A church bell was ringing in a neighboring village the following morning when Ida awoke.The sunlight streamed in at the open window through the half-closed blinds,flecking the floor with bars of light.Birds were singing in the trees without,and a southern breeze rustled through the foliage as a sweet low accompaniment.

Surely it was a bright pleasant world on which her heavy eyes were opening.

Poor child!she was fast learning now that the darkest clouds that shadow our paths are not the vapors that rise from the earth,but the thoughts and memories of an unhappy and a sinful heart.

The sunlight mocked her;and her spirit was so out of tune that the sweet sounds of nature made jarring discord.

But the church bell caught her attention.How natural and almost universal is the instinct which leads us when in trouble to seek the support of some Higher power.No matter how wayward the human child may have been,how hardened by years of wrong,or arrogantly entrenched in some phase of rational philosophy,when the darkness of danger or sorrow blots out the light of earthly hopes,or hides the path which was trodden so confidently,then,with the impulse of frightened children whom night has suddenly overtaken,there is a longing for the Father's hand and the Father's reassuring voice.

If there is no God to love and help us,human nature is a lie.

Thus far Ida Mayhew had no more thought of turning Heavenward for help than to the philosophy of Plato.Indeed,religion as a system of truth,and Greek philosophy were almost equally unknown to her.

But that church-bell reminded her of the source of hope and help to which burdened hearts have been turning in all the ages,and with the vague thought that she might find some light and cheer that was not in the sunshine,she hastily dressed and went down in time to catch one of the last carriages.When she reached the church,she found her mother had preceded her,and that her cousin Ik Stanton was also there;but she correctly surmised that the only devotion to which he was inclined had been inspired by Miss Burton,who sat not far away.She was soon satisfied that Van Berg was not present.

As a general thing,when at church,Ida had given more consideration to the people and the toilets about her than to either the service or the sermon;but to-day she wistfully turned her thoughts to both,in the hope that they might do her good,although she had as vague an idea as to the mode or process as if both were an Indian incantation.

But she was thoroughly disappointed.Her thoughts wandered continually from the services.With almost the vividness of bodily presence,three faces were looking upon her--her father's with an infinite reproach;Sibley's,with smiling lips and wolfish eyes;and Van Berg's,first coolly questioning and exploring in its expression,and then coldly averted and scornful in consequence of what he had discovered.Not houses,but minds are haunted.