Evadne’s dream was ended and rude was the awaking.  The idea of helping her fellows had grown to be a passion with her and very fair had been the castle in the air of which she was the Princess.  A home, not rich or stately but full of a delightful homeiness which should soothe and cheer those who, walking through the world amid a storm of tears, call earth a wilderness, while their desolate hearts echo the mournful question,—­“Is there any sorrow like unto my sorrow.”  She, too, had been lonely,—­she could understand, and by the sweet influence of human love and sympathy lift their thought above the earthly shadows up to the love of God.

She had not dreamed of doing things on a grand scale.  Evadne Hildreth was wise enough to know that comfort cannot be dealt out in wholesale packages,—­she never forgot that Jesus of Nazareth helped the people one by one.

She had never questioned the terms of her father’s will—­if there was a will.  She had supposed when she became of age there would be some change, but her uncle had made no reference to the subject and she had not liked to ask.  He was always kind—­he would do what was best.  Some day she would be free to carry out this beautiful dream of hers.  She could afford to wait.  Now there was nothing to wait for any more!

How strange it seemed, when the need was so great and she longed to help much!  Well, she was only a little child,—­she could trust her Father.  God understood.

That was what he had said, this strong, true friend of hers, that night he asked the question which he had never asked again.  How gentle he was!—­but it was the gentleness of strength—­and how every one depended on him!  She, herself, had learned to expect the helpful words which he always gave her when they met.  Friendship was a beautiful thing!

CHAPTER XXX.

John Randolph came up behind Evadne one morning as she was dressing the burns of a little lad who had been severely injured at a fire.  She did not hear his step—­she was telling a bright story to the little sufferer, to make him forget his pain, and the boy was laughing loudly.  His face was very grave, but his eyes lightened as they always did when they rested upon her face.

“Mrs. Reginald Hawthorne is very ill.  Can you, will you come?”

And Evadne answered with a simple “Yes.”  They needed so few words, these two.

“I tell you I will not die!” The piercing cry rang through the handsome room and fell like molten lead upon the heart of the man who with strained, haggard face was sitting by the bedside.  “You have not told me the truth, Reginald!  There is a God.  I feel it!  You have always laughed and called me young and foolish, but I know better than you do, now.  You said if our lives were governed by reason, we would meet death like a philosopher, and I do not know how to die!  You used to laugh and say the whole thing was child’s play and