CHAPTER XXVIII

SEAWEED.

The witcheries of the world were rapidly losing their power over Madeline Hamilton--but Nature, calm, beautiful, bright, became more dear, more elevating to her child--for had she not always been her nursing-mother even from earliest childish days?

There was perfect harmony between the fresh guileless nature and the green trees, the smiling sky, the deep blue ocean, and the sweet voices among which she rambled; and deeper, fuller than ever was the joy swelling in her young heart, when she could look upward and say, "My Father made them all."

From the deep fountains of her new nature gushed out streams of love, for all that God had made; for the more that she loved God, the truer, and more spiritual became her love for her fellow-men. Then the intimate relations between herself and Roland, the dear companionship, the old feelings of perfect trust and reverence, and the tender interest which enveloped her in such a mantle of protection, dwelt with her daily; and neither needed words to tell how truly they were one, nor with what unconscious, mysterious knowledge, they had read each other's hearts. Roland could not but feel "she loves me," and Madeline needed no language to make her understand how precious was the sacred bond which united their warm young hearts.

The little children that assembled around her still in her Saturday-school, and her class on Sunday, all felt the sweet attraction--the dwellers at the cottages, Aunt Matilda, and the people in the kitchen, all realized that a warmer glow of love kindled in the young face, and sweeter words were breathed from her lips.

Madeline was really living--for the heart had found objects on which to bestow its benevolence, and the feeling, day by day, was deepening, widening, as she felt truly "Jesus loves me, and I love him."

As the guardian of her worldly concerns, she received frequent letters from Roland, full of kind advice and strengthening words. He had laid down for her a plan which she was eager to carry out, and it was a pretty picture to see the young girl with her little basket of books, tracts, and domestic comforts, sallying forth daily among her humble dependents. Hours for devotion, household cares, for reading, music, for exercise, for benevolence, were systematically arranged, and as carefully carried out; and while Aunt Matilda was yawning over want of occupation, and imagining headaches, indigestion, and countless other evils, Madeline scarcely found time for her numerous duties. She was very happy; for even while she missed the smile of her dear father's approval, was she not blessed with the assurance of his unspeakable gain? and did she not hope to join him at last in the better world, to part no more forever?

Her cheek bloomed with brighter tints, her eye beamed with holier love, and her lips told tales of sweet inward peace and joy, drawn from the deep wells of salvation. She was learning some of Mozart's and Beethoven's finest music on her harp, and some sacred melodies for her voice; for she knew the style that pleased Roland, and was scarcely aware how all her occupations were mingled with the name of that precious friend. Sometimes, doubts and difficulties would obtrude themselves when reading the Scriptures, and then she would wish for her faithful guide.

"Get Mr. Bruce's room ready, Mary," said Madeline to the chambermaid; "he will here to-morrow," and she spent much of her time in preparations for the welcome visitor.

Aunt Matilda found that although her niece treated her with respect and affection, in the choice of her guardian she had exercised the liberty which her father had given her, and the good lady had quietly to submit. The respectful reverence with which Roland treated Madeline's aunt almost disarmed her opposition to this intimacy, and would have done so entirely, could she have divested herself of the fear that Roland might some day be more than guardian. After tea, Madeline led Roland to the drawing-room.

"I have learned some new music just for you, guardian," and she played some of her finest pieces with exquisite taste and execution.

"How can people like polkas and waltzes after such music as this?" said Roland; "it seems to speak so truly the language of the soul."

"I have some beautiful sacred melodies, and I want you to learn them to sing with me, guardian, your voice is so good."

It was amusing to see Madeline assume the office of teacher, and when he would make mistakes, with an arch expression around her mouth, to hear her say--

"What a dumb scholar! don't you see that you are singing the wrong note? I am so glad that there is something I can do better than you."

It was a laughing lesson, with Roland's blunders, and Madeline's pretended reproofs, and the pat of the little hand on his head when he succeeded.

"Don't be affronted, guardian, for I really do entertain a profound respect for you, though not much wholesome fear; that is rather out of my sphere, good sir."

