A DARK CLOUD.
"Perhaps in Life's great tapestry, the darkest scenes are where
The golden threads of Faith glance forth most radiant and fair."
THE sweet, fresh spring-time had come again. Violets were peeping modestly out in the woods, and opening buds were swelling on every tree, speaking to every thoughtful heart of resurrection life, bringing back to the mind of Priscilla Warner, as she walked across the common and through the little wood near the Grove, the last spring-tide, when her loved mother had been called to the home above.
Very pretty the young girl looked as she walked on that April day, bent on an errand of kindness to a neighbouring cottage. For, despite the sad memories that filled her heart, Priscilla's face wore a look of peace that had never been there even in her childhood's days. Ever since the October day when, through little Claude's accident, Prissy's eyes had been opened to see her own selfishness and sin, she had been a changed girl.
Not all at once had the victory been gained; again and again self rose up and became conqueror. The habits of years are not so easily overcome as some would have us believe. But the girl knew from that day where to seek strength to conquer. She knew that the indwelling power of Christ alone could do the work in and for her, and that in him she would be more than conqueror.
And the change told on all her actions. Ere Claude had fully recovered, he learned to look with pleasure for the visits of his sister, who willingly then laid aside her own pursuits to amuse him. And poor Miss Vernon, who had her own burden in life to carry, soon felt the difference in Priscilla's mode of acting toward her. And so, although, as we have said, the old spirit of ambition and self-seeking did from time to time assert itself, Priscilla was advancing heavenward step by step, kept by the power of God.
She was crossing the common on the day we write of, to carry some strengthening jelly to a sick child, stooping every now and then to pluck some opening spring flower to put into her father's study, so that when he raised his eyes from his books they would have something fresh and sweet to rest on. She had just spied some of the early golden celandine, and was going to transfer it into her basket, when she saw André M'Ivor coming towards her, and she went forward to shake hands with him. These two were old friends now; and André's mother and sister had become the motherless girl's most cherished friends.
"How are they all at the cottage to-day?" was her greeting. "I hope Mrs. M'Ivor feels stronger, and that Gabrielle's cold has left her?"
"My mother and Gabrielle are better, thank you; but—" and the lad hesitated ere he spoke further.
And his dark eye fell as he glanced at the peaceful face of the young girl; for well he knew the words he had to say would cloud that peace and bring a shadow over her heart. But they must, nevertheless, be spoken.