circled around the huge chimneys. The years which stretched out before him seemed barren and lonely. He had come home feeling confident that he should win Hilvardine for his wife. Her shy glances, and the apparent cordial relations between the Burgomaster's family and his own, argued well for his success. But another and powerful rival had stepped in and borne away the prize. He had built upon the sand, and the incoming tide had made flotsam and jetsam of his castle. But Conrad Chenoweth was a man and a Christian. Shaking himself free from these melancholy reflections, he arose, and said bravely to himself:
“Because the dearest wish of my heart has not been realized, I will not become like driftwood upon the sea. God is good. He will never permit this monstrous sacrifice. Hilvardine is in his care. I will trust God for the future, and go forward and do my duty.”
When the morning sun rose again, it found the young advocate at his post in Brussels.
