scene I couldn’t help standing there and watching them a bit. They

don’t have to share their father with a lot of other children that are not their mother’s too,” she added, in a suppressed and bitter tone.

“Marian, Marian, hush!” exclaimed Mrs. McAlpine, in a low voice quivering with pain; “is your end of the cross heavier than mine?”

“No, mother, dear, not half so heavy: the cruelest part of it is seeing you suffer—you, who are as good and pure as an angel!” returned the girl passionately.

“Then for my sake, lass, try to suffer and be still. I’ve a hard enough fight with my own rebellious heart; at times I feel I shall never be able to bring it into meek submission to His will who doeth all things well.”

“But it isn’t His will! it isn’t His doing! I’ll never believe it, no, never!” cried the girl, clinching hands and teeth in impotent fury; “it’s the will and the doings of the adversary of souls, the father o’ lies, him that the Bible tells us was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him.”

“Marian, Marian, ye’re tempting your mother to the sin she maun ficht against nicht and day,” groaned Mrs. McAlpine, relapsing into Scotch, as they were both apt to do under strong excitement, “an’ oh, beware, lassie, that you dinna wrest Scripture to ye’r ain destruction and to mine.”

“Wrest Scripture! ’tis they wrest it,” cried the girl, in tones of fierce indignation; but before the words had fairly left her lips her mother had risen from her chair and fled from her presence, as one would fly from temptation.

Marian too rose, closed the house, and went to bed, while alone in her own apartment the mother spent a long time upon her knees wrestling in prayer for submission and strength to endure the cross she mistakenly deemed that He, her loving Lord and Master, had laid upon her.