After sundry trials, they succeeded admirably, and Madeline's sweet treble, with Roland's rich tenor voice, made truly delightful music.

"That's a good boy, Roland! you shall have a treat for your performance," and Madeline ordered a _tête-a-tête_ supper before retiring, with just such viands as Roland liked.

"Shall I see you to-morrow in the library, Madeline?" was Roland's request, as he bade "good-night."

"Yes, at nine o'clock; I shall be occupied until that time."

A full hour was spent in transacting some business attendant upon his office, and, at the close, Madeline, with a sweet, serious face, seated herself on a lower seat by the side of her guardian.

"I have wanted you lately, Roland, I have been so troubled when reading the Scriptures; I don't know what can be the matter, but my mind has been so disturbed by doubts and difficulties, that they have clouded my peace, and perplexed me so much."

"Are they connected with your duties, Madeline?"

"No, Roland; they are about deep, inscrutable mysteries that I cannot understand," and Madeline, from a full heart, poured out all her tale of doubts and trials into the ears of one ever ready and able to counsel and aid her trembling steps.

On Sunday morning, Roland accompanied Madeline, opened the services of the Sunday-school, and aided in teaching; in the afternoon, by the side of his young friend, and using the same book, he joined in the beautiful service which she loved, for he had outlived the prejudices of his childhood, and had learned to love goodness and truth wherever he saw it, or under whatever garb, and could now easily make allowances for the deep aversion of those days of persecution to the rigid ritualism which laid such heavy burdens upon the consciences of Christian men.

While he remained at Woodcliff, one hour each morning was spent in studying the word of God, and his clear explanations greatly aided the young believer.

"This is a pleasant evening, Madeline; shall we walk down to the shore? I must see the dear spot before I return to New York."

"Wait a minute, Roland, I must get my hood and scarf; it is a little damp. Old Peter will be glad to see us, and I have something for him."

"So have I," answered Roland. "He must be growing very old, for he was an aged man when we first came to Woodcliff, and that is seventeen years ago; I am now twenty-six."

"And I twenty-one; and yet, Roland, I do not feel more than sixteen; I enjoy life as much as then, and I have just the same faith in goodness as I had at that age."

They soon found themselves at the dear trysting place, and, seated on the rock, they gazed in silence upon the grand old ocean. Madeline was the first to speak.

"Does it seem possible, Roland, that eleven years have passed since you stood there," pointing to a spot near them, "defending the poor little things who had lost their diamonds?"

"And yet, Madeline, if we measure time by events, what a long life mine would seem! So full of trial, of blessing, and of stirring incident! What finger-posts of Providence have marked my way!"

"How strange are its wondrous dealings, Roland! I ran down to the shore that evening with my dog Hector, just for a merry race and a wild romp with my good old playmate, and I found you--then a poor, threadbare boy, with a grand and noble soul--be still, Roland" (for he was about to speak), "I felt what was hidden under your worn-out jacket, child that I was; and I found such a friend! eternity only will reveal what you have been to wild, impulsive Madeline;" turning, with her young face all glowing, she added, "I fought your battles then, Roland, and I have done so ever since, for my childish instincts read truly."

"There are some scenes, Madeline, written upon the tablets of memory with a diamond pen, and that afternoon was one; the face of the bright child, with her generous impulses and her scorn of meanness, the stained handkerchief, and the tender touch of the dimpled hand have been with me ever since; to this have been added the bright, wild, untamed intellect that interested me in Maple Lane School, the docile pupil coming to me with such winning grace. I see the folded hands and downcast eyes even now; the mischievous little sprite that loved bewitching pranks; the gay young girl who, amid all the blandishments of wealth, still nobly cheering my way; the riper woman, with her noble heart, at last bowing at the foot of the cross, and pouring out its love on all around her. These, Madeline, have been with me always--cheering, blessing, soothing."

"All this, Roland, under the leading hand of a wondrous Providence, you have done; sometimes I was led away, but for what a short period! These early lessons are never forgotten; and even in England, where I was surrounded by so much more to tempt, my heart, true as the needle to the pole, turned back with all its freshness to those early memories and their teachings."

