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tain to be where emotion on both sides is deep and strong-Sir Mark was chilled by her tardy greeting, and his disappointment reacted upon her. Poor Mrs. Philipson's heart died within her, as she saw the cloud of estrangement between them. Both faces were now too well known and beloved, not to be easily read. In the charm of her new affection for Eve, in the discovery of so much in her character which was true and tender, the mother had indulged in hope that matters were altered for the better in her son's home; but the facts of the case stood now plainly before her in the changing colour, trembling voice, and timid eyes of the wife-in the absence of all those earnest in. quiries after home details, which show that that home is dear-in the lack of that eager outpouring of trifles which tells that we are secure of sympathy in the listener. Mrs. Philipson turned to her son, and soon began to descry that, even beyond any present sensations of disappointment, care sat heavy on his heart. She had not seen him for months, and could the better appreciate the change, which was unheeded by Eve, pre-occupied as she was, and almost afraid to look up. The hours lagged slowly by. They made great feint of delight in exhibiting some out-door improvements; but the hollowness of the gaiety was unmistaken. Secretly both mother and wife longed to know the duration of his visit, but dreaded to ask lest they should be told that it would be brief.
The pleasantest moment was when Eve was away for a short time, and Sir Mark, laying down his weary head upon the cushion of Mrs. Philipson's arm-chair, seemed glad for an instant to have no need of effort. His mother looked tenderly at the closed eyes and worn features pillowed beside her. Memories of childish days were with both, when that head was crowned with the glory of youth and hope, when only the weariness which follows pleasure bent it down to that familiar resting-place. Silver streaks shone now upon his dark hair, and lines were furrowed on the forehead and around the firm mouth. Mrs. Philipson watched him. She was one of those who had drank too deeply at the fountain of knowledge of God's truth and mercy, ever to pray that sorrow should be averted from those she loved. “It matters not,' she thought, so it but draw him nearer to his Lord ;' but earnest and solemn was her supplication that he might be strengthened to
bear it, that the lesson learned might be the lesson intended to be taught, that joy and suffering might be alike sanctified to him.
* This is pleasant, mother," he said at last, with a faint smile. 'I could fancy myself a child again, and free from all these cares. You know I always called you my 'rest.''
And I always told you of another and a better rest.'
Yes, which is to come.' "No, which one may
taste even here, although into its fulness we cannot yet enter. • Come unto me, and I will give you rest,' must have referred to some present fulfilment of the promise, although the perfect fruition is not yet.'
After a time she spoke again softly.
How thankful he was that her heart was with treasures laid up in Heaven, and that he need not fear to tell her how doubtful was his hold upon
those which had fallen to his lot on earth. He was not one to make partial confidences, and so in a few minutes she knew all his past anxieties and future perils. She heard him with very great surprise and con
Pecuniary annoyances had for years passed so completely out of her life, and reverses had seemed so improbable, that she could not fail to be startled. But she uttered no word of reproach or repining. Careless observers might have thought her insensible, s0 quiet was her voice, as she lightly swept her hand over his hair, and said softly
And so you are almost my own poor Mark again. Does Eve know?' she asked, after a pause.
You need not fear. I do not think she values riches in the least.'
Sir Mark raised his head quickly.
- You think not? That is my own impression too.
It was pleasant to have his conviction confirmed ; ' but why?' thought his mother.
"What I do dread communicating,' he proceeded, ' is, that after much deliberation, it is evident that either Mordaunt or myself must
No one less acquainted with the interests in question, or less free to act promptly, would do—and he has at once responded to the call. No time is to be lost, and he sails in three days after this. I am afraid this will
grieve poor Eve. She will hardly see him before he leaves; and besides the long absence which may be requisite, we cannot shut our eyes to the contingencies, the risk of the hurried journey at this season, the possible effect of the climate upon his constitution. After thirty the chances are said to be against
I hesitated to avail myself of his aid at such a possible sacrifice; but he has been so noble, so devoted, so resolved not to spare himself, that I could not shake his resolution. If she should take alarm at it all, how it will pain her!
Mrs. Philipson rejoiced even in that hour of perplexity to see that in her son's heart love for his wife was strong as ever. I am grieved for her,” she said at last, but I hope Mordaunt's departure will not be to Eve now the shock, the bereavement which it must have been before she was your wife.'
'I wish I could be sure of that,' Sir Mark murmured, sadly.
'I have learned to know her, I fancy, well during the last few weeks,' Mrs. Philipson continued, and I can confidently express my belief that this change of interests has come to her, as it does to so many.'