herself, and in anguish of spirit prayed--

"Oh, my Father, sustain me! Give me light, strength, patience,
endurance. I am walking darkly, and the way is rough and steep. Let
me not fall. The floods roar about me--let me not sink beneath them.
My heart is failing under its heavy burden. Oh, bear me up! The sky
is black--show me some rift in the clouds, for I am fainting in this
rayless night. And oh, if I dare pray for _him_--if the desire for
his happiness springs from no wrong sentiment--let this petition
find favor--as he asked that I might be kept spotless as the angels,
so keep him; and after he has passed through the furnace, let not
even the smell of fire be upon him. Send him a higher blessing than
that which he has lost. Oh Lord, give strength to both--especially
to her whose voice is now ascending, for she is weakest, and will
have most to endure."

For a long time after the murmur of prayer had died on her lips,
Jessie remained prostrate. When she arose at last, it was with a
slow, weary movement, dreary eyes, and absent manner. The shock of
this meeting had been severe--disturbing her too profoundly for even
the soothing influence of prayer. She did not arise from her knees
comforted--scarcely strengthened. A kind of benumbing stupor
followed.

"What ails the girl!" said Mrs. Loring to herself as she vainly
strove at dinner-time to draw her forth into lively conversation.
"She gets into the strangest states--just like her poor mother! And
like her I'm afraid, sometimes, will make herself and every one else
around her miserable. I pity Leon Dexter, if this be so. He may find
that his caged bird will not sing. Already the notes are few and far