Roland sat in silence for a moment, his heart filled with unutterable love--could it be duty to throw from him this gem of priceless worth, this young, warm, guileless woman's heart? and yet as a flash darted through his brain, the thought that would obtrude--as her guardian, acquainted with the extent of her possessions, might he not be thought selfish, mercenary?

"And now you see, good sir, you are my grave and reverend guardian, and must know all about your ward," and Madeline flashed upon him one of her arch glances of mischief; "if a young lady has offers of marriage, I suppose that she ought to tell her guardian--is not that so?" and she continued, smiling, "and always ask his advice about such matters, for I have something of the kind to tell now."

Roland dropped his eyes, and moved away from the young lady, lest she should see his emotion, and replied seriously, "I shall always be interested in whatever concerns you, Madeline, and will advise here, as elsewhere, truly, faithfully."

"Well! to begin--Harry Castleton is one of my devoted--he has offered himself three times, and has as often been refused; for you know, guardian, that I could never love him, but I am going to treat him better; I have made a good beginning; what do you think of him for Madeline?"

"Think, Madeline! I should never cease to mourn over such a union--it could never be."

"Amen!" said Madeline, archly; "and then there was Mr. Livingston, of New York, that all the belles were dying for; a man of wealth, rank, fashion, and intelligence; not caring much for the gay world--what do you think of him?"

"Did you love him, Madeline?"

"No--not exactly; and I used to think it was very strange! he was so handsome and attractive! but what do you say about him?"

"I could not approve of him either."

"Why, guardian! you are grim, and hard to please--well! then there was Tony Willikins; poor Tony! when I was a wild young thing, I took a ride with Tony, and he asked me about his future establishment; about his house, his carriage, his grounds, his furniture; and I gave my opinion--well, to be sure! he built just such a house, ordered just such a carriage, and then came, and asked me to live in his house, and ride in his carriage. I almost laughed in his face; and when I refused, he said that I had encouraged him, because I described the house, and recommended the carriage; I did not think that he was quite such a dunce, but I really felt sorry for Tony; I did not mean any harm--now, guardian, what do you think of Tony Willikins?"

Roland smiled at the story, and replied,

"I should object no more to this poor fellow with weak intellect, and affectionate heart, than I would to a rich brainless fop, without a heart."

"When I went to England," and Madeline's face assumed a more serious, tender expression, "I was introduced to the family of the Earl of N----; it was all that a Christian family ought to be, and there I spent some of the happiest hours of my life. I was domesticated in that household for many weeks, and became much attached to Lady Alice, the eldest daughter. Lord N----, the eldest son, was a bright example of a young English noble; refined, intelligent, pious, and of an extremely prepossessing appearance; we were associated daily; Roland, he learned to love me with all the depth and tenderness of a true, manly nature. I never knew an hour of deeper sorrow, than when compelled to say to that outburst of a warm affection, 'only friendship can I return;' now, guardian, what would you think of him?"

They were sitting very near the edge of the shore, and as the waves washed up the sea-weed, Roland took up a bunch, and handing it to Madeline, said,

"You remember these flowers of the ocean--how often have I gathered them for you?"

"Remember them!" and Madeline opened a small pocket-book, from which she took a few faded weeds, "Ah! how often have these memorials spoken to me, Roland; once I placed them by the side of the splendid bouquet, that Lord N---- used to send me daily--and oh! the difference."

"O, Madeline! dare I hope that the giver of these faded weeds was dearer than Lord N----, with all his grandeur and his goodness?"

Madeline turned her deep expressive eyes upon Roland's face, as she replied, in trembling tones,

"Nothing else could have made me insensible to the worth of Lord Alfred N----; these faded weeds, the sea-shells, the sketch I found once in the library, were more precious to me, more fondly cherished, than all the gifts of gold that have ever been laid at my feet."

"Can such blessedness be mine? the wealth of such a heart?"

"And mine, dear Roland! it seems too much of earthly good to know that you are all my own, not only as my friend, but my dearest, truest love."

