It was no wonder he sought what gave him life and strength.  It was his right, and he followed the strong impulse of his being, and went often to the home of Hugh Wyman.  He felt greatly relieved on learning that Hugh and his wife had no knowledge of the separation of Mr. and Mrs. Dalton, until it was over; and could not realize that it made no difference to them what judgment public opinion passed upon them.  They looked only to the right and justice of the movement; he had not sufficient strength thus to brave the opposition of popular error.  His vital life, the real breath of his manhood came to him only in the inspiring presence of Hugh and Arline.  In their atmosphere he grew, therefore he felt drawn to them by a power that he could not withstand, and would not if he could.

The years swept on with majestic step.  Many went over the silent stream; among them Mrs. Temple and her two children, leaving the home of Herbert desolate and cheerless.  Dawn stood beside her to the last, and saw her go down to the valley, and then she could almost feel the pulsing of her new birth.

“How fast they travel home,” said Hugh, when the rosy lips were sealed forever, and the poor stricken husband looked on the form that would never more spring to greet his coming.

“Where is she now?” Again and again the question would force itself upon Herbert’s mind, until his heart so wearied with its long watching, and waiting, and hoping, sank overpowered with grief within him.  Three days had worked a sad change in his family, by that disease which was laying parents and children in one grave, and left few households unvisited.

We have been so poorly schooled in the past, that it is not strange when one passes from this world, or state of existence, to another, that we should speak of them as having gone away, little realizing that loving hearts can never be separated:  that what we call spirit life is but a natural continuation of this, with no “river” running between.

Words could not add to the impressiveness of the scene, when, as the friends met to look their last upon those they should know no more as of earth, the grief-stricken husband and father bowed himself and kissed the cold lips of the forms that once enshrined the spirits of his wife and children.  Many mourners were there beneath the shadow of the cloud that had not as yet disclosed its silver lining; but when was read that beautiful psalm:  “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” every soul was lifted into the region of faith; that faith so calm and comforting to

  “Hearts that are broken with losses,
  And weary with dragging the crosses,
  Too heavy for mortals to bear.”

It seemed to Herbert to be Florence that they placed in the earth; he could not separate her from that lovely form of clay.  How could he see her lowered into the grave, and his two darlings beside her?  How bear this great grief?  Not alone.  Only by the help of Him whose ways are not as ours, and who doeth all things well.  Long was the night of sorrow; it seemed as though day would never dawn, so deep and chastening was his grief.