a wife, are under a sacred obligation to regard the authority
committed to your husband by God."

"Have I not just said to you," returned Mrs. Howland, "that I was on
God's errand? Does your authority go beyond His?"

"When did He speak to you?" There was a covert sneer in the tone
with which this half impious interrogation was made.

"I heard his still, small voice in my mother's heart," replied Mrs.
Howland, meekly, "and I went forth obedient thereto, to seek the
straying child you had so harshly and erringly turned from your
door: thus does God shut the door of Heaven against no wandering one
who comes to it and knocks for entrance."

"Esther! I will not hear such language from your lips!" There was an
unsteadiness in the voice of Mr. Howland, that marked the effect his
wife's unexpected and searching words had produced.

"Then do not seek to stand between me and my duty as a mother," was
her firm reply. "Too long, already, have you placed yourself between
me and this duty. But that time is past."

As Mrs. Howland uttered these words, she passed across the room to a
window, which she threw up, and leaning her body out, looked
earnestly up and down the street. For a reaction like this Mr.
Howland was not prepared. He was, in fact, utterly confounded. Had
there been the smallest sign of irresolution on the part of his
wife--the nearest appearance of weakness in the will so suddenly
opposed to his own--he would have known what to do. But nothing of