"And can you, with all your wealth and attractions, turn from so much, and give your heart to me? I have not much to offer, Madeline; it is true that my dear friend, Uncle Malcolm, placed me above the reach of need, but nothing compared to the heiress of Woodcliff; I fear the judgment of your aunt; would that you were penniless."

"I want nothing but yourself, Roland; only your pure and noble self; have we not loved each other always? and yet there was a time when I was afraid of Helen Thornly."

"And when I was afraid of Lord N----; for I saw his worth, and his attractions, Madeline; and knew that you were with him daily while I was absent."

"What would your father think of such a choice, Madeline?"

"He was willing, in such a matter, to trust his daughter; dear, noble father! he respected you, Roland, always; and I believe, if he were living, he would smile upon us."

"Look at me, darling!" said Roland, "let me see those dear eyes, those truthful, earnest eyes, just turned on me, as full of love and tenderness as in days gone by;" (for Madeline had dropped her head, and bent her eyes upon the ground.)

She raised them to Roland's face, and in the deep look of perfect trust and tenderness, he saw what that hour had revealed to him. Taking both hands within his own, and looking up to heaven, he prayed that God would bless this sweet union of two young souls that had been so long as one.

"This is a love, Madeline, which will stretch forward to eternity; it will be companionship on earth in all that is pure and holy, to be perfected in the world above."

One sweet, pure caress, one fond kiss sealed this heart union; and taking her arm within his own, they turned their steps homeward.

"Let us just listen for one moment to the music of the ocean, Roland; it is a grand old organ, with its deep, mysterious chords; it has murmured many solemn hymns for us, many a varied melody--sometimes gentle summer lullabies, sometimes wails like funeral dirges--what does it waft us to-night?"

"Nothing but soft, sweet hymns of harmony, Maddy; bidding us praise our Father and our God."

Old Peter had been watching the young people, in whom he was so much interested; he saw the deep-absorbing interest of that interview; the tender caress, and the slow step as they moved away, and he said to himself,

"This is just what I thought would come of hoarding up old shoes. God bless them! they are a dear young pair, and deserve to be happy. What a handsome couple they will make! And they are both so good! It puts me in mind of Becky and me in our young days," and the old man wiped a moistened eye with his rough coat-sleeve.

Tea was long over when they reached home, but they wanted no supper; and Aunt Matilda was out of patience at the monosyllables which she received as answers, for both seemed wholly engrossed with each other.

"Let us go to the library," whispered Madeline; and as they stood before the portrait of her father it seemed to look upon them, with all the benignity of expression that dwelt upon the face of Mr. Hamilton.

"It smiles upon us, Roland! does it not? I know my dear father too well not to be assured that he would bless us; let us kneel before his picture;" and as they bowed solemnly in the library, Roland poured out his heart in earnest, fervent prayer, for God's choicest blessings upon them both.

After an evening spent in happy converse, the hour of separation came too soon.

"Let us listen to the Eolian to-night, Roland;" and Madeline led him to the stair-case; standing there together, it discoursed soft, sweet strains, for the evening was balmy and pleasant, and the wind fanned gentle breezes among the foliage of Woodcliff.

"How soft! how sweet, Roland, the harp is to-night! it seems to breathe only of happiness and peace; sometimes it has been so wild, so sad, when I have been in trouble! I wonder if it does not just echo the voice within."

"Doubtless it is so, Madeline; to-night the serenade is very sweet; if the fairies play among the strings, they must know all about us, dear."

"It is a pretty fancy, and cannot harm us, Roland; I don't believe it, you know; but then there are many things I don't believe which it is pleasant to think about."

"You must be careful, dear, in these flights of fancy, that they do not depart from truth."

"Well then, Roland, we will banish the fairies, though they were long the friends of my childhood, and substitute the good, real angels, and think that the sweet music is mingled with theirs."

"Good-night, Madeline, may they guard your slumbers;" and Roland clasped the little hand fondly, and impressed the kiss of pure affection upon the fair young brow.

