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It was so plain that what he said yesterday was true. Mind and body alike failing. My one earthly friend fast passing away from me, and going-whither ? Like the lightning's flash darted the thought across my mind: "If ye shall ask anything in my name, I will do it." Might I not ask for my beloved father too? Oh! sweet and precious words of Jesus!-perhaps that was my first actual realization of their exceeding preciousness. Hope and gladness rose amidst my sorrow and nerved me for my task.

But after a longer pause than usual, I said, "Papa, dearest, are you not very tired to-day? Would it not be better to rest your head? Tomorrow it will be better."

"I think I must rest, my child; put away the papers, I will try to sleep."

My heart ached at the desponding tone of his voice. I know he too plainly realized that no tomorrow of restored vigour would come to him. I darkened the window, made him comfortable with cushions, gave him his medicine, and then left him, as he preferred, alone. Then I was free to shut myself in my own room.

First I sat down for a few moments to collect my thoughts, but they were beyond my management; so I did as Conrad von Edelstein had advised me knelt and told them all to the Lord. Perhaps my trust was more in my teacher then, but I do not know. He had told me of one all-sufficient Saviour-of a God of love—a Father; of an enlightening and life-giving Spirit. He had pointed to a perfect sacrifice-a finished, accepted work-a risen and glorified Redeemer. He had spoken of a living Man at the right hand of God -feeling with the feeblest ones who believed in him-pleading for them-knowing, feeling, sharing their sorrows now as much as he did when he was himself a suffering, sorrowing Man on earth. He had shown me God's salvation was free-iree as une an we oreatne-not to be bought, or earned, or merited-only taken in empty, outstretched hands of need. That Jesus had done all; God had accepted him-was satisfied with his work; we had but to do and be the same. And as he spoke of these things, my soul had received them. I could not understand it; it was all so new, so strange, so wonderful—so different from anything I could have conceived. The

stamp of God's mind was indeed upon it. Bewildered and confused I felt, but I believed it, and rejoiced in the glad tidings.

But though my chains were off, and I had stepped from my dark prison-chamber, my limbs were feeble and my eyes weak from a life-long bondage. I had much to learn. Oh! it was so marvellously sweet to know there was a Friend to whom I could tell all my troubles-who cared to hear them. A Friend who could never change, never weary, never misunderstand; to whom my every thought was known; who knew my heart, not to judge it, not to condemn it, but to wash out all its defilement in the ever-flowing fountain of his own atoning blood. Very sacred is the remembrance of that first hour spent in the known presence of Jesus.

Then I took up Conrad's Bible, having first asked in simple trust that the right place might be shown me. It opened at the third chapter of the Gospel of John. Little as I knew of divine things, the historical portions of the Old Testament were, of course, familiar to me. I was at no loss to comprehend the allusion to the brazen serpent; and my heart glowed within me as I read of the mighty love of Him who so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever—whosoever, ah! infinite breadth of grace!" whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life;" and of him who came not" to condemn," but "to save." How true I felt it that men love darkness rather than light. How awful the responsibility of those who seal up the fountain of light and life from their fellows!

And then I read how they who simply receive this testimony "have set to their seal that God is true." And I rejoiced in the knowledge that my seal was set to it for evermore. Oh! desperate blindness of unbelief, that persists in giving the God of truth the lie!

On and on I read slowly, for the German language was not altogether easy to me-till the waning light obliged me to close the book. It was a small pocket edition-a mother's gift. But I had read the marvellous story of Sychar's well; the living words of the fifth chapter; the wondrous miracles and deep teachings of the sixth; and I had enough to fill my heart to overflowing.

I think Captain von Edelstein fully understood the meaning of my heartfelt "Thank you," as I returned him his book that night. My father naturally inquired what it was, and then I told him all. He listened in perfect silence, but when, in tones broken with emotion, I began to beg him too to believe in the free salvation, to receive Jesus and Jesus only as his Saviour, he stopped me with more of coldness in his manner than he ever showed to me.

"Hush, Léonie; that is enough! It is well, perhaps, that you, well that Conrad von Edelstein, should imbibe these principles in your youth, while the mind is fresh and the reason unexercised. I believe those who hold them find support in them in sorrow. I admit, the ideas are beautiful, and, for those who have the power of simply receiving them, exalting and comforting. But a man cannot unlive his life; cannot come down to an infant's capacity. Believe what you will, my child, so as it makes you, as you say, so inexpressibly happy. But do not expect me to share your new opinions; even could I think the truth I have been all my life seeking lay between the covers of the Bible, it would be too late now. Do not speak of this again."

