In her unworthiness she felt as if she could have sunk at his feet and kissed the hem of his garment. She bowed her once haughty head to receive his parting benediction, and hurried out.
Sitting in her room that night, she sank down to pray for the first time in years—almost for the first time in her life. Fervently, earnestly was that prayer offered; and a calmness, a peace hitherto unknown, stole into her heart. In the sighing of the wind she seemed to hear an angel voice softly saying, "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest;" and dropping her forehead in her clasped hands, she sank down in the calm light of high, bright, solemn stars, and meekly murmured:
"Hear me, oh, Lord!"
CHAPTER XXII.
THE SUN RISES.
"Radiant daughter of the sun,
Now thy living wreath is won,
Crowned with fame! Oh! art thou not
Happy in that glorious lot?
Happier, happier far than thou,
With the laurel on thy brow,
She that makes the humblest
Lovely but to one on earth."
Mrs. Hemans.