Madeline's dreams were pure and holy that night, for was she not the chosen companion of the man whom she most loved and honored on earth?

Next morning, she acquainted her aunt with what had taken place. She was not surprised, but deeply disappointed.

"I cannot understand you, Madeline, to reject such a man as Lord N----, and to choose one so low-born, so obscure as Roland Bruce; but you must have your own way; you were always a wilful child!"

"You will learn to think differently some day, aunty; when you know Roland, you will find out true nobility."

"Next Sunday will be our communion day, Roland; you will stay, can't you?" said Madeline.

"I will try; by writing a few lines, I can be spared that long."

There were but few as yet gathered into that little fold; but it was a blessed hour, when the two bowed together at the table of their Master, and consecrated their united lives to his holy service.

There had been a parlor organ hired for their little church, and as they together joined in the high praises of the Trisagion, their spirits seemed to soar beyond the things of time and sense, and to prostrate themselves together before the throne of God and the Lamb.

"This is living," said Roland, as they walked homeward together; "loving God supremely, and each other fondly, for Jesus' sake, with the sweet hope of eternal union, when the cares and sorrows of life are ended; this is living, Madeline. God is love, and is best pleased when his creatures are most like him."

"I used to think, Roland, that it was a sin for mortals to love each other, and it once troubled me sorely, when I began to think of becoming a Christian."

"Just study the life of Christ, dear, and the teachings of the disciple whom Jesus loved the best, the loving John; his epistles are full of heavenly love, and you will never make that mistake again; for remember, that he teaches the duty of the highest exercise of Christian love, when he says, 'That we ought to lay down our lives for the heathen.'"

"How that view draws us to the blessed Saviour! How different from the teachings of those who would represent God as seated far away, upon the throne of the Universe, forbidding the approach of his erring children."

"Always think of God, Madeline, as a loving Father, whom you may always approach to plead the merits of his Son; he is ever ready to look upon you graciously in the face of Jesus, our Redeemer."

"What precious hopes, dear Roland, does the gospel hold out to us! union with Christ forever, and intimate soul-union with each other in a world where there can be no change, no parting, no decay."

"Let us bless him, dearest Madeline, for these holy hopes, and show that we love him, by lives devoted to his service; by-the-bye, do you know that I begin to like your service better than our own? so much that is sublime is taught by its offices. It seems to be an echo of the voice within. How lofty is the language of the Trisagion! I could almost have imagined the worship of the spirits before the throne, crying 'Holy! Holy! Holy!' and could look forward to that time, when, as disembodied spirits, we shall join with those who have gone before; with patriarchs, and prophets; with martyrs, and apostles; with 'the spirits of the just made perfect;' with my mother, Effie, and your own dear father, in praising the God who has brought us safely home."

"I am glad that you feel so, Roland, for I have decided preferences for my own forms of worship; though I can hold communion with Christians of every name, who truly love my Master."

Monday morning came, and with it, return to daily cares and duties.

"Madeline, I brought old Peter a warm over-coat for winter, one that I have done with; I forgot to say anything about it that evening;" and Roland smiled.

"And I forgot a Bible with large print, and a pair of good spectacles; I had them with me, but I forgot them too."

"I hope that we may be excused this time, Madeline; our hearts were engrossed by each other. Farewell, dearest, write daily," continued Roland, "or rather keep a journal, and send it to me twice a week; I want to know everything about you, where you go; all that you think and feel are precious to me now."

Madeline blushed rosy red, as she found herself folded in a warm embrace, and returned modestly the kiss of affection which was pressed upon her lips.

"Pray for me, Roland, every day and every night; we can meet there, dearest;" and Madeline stood upon the piazza watching him as long as she could see him, and returned the wave of the hand, ere she retraced her steps back to the library.

Letters from Lady Alice had just reached Woodcliff; for Madeline had been in constant correspondence with her valued English friends. They were particularly welcome, for in one was announced the approaching marriage of Lady Alice to Lord Elmore, and several hints about Lady Lucy Hampton and her brother Alfred; concluding with a warm invitation to make a bridal visit to England.

