thing to ask?" said Lilian, in a trembling voice. "To me there appears something fearful in approaching God. He is so high, so lofty. How can he regard individual cases and individual things?” "Jesus died that we may live. Will He not regard those He has purchased ?" asked Emily, her cheek glowing with the warmth of her feelings. "Ah, dear Lilian, it is not an angry God we are approaching-it is a loving Saviour! a tender Father! an elder brother! And He has given us so many invitations to ask; has so lovingly reproached us for not asking more; and is touched with the feeling of our infirmities,' that we cannot fear to tax such love and sympathy!" "I am not familiar, like you, with the Bible," returned Lilian, sadly. "It has hitherto seemed but a gloomy book to me. It is you who have awakened my interest in it," and she drew from under the pillow a little Testament, richly bound in gold and velvet. "You refer so often to the words of Jesus. Will you not mark a few of the places where He speaks thus, that I may read for myself?" And she turned away, after placing the book in Emily's hand, as though she had spoken with an effort, and lay with her hands clasped over her eyes. How gladly Emily took that little Testament from her and unfastened the golden clasp! How gladly, while the tears stole one after another from her eyes, so much so that she had almost to turn her back upon the couch and the fair invalid, did she mark passage after passage of the Saviour's words, praying as she did so that each word might prove as an arrow, bringing with it conviction to the heart of her who so truly seemed "passing away." She returned the little book into the thin hands with a kiss and warm pressure, exclaiming dear Lilian. "May God's own Spirit reveal His Word to you, He alone can make you contented and happy in any circumstances." "And now, dear Mrs. Owen, you will sing for me, will you not?" asked Lilian, pleadingly. "I heard you the other night, and your voice is so very sweet; it may perhaps be long before we have such another quiet time together." Emily willingly arose and opened the grand piano that stood at a short distance from them. The first few chords she struck sounded deliciously sweet, for the instrument was superb; but the words that united with the music were sweeter still. So it seemed to Lilian as she lay there hidden behind the drapery of a curtain, listening. "My God! my Father! while I stray, Far from my home on life's rough way, Thy will be done." Ah! but how hard to say it! "Teach me, oh my Father," were the words that half escaped her lips. And was not that prayer? Gilbert drove up the avenue, even as the last words of the beautiful hymn were echoing through the room. "I will go to him," whispered Emily, stooping with a farewell kiss to her friend; "you are too weak for more talking to-night. I am glad your brother is to return soon." The silent pressure of the hand and the returning kiss were all the response that could be made, and Emily left her thus. What an afternoon had she passed! How strange, how wonderful seemed the ways of God; and this was the proud Lilian Spencer! CHAPTER XVIII. THE LETTER-CARRIER. "Why so slow, Gentle and valuable spirit of the air? Oh! come and breathe upon the fainting earth How was it possible to be anything but hopeful after such an afternoon as that spent at Hawthorn Vale? Emily's faith in the promise burnt brightly, rose bravely. She began to realise more fully than ever the certainty of God's word, and felt her confidence deepened that it would not return void. She could hear nothing of Lilian, however, for several days. The excessive heat that followed, accompanied by scorching hot winds, searing, withering, burning, even among those hills,-what must it be with those on the Adelaide plains? How eager was she for intelligence from Hawthorn Vale! How much she wished she could see the fair invalid, before she left for the Bay! It was nearly a fortnight since her visit, that one rather cooler evening Emily sat out in the verandah with her work, taking the benefit of every tiny breeze, and enjoying the shade still left by the passion-flower and vine leaves, the latter wearing L yellow and red amidst their green leaves. Gilbert was in the parlour writing and studying, thinking but little of either breeze or heat just then. So earnest and engrossing were his thoughts, that he had probably forgotten even his little wife; she had crept so softly out of the room, leaving him to the full enjoyment of silence within, while she took the quiet of air and shade without. She had been working thus for some time, when the sound of a horse's feet made her look up, just in time to see the equestrian dismount at the gate, and recognise Hugh Spencer. He came up with his free, careless manner, looking very handsome, Emily could not help thinking, while she was almost sorry that he did, for Maggie's sake. Very glad and anxious was she to see him now, but a glance at his fair open face told her that he did not bring bad news. "I have taken up a new avocation, Mrs. Owen," he said gaily, lifting his hat. "I have neither the red coat nor the red collar of Adelaide to betoken my profession,-nevertheless, profession, nevertheless, I am a veritable bearer of news." And he searched one pocket and then another, slowly and deliberately, with a comical, amused look in his blue eyes, at the glance of curiosity and expectation lifted to his face. "You are not a proficient in your profession, Mr. Spencer, at any rate," said Emily smiling, and watching his pretended search; "our Adelaide postmen are men of speed." "A novice, maʼam; a new hand, that's all," laughed Hugh. "Oh! here is the missive, I verily believe! not quite large enough to fill a leathern |