assistance, carried her to a sofa in another room, and applied stimulants with but little effect.

"The best thing we can do is to get the lady home," he presently said; "that is, if it is not too far distant."

"Only at Ashley's-you know him; she is his sister-Mrs. Owen," said Hugh. "I will drive her, if you will accompany her, doctor; my wife is there."

And so, with the assistance of one of the servants, Emily Owen was enfolded in shawls and carried out to the phaeton, and there placed reclining in the doctor's arms, with barely sufficient consciousness to be aware of where she was. Hugh drove rapidly to town, and the handsome greys he drove soon brought them to Mrs. Ashley's door.

Poor Emily, from ministering she had now to be. ministered to. Carried fainting into the house and straight to bed, it was well that she was not alone in her little Glen Ness house. Well that she was among kind loving friends, and that the wee Rosie was so well cared for, for to that night's illness succeeded days of heavy sickness. The babe of a few hours was carried away in a little white coffin, while yet its mother was lingering between life and death.

CHAPTER XLIII.

RETURN.

"There's a magic in soothing the wearisome hour;
Pity rears up the stem, and Hope looks for the flower."

How many scenes of sorrow, and agony, and bereavement, are passing every day in this large world of ours, of which we are little cognisant. How many hearts are bowed down to the very dust in despair; how many bosoms rent with anguish that we wot not of. The houses around us, had they indeed their "fronts off," would reveal many a sad, a touching tale. What, then, of the hearts! Happy, indeed, is it to know that One is cognisant of allto One all is revealed, and that He has comfort for the mourner, joy for the sorrowing, and for the upright gladness of heart.

All that remained of our sweet Lily had been committed to the grave-"Dust to dust;" but it was but the cage that lay mouldering beneath the sod, for the freed spirit was on high, rejoicing in its freedom, and in its haven of rest, glad to leave the poor perishing cage behind, and lay for ever in the bosom of its God! So

Calm on the bosom of thy God
Fair spirit rest thee now;

E'en while with us thy footsteps trod,
His seal was on thy brow.

Dust to its narrow house beneath,

Soul to its home on high;

They that have seen thy look in death,

No more need fear to die.

No, surely, those with thy trust, thy faith in the finished work of Christ, in the efficacy of that blood that cleanseth from all sin, sweet Lilian, have indeed no cause to fear the approach of death. It comes to them only as the porter unbarring the gates of eternal life, revealing the "mansion prepared," the home in the heavens, and the "Lamb the light thereof." Death is no foe to such, but a true friend, come he in whatever glowing colours or sombre garments.

And so our Lily had entered into perfect rest; but there were sorrowing hearts left behind, hearts that would not be comforted, though the softening effects of sorrow were beginning to tell on the parents' hearts. They clung more closely, with the same blind love, to their only remaining child; and out of the abundant love they bore to him, they graciously received his little wife, bestowing upon her some of the love that should have been Lily's. To them Hawthorn had lost all charm, and one of Mr. Spencer's first acts was to bestow it, just as it stood, upon his son.

"Your mother and I shall never care to be up there alone now, Hugh," he said, one morning, after Maggie had been acknowledged as a daughter.

"You and your wife can build up a home there, but Adelaide will do better for us to pass our remaining days in."

And thus our little Maggie became mistress of Hawthorn, beautiful Hawthorn Vale, with all its wealth of floral beauty without, all its graceful luxury within. Endeared it was to Hugh by a thousand remembrances of happy days between himself and Lily, endeared by many specimens of her care, and love, and skill. He was not sorry to have such a home to introduce his bride to; far different to the homely one he had prepared. He loved Glen Ness, and disliked Adelaide; he had no pleasure in a town life, for he had grown up in the midst of country scenes and country employments, and delighted in them. His father knew this, and was perfectly satisfied with his own decision, prompted secretly as it had been by his lost Lily.

And Maggie took to her new honours with a timid modesty that went far to establish her position in the family. With Hugh she felt she could be happy anywhere, now especially that she could perceive signs that indicated serious and troubled thought; signs that betokened future good, like the clouds in the distance, laden with precious rain-drops. She wished sometimes that he would speak up what he felt, but that would come by-and-by. Oh! did she deserve so much at her Heavenly Father's hand, when she had yielded so greatly to earthly influence and so much to earthly affection?

Her heart trembled with the excess of her joy. She feared lest it should pass away, or prove only like the "baseless fabric of a vision." If Hugh,

her beloved Hugh, was becoming a Christian indeed, would not every wish be gratified?

Maggie was yet in town, passing daily much of her time with Emily. The sight of that meek suffering face somewhat qualified her joy; and perhaps it was as well that it should be so, for she was still a child of earth, and there are bitters mingled with every cup that the happiest must partake of. And so Maggie's happiness, that would beam brightly in her face, became sweetly tempered by Emily's couch of pain and weakness. There she learnt how weak it is possible to become, and how patient in weakness.

Emily was, however, gradually recovering, gradually regaining strength, under the fostering care of loving friends. But there was one for whose presence she fervently longed, whose continued absence troubled her. "When would Gilbert be back?" was a question she at length asked her brother, one lovely spring afternoon, when all without was gay and bright, and the warm sun stole in through the green blinds, making all gay and bright within. Well, I suppose it is about time, little sis. You want him, do you? Have patience a little

longer."

"How much longer?" said Emily, with a sigh, turning away to hide the tears that would come, for she was still very weak.

"Might be a day or so, might be less," said her brother, laughing slyly as he left the room.

"It's my opinion, dear Mrs. Owen," said Maggie, coming forward and kissing the tremulous lips"it's my opinion that Mr. Owen will come very soon