"Surely, you will not refuse him that privilege?" cried the impetuous Kate, with visions of a romance unfolding in thrilling chapters before her very eyes.
"No, of course not," in a low tone, "but how shall I answer him?" The last was scarcely audible. It seemed almost as though she spoke to herself. With her forefinger she idly traced some hieroglyphics on her lap.
"What says your heart, my Lilybell?" asked Kate, softly, as she caressed the hand that was at liberty.
"'The prisoned bird doth ofttimes sing, but never at the bidding of its jailer,'" was the low reply, with a faint smile, but tearful eyes.
"Poor Lilybell; she can not bloom before her time. I can wait for her to open now, for I am close to her throbbing heart. Wait, dear Grace. Let us sit silently and ask the Father for guidance."
Sweet and solemn moment, when with one accord, they waited for the Spirit to pour out the full vials of love and wisdom. It was a precious time of sweet communion, of giving and receiving the best, a consecration of self to better efforts, higher aims, holier living; a baptism of strength and peace and lovely thoughts.
Grace had entered upon a new epoch. The past, with its longings and struggles, its loneliness and bitterness, was already fading into the background of memory like some dark, ill-favored picture, and in its place came the present, with its balmy atmosphere and dainty colorings, promising joy and peace. The morning looked fair. How would be the noon and eventide?
Ah, no questioning when you ask the Father's guidance! Have you not asked, dear heart?
Wait till the answer comes. Wait till the soundless message is delivered into your heart's safe keeping....
The last beams of the setting sun came through the window and bathed them in its red-gold glory. In her exalted mood, it seemed to Kate like a heavenly vision. She saw Grace glorified with a divine radiance, baptized with a new peace. White-winged angels hovered near, like pure thoughts personified. Every glinting sunbeam seemed a golden shaft of love.