For a moment a chill fell upon me; the tender words I had lingered over that afternoon,-"Ye will not come unto me that ye might have life,"rose in my mind. It was so sad to think any should refuse that love-so bitter that my own dear father should be of the number! But the thought of the listening ear and sympathizing heart above soothed me. I would tell Jesus. He would surely hear, and save my father before it was indeed "too late."

CHAPTER XI.

SUNSHINE AND SHADOW.

Clouds soon o'ercast our sunshine,
So beautiful, so bright,
And while we still admire it,
It darkens into night!
One sky alone is cloudless,
Where darkness enters not;
"Tis found alone with Jesus,
And Jesus changeth not."
F. WHITFIELD.

I MUST not dwell on the details of that happy week. Everything conduced to make it such. Contrary to my expectations, my father rallied

wonderfully-even came down-stairs and resumed his pen for some hours each day. We had no real annoyance from our uninvited guests; owing, no doubt, to their captain's orders, they never intruded beyond their allotted portions of the house, which were remote from our own. As I have said, the château was a large and rambling old place, and we only occupied a small part of it. Barbe, indeed, complained bitterly of the terrible inroads they made upon larder and cellar, and prophesied starvation for us in the future. But even she admitted they were not uncivil, though their pleasantries often greatly ruffled her dignity.

me.

And for myself all was brightness, without and within. That first morning's happy hour in the garden had its counterpart each day. I no longer lingered timidly, but went straight to the terrace walk where Captain von Edelstein always awaited The hour became two, and more some days. At that time he was at liberty, but after lunch he usually rode off at the head of his men, not returning till late in the evening. That he always spent in conversation with my father and with me, for after the first night he always contrived to draw me into it. Nor was the subject nearest to two of the three hearts present omitted. When Captain von Edelstein first introduced it, I trembled. my father did not resent it-though, alas! for my hopes, he met it but with cavillings and reasonings and sophistries. Doubtless it was well for me to learn how completely the sword of the Spirit could shatter all opposing weapons. And no other was used in those arguments.

But

But those morning talks were most precious to me, and every day the little Bible was in my possession till evening. It was so sweet, the two new friendships I had found together-the earthly and the heavenly. Those morning hours of close heart-intercourse were more than years of ordinary acquaintance. Shackled by no conventionalities. of etiquette or propriety-my life had been too isolated and simple for me to gain or require any knowledge of such things-I was perfectly free from all self-consciousness and scruples, and my heart opened like a flower to the dew, under the pleasant and refreshing influences of sympathy and kindness, and all that lends friendship its magic charm. The only cloud was the uncertainty how soon this would come to an end.

With the selfishness of happiness, I thought little of the sufferings of my native land, except when my friend told some tale of sorrow connected with them, or when they were otherwise brought to my notice. I lived in a sunny dream, knowing the waking must come soon, but resolutely shunning anticipation of it. I can scarcely fancy it was little more than a week I dreamt !

One afternoon-one of those clear, brilliant, crisp afternoons that are the great charm of autumn weather-I leaned over the little gate that led from the garden into the paddock, and thence to a footpath that wound first through a plantation, then up a steep ascent to the very top of the Colline Rouge, from whence a glorious prospect could be enjoyed. It was a favourite walk of mine, but for months I had not been able to go any distance from the house, both on my father's account and because of the unsettled state of the country. But this afternoon I felt an almost irresistible longing to breath the free, exhilarating air of the hill-top, and to see the country in its gorgeous autumn beauty. Well I knew the splendour with which it would be invested in the slanting rays of such a sun as was slowly sinking in the deep blue sky, flecked with snowy masses of cloud, lovely to look upon, but betokening, I knew well, a change of weather. If I did not go then, I should miss the sight for that year-it might be for ever! Captain von Edelstein had taken his whole band away with him that morning, so I was sure not to encounter any soldiers. A moment's hesitation, and I found myself rapidly ascending the rocky path with a keen sense of freedom and enjoyment-perhaps with a dash of excitement at the thought of possible danger.

Twenty minutes' eager climbing brought me to the top, my heart beating and my cheeks glowing with exertion. It was worth while. Never had I seen the old familiar scene more glowingly beautiful. Behind, and on each side, the hills stretched, ridge upon ridge, some in light, some in shadow, as the clouds now began to gather round in the west, tinged with various shades of gray, purple, blue, green, according to the different lights that fell upon them. To the left, half buried in the many-tinted woods, lay the little village of Drécy, crowned by the gray turrets and flaming windows of the Château de Maurence.

