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about the value of prayer; but she did not speak to them from her own experience. She had never fled to Christ as to the City of Refuge, where she might be safe from the pursuit of swift-footed trouble. But then, she had not known what it was to be thus pursued: her life hitherto had been freer from vexations than most lives are. And now that she was disquieted and anxious, she was conscious of a sense of helplessness which was quite as distressing as the anxiety itself.

"He who is too secure in the time of peace," says an old writer, "will often be found too much dejected in the time of war."

To Ada the time of war was coming fast. The air was full of warning sounds; the tramp of a host of sorrows was drawing nearer and nearer. How had she used her time of peace? She had used it, as we are all too prone to do, simply as a period of personal enjoyment. It had seemed quite unnecessary to polish the sword that one might never have to wield, or the helmet that one might never need to wear.

As it will be with the day of the Lord, so is it

often with the day of trouble. Signs are unheeded: the angel voices that bid us be ready fall on deaf ears. Then the day "overtakes us as a thief," and finds us wholly unprepared-finds us enervated by long ease and years of selfindulgence.

When Ada returned from church that evening, she went straight upstairs to the door of her father's room. Her soft knock was answered by

the nurse.

"How is papa?" she whispered, eagerly. "Not quite so well: there is a return of the fever."

"Shall we send at once for Dr. Deane ?” asked Ada, in an agony of apprehension.

"No: he will be here to-morrow morning. I do not think the relapse is dangerous, Miss Fenway. If your father has a good night, all will be well."

"Tell me-do you believe that I made him worse by talking to him?"

The lady hesitated. "I am afraid the conversation excited him," she said at last. "But don't be over-anxious. I really hope that no great

harm is done."

She gently closed the door, and Ada soon afterwards sought the solitude of her own chamber. But, although she had retired at an earlier hour than usual, she could not rest; and she sat down in a low chair by her bed to brood over her distress. She was a very different being at this moment from the bright young lady who had brought the sunshine of her presence into Ryan's kitchen. Little Martha would have started if she had seen her teacher's face now. But Martha was sleeping peacefully on her flock-bed, and dreaming happy childish dreams.

"This is a bad beginning of my engagement," thought Ada. "My news made papa worse. It seems as if I am to walk under a cloud, just at a time when I was expecting sunlight. And now I shall have no peace until I know that my thoughtless confession did not do great harm. Oh, if I had only paused and remembered how ill he has been, I should have acted less rashly! Willie says that everybody makes blunders, and I am no exception to the rule; but I might have been more considerate more recollected.' Some writer tells us that our impulses are the noblest

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part of us; but I fear I have done mischief in yielding to mine. Yet I thought it was right to be candid and straightforward; and I hated the idea of making a confidante of Aunt Emily."

Self-confidence was at the bottom of a good many of Ada's mistakes. She had been too proud and independent to seek Mrs. Hurst's advice before she made her confession to her father.

CHAPTER XX.

THE DOCTOR'S RELAPSE.

DR. FENWAY passed an unquiet night, and

talked in a wandering way about Ada and George Clariston. The nurse did not lie down, but kept an anxious vigil by his bedside: and Aunt Emily overhearing his restless murmurs, left her own room, and came noiselessly into the sick chamber. George has taken an unfair advantage of my illness," he said distinctly; "and Ada is young; too young to

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Here he broke off abruptly, with a heavy sigh. The two watchers exchanged glances. Mrs. Hurst was not slow in guessing the truth; she remembered that Ada had risen hastily from the tea-table and had gone upstairs; and she now felt certain that the girl had agitated her father by some confession which she had made.

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