_white_ rather than _light_, in the blue sky. It was a lovely evening;
the widow with whom they had lodged was not aware of their intention
until about an hour before their departure. She was very poor and
ignorant, but her nature was kind; and when Sarah Bond pressed upon
her, out of her own scanty store, a little present of money beyond her
stipulated rent, she would not take it, but accompanied them to the
little gate with many tears, receiving charge of a farewell letter
to the rector. "And haven't you one to leave me for the curate?" she
inquired. "Deary me! but I'm sure for every once the old gentleman
came when Miss Bond was so bad, the curate came three times; and no
letter for him! deary, oh, deary me!"

"Why did you not put me in mind to write to Mr. Lycight, Mabel?"
inquired her aunt, after the gate, upon which the poor woman leaned,
had closed.

Mabel made no reply; but Sarah felt the hand she held tightly within
hers tremble and throb. How did she then remember the days of her own
youth, as she thought, "Oh! in mercy _she_ might have escaped from
what only so causes the pulses to beat or the hand to tremble!"
Neither spoke; but Sarah had turned over the great page of Mabel's
heart, while Mabel did not confess, even to herself, that Mr.
Lycight's words, however slight, were more deeply cherished than Mr.
Goulding's precepts. They had a long walk to take that night, and
both wept at first; but however sad and oppressed the mind and spirits
maybe, there is a soothing and balmy influence in nature that lulls,
if it does not dispel, sorrow; every breeze was perfumed. As they
passed the hedges, there was a rustling and murmuring of birds amongst
the leaves; and Mabel could not forbear an exclamation of delight
when she saw a narrow river, now half-shadowed, then bright in the