subdued rays in azure, violet and crimson tints which fell athwart the
eastern pews and garnished the marble font and the finely carved
pulpit. They fell upon the silvering hair of the Reverend Doctor
Schoolman as he pronounced the invocation and read the opening hymn,
but they failed to reach the young stranger, seated behind, who
accompanied him this morning.

Faultlessly in their usual current ran the services until the time for
the anthem by the choir, and then the people settled themselves
comfortably in their pews with expectant faces and ears slightly turned
to catch every strain from the well-trained voices in the gallery
behind. This time the selection was from Mendelssohn and a soprano
voice began alone:

"Oh, for the wings, for the wings of a dove!
Far away, far away would I rove!"

Clear, pure and true, the sweet voice floated through the church. With
dramatic sympathy it yielded to the spirit of the melody and the pathos
of the words. It touched hearts with a sense of undefined sorrow and
longing. Madame Chapeau, the French milliner, who rented a sitting in
the church of her patrons, sat with eyes filled with tears that
threatened to plough pale furrows through the roses of her cheeks.

"In the wilderness build me a nest,"

suggested the sweet voice. Two weeks in a lonely country place had
been far too long the summer before for Madame, and a wilderness was
the last place she desired. But the plaintive song touched a
sentimental chord and answered every purpose. Mr. Stockman, who sat