joy and peace that had not been hers in the brightest hour of
worldly pleasure. It was not so hard, with this new-born love and
trust, to see the grave close over that dear mother. It was gilded
with the light of that day when "we shall rise again."

In these hours of bereavement Vida's heart went out with a longing
cry for her husband. The love that she had stifled and called dead
was there, deeper and purer. Now that she had been brought by this
divine mystery unto full sympathy with him, he was the one soul on
earth whose love she craved.

Perverse human heart! Here she was, no one to control her actions,
possessed of wealth, youth, beauty, freedom to journey to other
lands, and revel in the grand and beautiful of nature and art, yet
the one only thing she desired, or that would satisfy, was to creep
back into the niche she had filled in that other heart, that large,
pure soul that she had thrust from her in her wicked folly and
blindness. Now she would devote her life to searching for him, if
indeed he were still living, and the doubt brought a keen pang; or
had he, too, thrust her out and barred the door, so that she might
never more enter? Or--worse than death--had he given the place to
another, as she bade him do? It was a weary search, with this
terrible uncertainty shrouding it. She advertised in mystical
language, so none but he could comprehend it. She examined the church
records of the denomination with which he was connected, but found no
clue there.

She attended conventions where large companies of ministers were in
session, and eagerly looked them over, hoping and praying that her
eyes might fall on that one that her heart asked for. It was growing