upon earth; the gentle spirit is pointing me to my rest;” a slight trembling of her weary frame, and she had gone to be with the “just made perfect;” a smile was upon her features, and they smoothed her limbs as for a night’s repose.  The father mingled his tears with those of his child, who was all that was left to him.  The Sea-flower, leaning upon the arm of him who thought it not unmanly to weep over the scene he had witnessed, retired, leaving the afflicted ones to weep away the anguish in their hearts, ere they might look upon the loving kindness of Him, whose ways are all perfect.

CHAPTER IX.

BEHIND THE CLOUDS THE SUN IS SHINING.

                  “I am armed with innocence,
  Less penetrable than the steel-ribbed coats
  That harness round thy warriors.”

MADDEN’S THEMISTOCLES.

“That one so formed in mind and charms to grace,
The brightest scenes of life, should have her seat
In the shadow of a cloud; and yet ’tis weakness. 
The angels watch the good and innocent,
And where they gaze it must be glorious.”

        MRS. BALE’S “ORMOND GROSVENOR.”

My gentle reader will pardon the long stride of time which here intervenes, disclosing nothing of those in whom we feel an interest.  Nearly a year of moments had sped since that in which Mrs. Santon had passed away.  Winnie had seen her loved mother laid in that narrow, silent house, which is prepared for the dead, and her tears had watered the green grass which groweth so silently,—­upspringing everywhere, even in the lonely places of burial, a fit covering for those who slumber,—­emblematical of the life beyond the tomb.  The joyous mirth which abode in Winnie’s nature had superseded, in a measure, days of deep mourning; yet this first taste of earth’s sorrow had left an impress upon her mind never to be erased; and though thoughtless ones perhaps observed no change in her young, elastic spirits, there was one, gentle and youthful, who had been to her as a mother in her bereavement,—­the Sea-flower.  She could see that the death of a loved one had wrought a good work upon the heart of her friend, as it may with us all, if we will lie passive in the hands of the workman.

It was a disappointment to Natalie that her intention of returning home had been frustrated; yet it was with cheerfulness that she resigned her hopes, when she saw that duty pointed out another way.  Mr. Santon, on the sudden death of his wife, which occurred on the very evening before Natalie was to bid them farewell, had himself written a very touching letter to Mrs. Grosvenor, begging, if it were not asking of her too much, that she would spare her daughter to them a little while longer, as it had been the last wish of Mrs. Santon that their daughter might be with her who had proved such a blessing to them all; and so, in pity for the dear ones of her friend, of whose