It was indeed greater than he knew, for Id had concluded never to speak again of her terrible secret. God had forgiven her, and nothing was to be gained by any reference to a subject that had become inexpressibly painful. "Remember," said the staunch and faithful old man as they were about to drive away, "nothing good lasts unless built up from the Author of all good. Unless you act on this truth you'll find yourself in the desert again, and all you are now enjoying will seem like a mirage."
Poor Mr. Mayhew could not endure to lose a moment of his daughter's society, for the long thirst of years was to be slaked. They took a round-about way home, and the summer evening deepened into twilight and dusk before they approached the hotel.
"See, father, there is the new moon, and it hangs over your right shoulder," cried Ida, gleefully.
"It's over your right shoulder, too, and that thought pleases me better still. I wish I could make you very happy. Tell me what I can do for you."
"Take me to New York with you to-morrow," said Ida, promptly.
"Now you are trying to make a martyr of yourself for me. You forget how hot and dusty the city is in August."
"I'm going with you," she said decisively, "unless you say no."
"I'm going to spend part of the time with you until your vacation begins next month, and then we'll explore every nook and corner of this region."
"There Ida, say no more to-day. My cup is overflowing now, and the fear is already growing that such happiness won't last—can't last in a world like ours."
"Father," said Ida, gently, "I've found a Friend that has promised me more than present happiness. He has promised me eternal life. He is pledged to make all seemingly evil result in my final good. How it can be I don't see at all, but I'm trying to take him at his word. You must not worry if I'm not always in good spirits. I suppose every one in the world has a burden to carry, but I don't think it can crush us if our Saviour helps us carry it. My faith is very simple, you see; I feel I'm like one of those little children he took in his arms and blessed, and I'm sure his blessing is not an empty form. It has made me love and trust him, and that's all the religion I have or know anything about. You must not expect great things of me; you must not watch me too closely. Just let me take my own quiet way in life, for I want my life henceforth to be as quiet and unobtrusive as the little brook that runs through Mr. Eltinge's garden, that is often in the shade, you know, as well as in the light, but Mr. Eltinge lets it flow after its own fashion; so you must let me. I'll always try to make a little low, sweet music for you, if not for the world. So please do not commence puzzling your poor tired brain how to make me happy or gay, or want to take me here and there. Just leave me to myself; let me have my own way for awhile at least; and if you can do anything for me I promise to tell you."