On Roland's next visit, he brought a warm letter from good Uncle Malcolm, congratulating him on his prospects of domestic happiness, and insisting on a visit immediately after his marriage.

"I do not think it at all improbable, Madeline, for I have business which calls me to Scotland," said the young man.

Mr. Bruce was expected daily, and Madeline obtained a promise that his first visit in America should be to Woodcliff.

In a few days he landed at New York, and met with a warm welcome from his son.

"Are you really glad to see me, Roland?" asked the poor man, as he looked up in his face with a sad, wistful expression.

"I am really glad, my father; I have a carriage ready for you, and bright, pleasant rooms."

No pains were spared to make him happy, and under the wise, affectionate treatment of his son, Mr. Bruce really seemed to be losing much of that sad and moody state of mind which had so long afflicted him. As soon as he could be prevailed upon to go, Roland took him to Woodcliff, and introduced him to his intended daughter-in-law.

Madeline received him with a warm, affectionate welcome; and although shy at first, under the influence of her kind manners and sweet music, he became daily more social and tranquil.

After singing several hymns to please him, he walked up to Madeline, and laying his hand upon her head, he said,--

"Thank ye, my dear, ye hae ta'en a deal o' trouble to please an auld mon--ye are to be my daughter, are ye na!" and stooping down, he pushed back the rich folds of hair, to look more earnestly on her sweet young face, and then kissed the pure, calm forehead.

"I will try to make you a good daughter, sir," and she kissed the withered hand that was held out to her. From this time, quite an intimacy sprang up between the two, for the music had driven away the evil spirit for a time.

"She is vera luvely, Roland, amaist as luvely as yer mither was at her age--be kind to her, my boy; ne'er suspect yer wife; but be sure that ye hae her heart--are ye sure o' that, Roland!"

"Yes, father, she has never loved any one else, she is all my own!"

"Happy son! happy Roland!" whispered Stephen, as he took his son's arm, to walk out on the piazza.

As Madeline took leave of the old man, she said,

"You will come again, dear sir, will you not?"

"Yes, my child, this hae been a pleasant visit; ye are guid an' kind, an' I luve ye, my daughter."

* * * * * * *

Aunt Clara is on a visit to Woodcliff, and finds her most sanguine hopes realized in what she sees of Madeline's daily walks of usefulness, and many a time, with tearful eyes, exclaims,

"What hath God wrought!"

"Aunt Clara, I have been thinking a great deal about the men here; there is a very large number among the factories, and in the cottages of the fishermen. They very seldom come to our Sunday services, but waste their vacant time in lounging about idly, and in drinking what they have earned through the week. I have thought of a reading-room where we could supply good reading for the evenings, and keep them away from bad company; but I don't know how to go about it; I cannot go among men, that would not be exactly feminine, and I cannot bear all the expense myself."

"Would it not be well, Madeline, first to bring the matter before some of the gentlemen of the neighborhood?"

"That is exactly the way, Aunt Clara; I'll send for Roland, he shall make the speech--I'll give notice in the Sunday-school, and then I'll send notices around to the principal gentlemen, to meet at the Sunday-school room."

Madeline was full of her new plan, and put it into practice immediately--notifying the Sunday-school, sending for Roland, and canvassing the neighborhood thoroughly, by means of the messengers. Ten days were allowed to prepare for the meeting; she talked about it in the Sunday-school eagerly, for the ungodliness of the men was sorely distressing to her benevolent spirit.

Roland came--the evening arrived, the room was lighted early, and Madeline watched eagerly for an audience. A few strolled in, some of the mothers of the children, some of the young ladies, and a few of the children's fathers; but this was not what Madeline wanted--it was nearly eight o'clock, and but two gentlemen, one the old minister of Roland's church, the other, a gentleman somewhat interested in the morals of the neighborhood. After a while, a half dozen more came, then three or four more, until about one dozen were present; at last, quite a party of young ladies and gentlemen took their seats, and the meeting commenced.

