the foun