CHAPTER XXIV.
NORMAN SINCLAIR'S LETTER.
Not only those above us on the height,
With love and praise and reverence I greet:
Not only those who walk in paths of light
With glad, untiring feet:
These, too, I reverence toiling up the slope,
And resting not upon their rugged way,
Who plant their feet on faith and cling to hope,
And climb as best they may.
And even these I praise, who, being weak,
Were led by folly into deep disgrace:
Now striving on a pathway rough and bleak,
To gain a higher place.
* * * * *
Oh! struggling souls, be brave and full of cheer,
Nor let your holy purpose swerve, or break!
The way grows smoother and the light more clear
At every step you take.
Lo! in the upward path God's boundless love
Supports you evermore upon your way:
You cannot fail to reach the heights above
Who climb as best you may!
EUDORA S. BUMSTEAD.
Doris sat alone in the shelter, after Bernard had left her, in a state of unhappiness so great that she could not even weep.
"All is over between us," she sighed, "and Bernard has gone away in anger. How wretched it is! Nothing could be more wretched! Nothing! I am the most unfortunate girl in all the world!" And she sat with her pale face turned towards the sunlit waves, watching them and yet in reality seeing nothing except her own utter misery. What had become of all her prayers, she wondered--the prayers which she had poured out to her Heavenly Father from a sorrow-laden heart?
He had saved her from starvation, and placed her in a position of great temporal prosperity; yes, but what about her previous many, many prayers for Bernard, for their mutual reconciliation and union when a part at least of the debt was paid, and for the happy and useful married life which they had once planned together on the hill at Askern, and for which she had so often longed and prayed?
"I have done my best," thought Doris, "and have tried to serve God all the while. The thought of Him was ever in my heart, and I gave up my prosperous little business--all that I had--in obedience to His Voice, speaking to me through Norman's words and my own conceptions of what I ought to do. I cast my all into His treasury: and all the time--every day--I prayed for Bernard--and for our future together--until--until I was led by circumstances to believe that he did not love me. And since then--since then everything has gone wrong, and I seem to have lost hope and faith in God and man."
She was in despair. It was the darkest hour of all her sorrowful young life, and she could see no gleam of light in any direction.
How long she sat thus she never knew, but it seemed an immense time before she heard the cheerful voice of Alice behind her saying brightly, "Doris! Doris darling, we have brought you good news!"
"There is no good news for me," answered Doris, without turning her head, and the two who loved her were aghast at the hopelessness of her tones.