tain from whence Emily Owen seemed to draw such perfect satisfaction. "Yet, perhaps, after all," she thought, with a sigh, "the happiness has no such deep fountain. She is in the first few months of her married life, and people almost always seem happy then," she said, with a sigh. Surely, at any rate, Mrs. Owen cannot have had much to try her. If she had, would the same satisfied feeling remain ?" Poor Lilian! she was sceptical on any one possessing what she tried so vainly to obtain. Yet, having, apparently, so many opportunities for enjoying, satisfaction to her seemed like a myth, content a mere word; and yet how she longed after them! Unbelief stood in the way of her happiness-unbelief that receives not the testimony of others; and without Faith what can be done? Tupper says, and ah, how truly,— "Ye are told of God's deep love; they that believe will love Him: They that love Him will obey; and obedience hath its blessing. Ye are taught of the soul's great price; they that believe will prize it ; And prizing soul, will cherish well the hopes that make it happy." It was the simple, childlike, loving spirit Lilian needed; the faith that prostrates the soul at the feet of the Saviour, and leans on Him for all. Poor girl! amidst all the pride of birth, and wealth, and education, she was very, very ignorant of the things that "make wise unto salvation!" The meeting was dissolved. Slowly and lingeringly one after another of the little band prepared to go. At last they were all gone, and Emily went into the cool parlour, taking a small basket of work in her hand, to sit and wait the coming of her husband. Not that she expected him for two, or perhaps three, hours, but she preferred that room when she was alone; it was so pleasant; her flowers, her books, and music, were there; and the open windows permitted the sweet-scented night breeze to steal in and refresh her. A lovely night it was. The hills were bathed in moonlight, and how deep and rich were the treeshadows that fell on every hand. That pure, lovely moon, how cheering its light seemed to her; it was like the face of a friend, it was a companion to her, for otherwise she was alone; her little maid was so young, she thought it cruelty to keep her up, and she was already on her pillow, lost in the deep happy slumber of childhood. Emily stood at the window, looking out on the fair night-scene, listening to the shrill music of the large tree-beetle, and the softer cuckoo-like melody of the Mopoke, now and then mingled with a gush of sweetness from some aroused magpie, in its leafy bower on the opposite hill-side. Without, there was so much to arrest her attention, that she had not noticed what stood meekly awaiting her within. She had come into the room in the dark; but presently remembering the work in her basket, she turned and lighted her pretty soft-shaded lamp, and drawing the table closer to the window, seated herself comfortably in the large chair, taking in her hand a delicate strip of embroidery, over which she evidently lingered with much fondness. No doubt, gentle readers, it had a destination of its own. Turning once more to the window, after a few moments, to refresh her eyes with the beauty without, the basket on the ledge made itself visible. That basket! Surely she knew it quite well; the twisted osiers, she had so much admired; and as she sprang up to take it, visions of the fair donor rose up to memory. "Dear Lilian!" she exclaimed; "and oh! these lovely flowers! she has found out my passion for them, and so kindly gratifies it!" And tenderly, lovingly, she raised them from the top of the basket, revealing beneath the early peaches that lay resting their downy cheeks amidst bright vine leaves. Such a picture it looked! Could Lilian have seen her at that moment, she would have wondered more than ever at the exquisite enjoyment, the deep sense of gratified pleasure, her gift had most evidently given. But the flowers! they must have water; and rising from her admiration, Emily hastened to fill fresh vases with the limpid fluid. As she returned and untied the ribbon that bound the glorious blossoms together, the little note twisted among the leaves fell to the floor, and with a flush of surprise, Emily took it up and read its pencilled contents. "You were engaged, dear Mrs. Owen. I could not wait; I will come again for the basket. "LILIAN." And now, for the first time, Emily began to remember when the basket and its owner must have arrived; remember the open doors and windows; wondering how much Lilian had heard, and how K long she had stayed. The first recollection brought the quick flush to Emily's cheek, but that only lasted a moment. The next thought was one of hope, that she had lingered and heard how happily they were employed. "It was such a pleasant meeting. I enjoyed it so much; we all did. How happy it would be if, reading our enjoyment, Lilian learnt to seek it from the same fountain," she thought. Then the memory of her own prayer came to mind—how she had had Lilian Spencer in her thoughts while she prayed. Would that prayer be answered? Why should it not? She would hope on, pray on, and expect a blessing. Emily sat with her bright beautiful flowers, glad. dening her with their perfume and beauty, and her peaches rosily gleaming from their green leaves, ready to tempt her husband on his return. Busy as she was with her needlework and glad, hopeful thoughts, time had speeded away without her knowledge. She looked up in surprise, as eleven strokes, clear and bell-like, came from the pretty clock on the mantelshelf, and at the same moment, the opening of the little white gate and the sound of some well-known footsteps met her ear. "What! so busily engaged, Emmy, that you are oblivious to your husband's arrival?" asked Gilbert, at the open window, looking in with a bright smile. She was glad of it, though; he could see that. Glad too was she to relate to him the tale of hope, as they sat together over their late supper-even till the little clock gave forth its silvery strokes of midnight. CHAPTER XVII. THE WORM AT THE BUD. "These weary hours will not be lost, These days of misery ; These nights of darkness, tempest tost, THE little empty basket stood for days on the sideboard in the parlour, and its owner never came to reclaim it; neither could Emily obtain any news of her. She looked for her at chapel, but she did not. make her appearance. Her brother's visits were becoming, meanwhile, more frequent than ever; and by-and-by Emily was sorry to observe that he was joining the band of singers, not, as she verily believed, so much from a love of singing, as from a love of some one else very closely connected with it. Still there was nothing sufficiently tangible to allow of her speaking on the subject to Maggie, especially as she withheld her confidence. The mere fact of his joining the singers (almost conclusive as it was to her mind) was not proof positive, and it must be proof positive to permit expostulation. Very uneasy, nevertheless, she was about Maggie in her early Christian life, thus suddenly and insidiously exposed to temptation. It seemed to her like the blight in the young |