These I looked upon first, then I turned to the wide stretch of country in front. The blue air was so clear that for miles objects stood out with wonderful distinctness. Too great, alas! First my eyes only took in the wide expanse of plain, bordered by a distant mountain ridge; but as they gradually grew accustomed to the sight, and began by degrees to take in details, dimness spread over my vision-desolation over the beauty of nature. Rich woods, sunny fields, gleaming waters, radiant sky; all so fair to look upon,fairer, it almost seemed, than I had ever beheld them, but bearing now amidst their beauty the grim marks of the destroyer.

After the first wide glance across the broad valley, I sought instinctively a familiar and favourite point in the landscape, where the pretty village of Arlecourt stood on the sloping banks of a winding stream, its white cottages peeping through masses of thick foliage, forming an enchanting picture of rustic beauty and peace. I sought it, and found—a heap of blackened ruins

My heart stood still and my knees failed. Blindly I dragged myself a few yards, and sank down on a large stone in front of the crumblin remnant of wall belonging to the old castle, near which I had been standing. All rushed upon me,the misery-the desolation-the anguish-th:: awful realities of war. It was my first sight its cruel footsteps. And I had been so happy! It was long before I could look again. As I did so, a rushing sweep of wind brought with it a dull, deep, booming sound that made me shiver Far away I saw long files of soldiers, in dark uniforms, winding slowly along. My eyes, sharpened to acuter vision than usual, distinguished other vestiges of recent struggles. Fallen trees-heap of ashes-dead horses-broken bridges—and eve! and anon that terrible boom in the far distance In one place I saw black clouds of smoke rising. What scenes of agony and death were being enacted there?

A deadly sickness of soul stole over me as I gazed. And, as if to add to my impression of horror and dismay, large masses of clouds, which had been slowly gathering in the west, spread over the sun, and cast their heavy shadows like a pall upon the earth. The wind, too, always high in that exposed position, had risen, and now swept

But as he spoke, I felt my joy had not been purely spiritual.

round and over me with great violence-with that | sunshine and in shadow it is always your right and sobbing, wailing, shrieking sound, that heralds your privilege to rejoice and be glad in him." coming change of weather. But it seemed then to peal in my ears like the nation's wail over desolated homes and stricken hearts-like the deathangel's requiem over bloody fields of battle and of death. And I had been so happy!

True, Ah!

It

Again and again that thought recurred. I could not help, but I might sympathize. I was to be taught how-soon, very soon. grew cold, but I did not move till the rolling of a stone among the ruins behind me caused me to start up in terror, which increased when I heard footsteps and caught a glimpse of a blue uniform through a loophole in the old wall in front of which I stood.

Great was my relief when the figure of Captain von Edelstein advanced from behind. "Oh, it is you!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, it is I," he said, smiling; "I fear I have startled you. But, Mademoiselle Léonie," he continued very gravely, "why are you here alone, and so far from home? It is not wise-it is not safe! Excuse me, but you ought not, must not do so again!"

"I shall not want to," I said bitterly; "look there!" I pointed to the burnt village. "And listen, oh! it is terrible, terrible!"

He did not speak, but I knew how he felt about these things, and continued: "I could not help coming here this afternoon. I have so loved this spot, I longed so much to see it in its autumn beauty once more; and and I am not sorry I did. Oh, Captain von Edelstein! in spite of all you have told me, I have never realized the fearful truth of such things till now. I have been so happy-this last week, I mean-so happy, on the very threshold of agonies such as those ashes tell of! Oh! I have been so thoughtless-so selfish!"

"Nay, dear Mademoiselle Léonie, not thoughtless, not selfish. You have not, as you say, realized the horrors of war before. God grant you may never see them nearer! When God gives us sunshine, we do well to enjoy it—if it is indeed his sunshine and his gift, it will but strengthen us for the coming storm-and your gladness has been from him. Now he has shown you the suffering, he will give you the sympathy. But remember, in

"But oh!" I said; "how is it God lets such things be?"

"Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?" was the reply. "God is just; and God is love." "I see the justice. Men sin; wander, and sin, and forget him, and it is just they should feel the rod of his anger; but oh! where is the love? Many who suffer thus are innocent children and helpless babes; some must be his own people,-I cannot understand it. Yet that he is love, I know, I believe, I feel!"

There was a pause, then Captain von Edelstein said quietly "Look up, mademoiselle." I did so, first at the sky, then inquiringly at him.

"Look at those clouds opposite."

I did so. Large, dark, heavy masses, piled up, fold upon fold, of varied shape and tint-but all of sombre shades of leaden-gray and blackspread almost over the sky overhead and in front. A strip of pale, clear sky marked out the horizon in the west, and the edges of the stormy wrack were sharply defined in every part, and brilliantly illumined by the intercepted rays of the sinking sun; in some parts the radiance was dazzlingin all pure and silvery bright-forming a contrast of great beauty and intensity.

"It is grand-it is sublime," I said, after having gazed at the beautiful sight for some time, my companion remaining silent.

"But you do not see what it has to do with your question?"

"No, I do not.”

"Well, describe those clouds; looking up at them from earth, what are they like ?” "Darkness, confusion and gloom, are they not?" "But how do they look from above, on the other side?"

"Ah! I see all brightness above, all darkness below!

"Now I think you catch my thought. Yes; looking up from the earth, truly we see only the dark side-looking down from heaven, we shall see only the bright one. God's dealings are often to our view like that stormy mass of cloud,

dark, and mysterious, and impenetrable; no earthly light can pierce, no human wisdom comprehend them. But, behind the darkness, beyond the gloom, there is a glory of light our eyes could not bear to gaze on now-only faith sees the gleams on the edges, and knows there is the sun undimmed behind. What we know not now, we shall know hereafter. And for our now we have the pledge, 'Lo, I am with you alway,' and 'All things work together for good to them that love God.' Leave the hows, and the whys, and the wherefores, Mademoiselle Léonie! they are not for you-for us. Trust him; he is true: follow him ; he is love." "Ah! yes, I see now: we must not try to understand God's ways-we must wait till we are above the clouds, beyond the earth!"

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"To understand the meaning and end of all his dealings. Yes, Mademoiselle Léonie, but we can learn much of them under his teaching even here. Look at those hill-tops yonder !"

I looked where he pointed, and saw that the summits of the hills were bright with golden sunshine, while their bases and the valleys between lay deep in shadow, with the gray mist rising dull and thick from out of them.

"Those who stand on the mountain-tops, mademoiselle, catch the first and last beams of the sun-those who are in the valleys now, do not even know he is shining at all. Take your stand on the heights of faith, dear Mademoiselle Léonie, on which the bright rays of the Sun of Righteousness ever shine steadily; never linger in the valley of doubt, among the chilling mists of unbelief and despondence."

"Ah! I was in the valley of unbelief when you came just now, and I found it indeed a cold wretched place-my very heart was chilled. But now I feel the sunshine warm upon it again. Alas, how weak I am! But you have always help ready for me," I said, looking up at him gratefully.

There was a look of wistful, regretful sadness in his eyes that perplexed me, as he answered, after a short pause, "To God be the glory; but remember, mademoiselle, it is only as the mouthpiece of him who indeed knoweth how 'to speak a word in season to him that is weary,' at all times-in all circumstances-that I have been

able to do so. And he is always near. But now, mademoiselle, you must really let me take you down as quickly as possible. The rain is already beginning we shall barely reach home before it comes down in earnest. Can you manage the short path, or is it too rough?"

"Oh yes; I always use that one. I am good climber."

So we started at once. The road was too steep and stony and the wind too boisterously strong for conversation. But I know the rough road was easy with the assistance I had that evening. About half-way down the hill, a spur of the wood projected far out, the extremity of it coming almost to a point, and reaching within a few yards of the steep narrow sheep-track, rather than path, by which we were descending. We were walking more slowly, to recover breath after the hurried scramble down the almost perpendicular hill-side, but still quickly, as the sky was now completely overcast, and a damp promise of rain already in the wind. I had taken Captain von Edelstein's offered arm, to aid my struggles against the violence of the blast. The road was smoother now, but we went on in silence. The deep gloom and depression had passed from my mind. If sobered and saddened, I was now subdued and restful.

Glancing up into my companion's face, somewhat wondering at his unusual silence, I was startled by the expression of intense sorrowful pain and troubled thought it wore, with something of stern decision in the lines of the mouth, and a far-away look in the fixed gaze. Of what was he thinking? Of home? Of his mother? Of Thekla? Perhaps of one dearer still! But no; had there been such a one, I should have heard of it, his confidences had been so free, and frank, and full. Yet, perhaps

My anxious thoughts were suddenly broken in upon by a short, sharp report. Something whizzed past-close-between us ! I screamed, and clung closer to Captain von Edelstein's arm, as he faced round like lightning towards the spur of wood from which the shot had been fired.

In another second he had broken away from my clasping hands-sprung back a yard or two, pushing me forward as he did so-crying, "Quick, quick! Léonie! run, they will fire again."

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