Roland had acquainted Mr. Stewart with the object of the meeting, and requested him to state it to the audience, and open the exercises with prayer. Interest had brought but few, curiosity the larger number.

After the opening exercises, Roland arose. His name had not been announced; but while he spoke, the rich, manly voice, and quiet dignity of manner at once enchained attention; and as he proceeded to describe the wants of the neighborhood, and the necessity of some efforts by which to benefit the working classes, gradually his manner increased in warmth; and when he alluded to the days when as a boy athirst for knowledge, he had sat on these benches, and had often longed for the use of a well-assorted library, there was a general buzzing among the young people.

"Who can it be?" said Minnie Smith.

"Why, don't you remember Roland Bruce?" replied Lizzie Belton.

"It cannot be possible--that elegant looking man, Roland Bruce! then such a speaker! I can't believe the evidence of my own senses."

"I know his eye, Minnie, I knew him as soon as I looked at him--I heard the other day that he is quite a distinguished lawyer in New York."

"Well, dear me! who ever could have believed it?"

"Why, Madeline Hamilton believed it--or else she never would have taken so much interest in him--proud minx! she always said that he'd be a great man yet."

"Let us listen, Lizzie, we are losing his speech;" and the young girls stopped talking, to listen to his eloquence. He represented the wants of the working man, said he had an intellect demanding food, as well as a body; that he had a right to both; he believed that many might be reclaimed and elevated, if those more favored would lend a helping hand, and recognise the one great fact of brotherhood--on this he spoke feelingly, for he had felt deeply. In glowing words, he enlarged upon the advantages of useful reading, appealed to those who employed these men; and asked if they would not make better workmen, more faithful laborers, more moral and intelligent, if conscious that there were hands stretched out, saying, "Come my brother, I will help you."

All listened respectfully; and at the close, the gentlemen present contributed something, those of large means liberally, and Madeline had the pleasure of seeing her scheme likely to prosper. After all had subscribed, "M. H----" modestly added one hundred dollars to the list. "Who is he? Who is he?" was the question whispered all round when the meeting was over.

"A young man by the name of Bruce, I think," was the reply of Mr. Belton.

"I can tell you, gentlemen," said Mr. Stewart, his former minister; "he was once a boy in the Sunday-school of my church, and a member of Maple Lane School, very poor, very humble, but an excellent son, a devoted brother, an earnest Christian, with bright talents, all exercised for his Master. He is a child of Providence, gentlemen, raised to what he is by a blessing upon a mother's piety and manly trust in God."

Several went forward, and shook him warmly by the hand.

"We are proud of our Maple Lane boy, sir; your minister has told us something of your history."

Lizzie Belton and Minnie Smith looked quite abashed, hiding their faces as Madeline proudly took Roland's arm, and left the room. As soon as they were out of hearing, she exclaimed--

"There, Roland, don't say that I am not a prophetess; I knew the day would come when you'd make these silly upstarts feel ashamed of themselves. I felt proud of you to-night, Roland, for I saw that they were mortified as soon as they knew who it was. I suppose that they would like to obtain the notice of Roland Bruce now."

"Madeline, is not this very much of the old leaven?"

"Yes, I suppose it is, guardian; but it was in this very room where they used to be so mean, and I could not help the feeling. They have heard you make your speech in Maple Lane School, and it did some good, too; I am thankful for that. Now I'm going to prophesy a little more--don't shake your wise head, good sir, at my folly--you'll be an 'Honorable' yet. I expect to address letters to the 'Honorable Roland Bruce, U.S. Senate.'"

Roland burst out laughing.

"Of all the scheming little heads that ever sat upon the shoulders of a woman, yours exceeds. What possesses you, Madeline?" and Roland laughed again most heartily; "how can you ever dream of such a thing? I shall never be a politician."

"No, I know that, I should be very sorry for that; but worth and talent sometimes meets its reward, even here."

"Madeline, I have but one ambition,--to serve my God faithfully in whatever station he appoints, and to walk hand in hand with one of the purest and loveliest of God's creatures in the path that leads us home to Heaven."