study for the ministry in Switzerland, and with an aching heart that longed to be at rest from the toil that she looked on as a steep ladder on her way to a better home.  She occupied two tiny rooms on the ground-floor of a tall house; and she had just arranged her few articles of furniture with the utmost neatness, when there was a low knock at her door, a knock that the persecuted well understood, and as she lifted the latch, a voice she had known of old spoke the scriptural salutation, ’Peace be with this house.’

’Eh quoi, Master Issac, is it thou?  Come in—­in a good hour—­ ah!’

As, dripping all round his broad hat and from every thread of his gray mantle, the aged traveller drew into the house a female figure whom he had been supporting on his other arm, muffled head and shoulders in a soaked cloak, with a petticoat streaming with wet, and feet and ankles covered with mire, ‘Here we are, my child,’ he said tenderly, as he almost carried her to Noemi’s chair.  Noemi, with kind exclamations of ‘La pauvre! la pauvre!’ helped the trembling cold hand to open the wet cloak, and then cried out with fresh surprise and pity at the sight of the fresh little infant face, nestled warm and snug under all the wrappings in those weary arms.

‘See,’ said the poor wanderer, looking up to the old man, with a faint smile; ‘she is well—­she is warm—­it hurts her not.’

‘Can you take us in?’ added M. Gardon, hastily; ‘have you room?’

’Oh yes; if you can sleep on the floor here, I will take this poor dear to my own bed directly,’ said Noemi. ‘Tenez’ opening a chest; ’you will find dry clothes there, of my husband’s.  And thou,’ helping Eustacie up with her strong arm, and trying to take the little one, ‘let me warm and dry thee within.’

Too much worn out to make resistance, almost past speaking, knowing merely that she had reached the goal that had been promised her throughout these weary days, feeling warmth, and hearing kind tones, Eustacie submitted to be led into the inner room; and when the good widow returned again, it was in haste to fetch some of the warm potage she had already been cooking over the fire, and hastily bade M. Gardon help himself to the rest.  She came back again with the babe, to wash and dress it in the warmth of her oven fire.  Maitre Gardon, in the black suit of a Calvinist pastor, had eaten his potage, and was anxiously awaiting her report.  ’Ah! la pauvre, with His blessing she will sleep! she will do well.  But how far did you come to-day?’

‘From Sainte Lucie.  From the Grange du Temple since Monday.’

’Ah! is it possible?  The poor child!  And this little one—­sure, it is scarce four weeks old?’

‘Four weeks this coming Sunday.’

’Ah! the poor thing.  The blessing of Heaven must have been with you to bear her through.  And what a lovely infant—­how white—­what beauteous little limbs!  Truly, she has sped well.  Little did I think, good friend, that you had this comfort left, or that our poor Theodore’s young wife had escaped.’