sequence of the tie between them being solely one of an intellectual nature. Just as he only recognised in her the immortal soul entrusted to his charge, so she saw in him at home all the week long nothing but the teacher, and on the Sunday in the pulpit the parish priest. No human affection existed between the father and daughter; Teda would not have known how to express such a feeling, and she herself had no longing for it. She was not yet old enough to comprehend that, from his point of view, she could claim no special care for her development; but, with unconscious reciprocation of his sentiments, she inwardly regarded him simply as the highest authority in all matters of knowledge and belief.

Of any intimate relations, so far as these might be indicated by childlike interest in outside affairs, by pleasure or regret at any change of circumstances, no sign was to be perceived. It is true, there never was any change at the parsonage ; all went on there in a dull, monotonous way that resembled the gray, misty sky which hung over them during the long eight months of the winter time.

Regularly, as a matter of course, Teda daily took her place in the home, but there was not a single nook within the four walls for which she had any special preference, none which she regarded as her own domain, her own special world; to the word 'home' she attached, indeed, no definite idea. It did not matter to her what part of the house she was in ; there was no room that afforded any particular comfort or attraction for her fancy or for her heart. Her father's study she only entered for the purpose of her lessons, the rest of the day she only saw him at noon and evening for a quarter of an hour during the meals; as far back as she could remember, she had never known him prolong his stay beyond the period actually required for the hasty repast. He found the day always too short for the due fulfilment of his scholastic and pastoral labours, for the preparation of his sermons, and his midnight work on profound theological treatises. Summer and winter made no difference to him : he scarcely noticed the change, for he did not concern himself about any earthly things. Never again did he yield to the sweet influences of spring-time, and allow himself the contemplation of earthly objects and the indulgence of earthly joy. If a memory of the past did arise, he drove it hastily away from him. Hence arose an inward conflict-he felt remorse for his own weakness,

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and yet he was convinced that it had been God's will to add another soul to His eternal kingdom. Thus, in Pastor Remmert's imagination frail human passion existed side by side with Divine decrees; it was a mysterious labyrinth to which his reason could afford no clue: he must ait until he reached the state of higher intelligence, when all things would be revealed. Towards this futurity his gaze was ever turned ; the present had no reality for him, as he sat writing and meditating in his study. He never left the island; the world on the mainland lay buried behind him ; viewed in the light of eternity, it was neither greater nor more important than the little district around his church, and no longing drew him thither. He had no relations with it, except such as were imposed by his office as administrator of the temporal affairs of the little lonely isle, and these required him from time to time to publish some edict from the Government office at Aurich, and to see that it was obeyed. Perhaps twice in the year there arrived, together with the official documents, a letter from his parents or brothers and sisters in Osterloo, with news of their welfare. cently these letters had contained nothing but satisfactory news; latterly, however, tokens of anxiety as to money matters might be perceived. Unfavourable seasons had lessened the produce of their land, while the insecurity of political affairs compelled them to sell at a loss. His father was still active and robust, but age was creeping on, and he foresaw, with no small anxiety, the possibility of approaching war even in East Friesland. The pastor regularly answered all such communications from his home, and his letters always breathed the greatest respect for his parents. As a son he wished them the fullest blessing on their faithful toil, but as pastor he consoled them for the disappointment of their worldly hopes, and pointed out to them the vanity of all earthly possessions in comparison with the promises of a future life. He honoured father and mother according to God's command, but in his words it was easy to perceive that he cared for them chiefly as immortal souls, and that in his pastoral estimation the paternal home had no preference over other Christian households. His letters never expressed the slightest wish to see his old home once more, or to be once more in the midst of parents and brothers and sisters.

Still less did Deena now carry on correspondence with her family. She had, indeed, almost ceased to write at all. In the first years of her married life she had written regularly, and even more frequently after the birth of Teda. Her daily life, indeed, provided but little news to send, and the composition of a letter was always a serious business for a mind so imperfectly cultivated as hers. But it had gradually become to her an alleviation, a necessity, as much so as respiration is to the lungs. In spite of her sound constitution, the air around seemed to her daily more and more oppressive. Along with this was the fact that she regarded as her home,' not the house in which she resided with her husband, but the home of her childhood, the house of her parents and her brothers and sisters. The pen which she guided over the page conjured before her eyes not words alone : they brought before her mind the things of which the words were but the signs. She saw the house and farmyard, the garden and the fields, the sitting-room and the human beings. She heard again the merry laugh of her sisters, their jesting and teasings, all the innumerable daily trifles of her childhood life. They had no importance or value in themselves, and yet she thought of them now, as having made for her a lost paradise which only her pen could restore. Doubtless this was a means of increasing her home-sickness, but at the same time it was the only thing that brought her any heart relief.

