There was a murmur of surprise mingled with commendation, and everyone agreed that Mrs. Lute had done well. Certain it was that she had acted from the best possible motive—consideration for her fellow-creatures. She was one of the kindest of women; and the thought that she might do harm to a weaker brother or sister by allowing stimulants to be used in her household had never crossed her mind, until she had visited at Greystone, and the master of the house had unfolded his new principles to her. Thinking the matter over quietly afterwards, she had seen that he was right.
And now it is time for us to say good-bye to this little village by the Cornish sea. But we will linger a moment to take a farewell glimpse of those whose lives we have followed for one short year as they are gathered together one Sunday evening in the old grey church. The Vicar has finished his sermon, and has given out the hymn with which the service will be brought to a close, and in another minute the congregation is singing "Abide with me."
Margaret, from her position by her mother's side, can easily distinguish Salome's clear, bird-like notes, and Josiah Petherick's deep, bass voice; and as she joins in the well-known hymn, her soul rises to the throne of God in a fervent prayer of thanksgiving and joy. The church is growing dim and shadowy in the evening light; but the black shadow that threatened to ruin the happiness of two homes has fled; and there is no cloud on Margaret Fowler's fair face, whilst the lame girl's voice has a ring of triumph in its tone as she sings the concluding words of the beautiful hymn—
"Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me."
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