Is it not a strange chance which has thus brought us together ?" "I do not believe any thing is chance," murmured Mercy.

"I must have been sent here for something." "I believe you were, dear," said Stephen, "sent here for my salvation.

I was thinking last night that, no matter if my life should end without my ever knowing what other men call happiness, if I must live lonely and alone to the end, I should still have the memory of you,--of your face, of your hand, and the voice in which you said you cared for me.

O Mercy, Mercy! you have not the least conception of what you are to me!" And Stephen stretched out both his arms to her, with unspeakable love in the gesture.
So swiftly that he had not the least warning of her intention, Mercy threw herself into them, and laid her head on his shoulder, sobbing.

Shame filled her soul, and burned in her cheeks, when Stephen, lifting her as he would a child, and kissing her forehead gently, placed her again in her chair, and said,-- "My darling, I cannot let you do that.