" She had dreamed many a bright dream of her
bridal in the old church, and of the lovely home to which she was going
soon after the New Year. It was hard to give all up! Still harder to
suffer, in addition, misconstruction and visible dislike and contempt.
"Why had it been permitted?" She fell asleep with the question in her
heart, and was awakened by the singing of the waits. It was a chill,
windy night, with a young moon plunging wildly in and out a sea of
black driving clouds. She sat by the fire listening to the dying
melody, and thinking of the Christmas-eve when Phyllis stood by her
side, and the world seemed so full of happiness and hope. She had had
a letter from Phyllis a few days before, a very loving, comforting,
trustful letter, and she thought she would read it again. It had been
laid within a book which Phyllis had given her, and she brought it
to the fireside. It was a volume of poetry, and Elizabeth was not
poetical. She could not remember having read a page in this volume,
but as she lifted the letter her eyes fell upon these words:
"The priests must serve
Each in his course, and we must stand in turn
Awake with sorrow, in the temple dim
To bless the Lord by night."
The words affected her strangely; she turned the page backward, and
read,
"It is the night,
And in the temple of the Lord, not made
By mortal hands, the lights are burning low
Before the altar.
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