For some years Deena daily employed this remedy, and when the rare opportunity of sending letters to the mainland came, she generally had some dozens of sheets ready for despatch. The sisters responded with expressions of envy at Deena's good fortune in having met with a husband of such superior position with whom to spend her days. They jestingly expressed their fear that, when they met again, the pastor's wife would consider them too vulgar and uneducated for her, and the light jest did but half conceal a real meaning. In their household everything went on in its old regular course, and Deena knew it all so well that details could have but little interest for her. Evidently the correspondents did not deem such things to be worth writing about.

Then came the day when Deena was no longer the sole occupant of her little parlour. In a rudely-fashioned cradle by her side lay the baby, who developed new capacities day by day. Without the counsel or aid of older and more experienced women, the young mother had to manage the child all alone, and had to depend upon her own womanly instinct for direction in every exigency, mischance, or need.

prayer avail ?

From the day he had baptized his daughter until he began to give her lessons, Remmert had found in her no suitable object for the exercise of his talents, and therefore, in all times of anxiety and concern for the little one, Deena had none but herself to depend upon. Not in the day-time only, but often through the long winter nights, she sat watching by the side of the wailing infant, as it painfully cut its teeth, or feverishly shrieked in some sudden attack of cramp. She chafed its burning hands in hers-nursed, soothed, and cared for it until the dawn of day. When her fears rose too high, she clasped her hands together in an irresistible impulse; but she immediately unclasped them again. Sickness came according to the will and appointment of God-how, then, could any

His purpose must be accomplished without let or hindrance from the prayers or the wishes of short-sighted mortals. The young pastor one day came into the room, as the little creature was crying and tossing about in pain. Deena could not help asking himn what this poor infant had done to be thus cruelly afflicted. Remmert replied:

. You must search your own heart for the answer to that; it is not the child, but you through it, that God is chastening, in order to test your strength and your weakness, and to fit you for His designs.

She pondered over this after her husband had quitted the room ; but her thoughts stumbled, as it were, against a wall, beyond which they could not pass. Was it possible that, in punishment of the mother's sin, God could arbitrarily torture an innocent creature? Why did He not use His power to punish the guilty with sickness and pain, instead of letting the penalty fall upon the innocent child ? The problem was too deep for her, so she ceased to dwell upon it; but she never more listed her hands in prayer to God to ask Him to have pity on her babe.

She did not clearly see it herself—she was, in fact, unconscious of it; but her simple faith had received a shock, and now, like a cracked church-bell, it produced in her soul a shrill, discordant sound. But she clung all the more with ardent attachment to the new treasure which she now possessed on earth.

During this period, in the night-watches spent beside the cradle of Teda, she wrote home more frequently than ever, and her simple letters expressed much natural motherly tender


She made no complaint--dwelt, in spite of all, upon her own inner joy; upon the bright present and the fair prospect for the future. The load of trouble, care, and anxiety on the child's account which she had to bear without a helping hand, called forth, as by a magic wand, a fresh spring of lively hope into her parched, thirsting soul. The child was hers ; she alone had any human claim upon it—upon its gratitude, upon its love.

As a prisoner, pining in a darksome dungeon, forgets his own condition when an unexpected fortune brings him a companion to share his lonely cell—a frail living thing that he can cherish, feed, strengthen, and rear as a precious solace in his loneliness—so did Deena Swidder sit by the cradle of her child, conscious of a rich earthly recompense for all her motherly devotion.

Thus many years passed away, and now Teda sat-in winter, at least, for the sake of the warmth—the whole day long at the table in the sitting-room. She wrote her exercises, or read books which she had fetched from her father's study. Some of them were those with which Deena had once tried to wile away the idle hours, and which she found herself unable to comprehend; but this little maiden, only eight years old, buried herself in them for hours together. The mother attended regularly to her household affairs, and then she would come into the warm sitting-room, take the old arm-chair by the window, and let her knitting -pins clink mechanically through her fingers. But very soon her hands would fall idle on her lap, and her eyes gazed through the little panes of glass either into the thick, wreathing mist or across the brown, wintry plain towards the scattered low-roofed huts and the dun-coloured sandy rampart beyond. It was a vague, unintelligent look that she cast on the world outside. Her eyes sought nothing, and whatever they fell upon was equally an object of indifference to her. In the room no sound was to be heard save the ticking of the clock in its old case against the wall; the two who were sitting so near to each other seldom spoke a word. Their eyes never met, or if they did so by any chance, there was no meaning, no expression, in them. In Teda's cold glance there was no love for her mother any more than for her father; those eyes plainly said that her heart knew nothing of real love.

It is true that Deena's outward appearance had undergone

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