It was a deeper and more dreadful lesson still.

She had set her heart on finding Tom; on righting him, on righting herself.
She had to learn to be content not to find him; not to right him, not to right herself.
And she learnt it.

Tearless, uncomplaining, she "trusted in God, and made no haste." She did her work, and read her Bible; and read too, again and again, at stolen moments of rest, a book which some one lent her, and which was to her as the finding of an unknown sister-- Longfellow's Evangeline.

She was Evangeline; seeking as she sought, perhaps to find as she found--No! merciful God! Not so! yet better so than not at all.

And often and often, when a new freight of agony was landed, she looked round from bed to bed, if his face too, might be there.