His will, in readiness to His wisdom. Ye are learning the lesson
speedily, as docile children should; and be assured of high reward from
the Teacher who hath set it you. Poor Charles! white and wan, thy cheek
is grown transparent with anxiety, and thy blue eye dim with hope
deferred: poor Emmy, sick and weak, thou weariest Heaven with thy
prayers, and waterest thy couch with thy tears. Yet, a little while;
this discipline is good: storm and wind, frost and rushing rains, are as
needful to the forest-tree as sun and gentle shower; the root is
strengthening, and its fibres spreading out: and loving still each other
with the best of human love, ye justly now have found out how to anchor
all your strongest hopes, and deepest thoughts, on Him who made you for
himself. Who knoweth? wisely acquiescing in His will, humbly trusting to
His mercy, and bringing the holocaust of your inflamed affections as an
offering of duty to your God--who knoweth? Cannot He interpose? will He
not befriend you? For His arm is power, and His heart is love.

Days rolled on in dull monotony, and grew to weeks more slowly than
before; earthly hopes had been levelled with the dust; life had
forgotten to be joyous: there was, indeed, the calm, the peace, the
resignation, the heavenly ante-past, and the soul-entrancing prayer; but
human life to Emily was flat, wearisome, and void; she felt like a nun,
immolated as to this world: even as Charles, too, had resolved to be an
anchorite, a stern, hard, mortified man, who once had feelings and
affections. The rëaction in both those fond young hearts had even
overstept the golden mean: and Mercy interposed to make all right, and
to bless them in each other once again.

Only look at this _billet-doux_ from Charles, just come in, and dated
Plymouth: