David Elginbrod

your wife t

d dweller in those h

ere; a good couple are

ope the fingers unclasp, and the folded sheet drops i

reached him, and the child had her answer. For was it not Christ present in the good man or woman-I forget the particulars of the stor

leans listening for the spirit-echo-the echo with a soul in it-the answering voice which out of the abyss will enter by the gate now turned to receive it. Whose will be the voice? What will be the sense? What chords on the harp of life hav

er from David Elginbrod. At length, however, a letter arrived, upon the hand-writing of which he speculated in vain, perpl

tter never reached him. My father was like God in this, that he always forgave anything the moment there was anything to forgive; for when else could there be such a good time?-although, of course, the person forgiven could not know it till he asked for forgiveness. But, dear Mr. Sutherland, if you could see me smiling as I write, and could yet see how earnest my heart is

ar Mr. Su

rateful

ET ELGI

ful nature of Margaret. The vision he had beheld in the library at Arnstead, about which, as well as about many other things that had happened to him there, he could form no theory capable of embracing all the facts-this vision returned to his mind's eye, and he felt that the glorified face he had beheld must surely have been Margaret's, whether he had

f a devil, I may cross the track of an a

rse he had no