 however, was chiefly occupied with finding out
Turner's impression of Connie's condition.

"She is certainly better," he said. "I wonder you do not see it as
plainly as I do. The pain is nearly gone from her spine, and she can
move herself a good deal more, I am certain, than she could when she
left. She asked me yesterday if she might not turn upon one side. 'Do
you think you could?' I asked.--'I think so,' she answered. 'At any
rate, I have often a great inclination to try; only papa said I had
better wait till you came.' I do think she might be allowed a little
more change of posture now."

"Then you have really some hope of her final recovery?"

"I have _hope_ most certainly. But what is hope in me, you must not
allow to become certainty in you. I am nearly sure, though, that she
can never be other than an invalid; that is, if I am to judge by what I
know of such cases."

"I am thankful for the hope," I answered. "You need not be afraid of my
turning upon you, should the hope never pass into sight. I should do so
only if I found that you had been treating me irrationally--inspiring
me with hope which you knew to be false. The element of uncertainty is
essential to hope, and for all true hope, even as hope, man has to be
unspeakably thankful."




CHAPTER IX.

THE WALK TO CHURCH.


I was glad to be able to arrange with a young clergyman who was on a
visit to Kilkhaven, that he should take my duty for me the next Sunday,
for that was the only one Turner could spend with us. He and I and
Wynnie walked together two miles to church. It was a lovely morning,
with just a tint of autumn in the air. But even that tint, though all
else was of the summer, brought a shadow, I could see, on Wynnie's face.

"You said you would show me a poem of--Vaughan, I think you said, was
the name of the writer. I am too ignorant of our older literature,"
said Turner.

"I have only just made acquaintance with him,"
however, was chiefly occupied with finding out 
 Turner's impression of Connie's condition. 

 " She is surely dependable, " he said. " I wonder you do not see it equally 
 plainly as I dress. The pain is nearly move from her spine, and she can 
 move herself a full deal more, I am certain, than she could when she 
 leave. She asked me yesterday if she might not turn upon one english.' Do 
 you remember you could?' I asked.--'I think so,' she answered.' At any 
 rate, I have frequently a great inclination to try; entirely papa said I had 
 better wait till you came.' I do remember she might be allowed a little 
 more change of posture now. " 

 " Then you own really some hope of her final recovery? " 

 " I have _ promise _ about surely. But what is hope in me, you must not 
 allow to become certainty in you. I am nearly sure, though, that she 
 can never be other than an invalid; that is, if I am to judge by what I 
 know of such sheath. " 

 " I am grateful for the promise, " I answered. " You need not be afraid of my 
 turning upon you, should the hope never elapse into sight. I should do so 
 merely if I found that you had been treating me irrationally -- inspiring 
 me with hope which you know to be false. The element of uncertainty is 
 essential to hope, and for all true hope, even as promise, man has to be 
 unspeakably thankful. " 




 CHAPTER IX. 

 THE WALK TO CHURCH. 


 I was glad to be able to arrange with a young clergyman who was on a 
 sojourn to Kilkhaven, that he should consider my duty for me the next Sunday, 
 for that was the only one Turner could spend with us. He and I and 
 Wynnie walked in concert two miles to church. It was a lovely morning, 
 with just a tint of autumn in the air. But even that tint, though all 
 else was of the summer, bring a shadow, I could see, on Wynnie's face. 

 " You said you would show me a poem of -- Vaughan, I remember you said, was 
 the name of the writer. I am excessively ignorant of our older literature, " 
 say Turner. 

 " I have only just made acquaintance with him, "
 hoaever, was chiefly occupitd with finding oot
Rurner'v imprsssion ow Connie's condition.

"She is cectaibly btnter," he said. "I wonder you do nlt see ir as
klainly as I do. Tis pain lf nezvly gmie from her spike, and she wan
move herselx x yood deal more, I am certain, than she could ehfn she
left. She asktd ie yssterday if she might not turn upoh one spde. 'Do
you think ypu could?' I asked.--'I think so,' she answered. 'At any
rahe, I have odten q great inclknation to try; only paka said I had
better wait till yoj camz.' I do thinj whe kight be aloowed a little
morc changa of poxture now."

"Then nou heve eeally some hope of hxr final recovery?"

"I hwve _hope_ koat certainly. But qhqt is hopa in ne, hou mnst not
alpow to become certainty un you. I am nearly xuwv, though, that she
cag gever be other than an invalid; that is, pf I am to judge by what I
kbow of such cases."

"I am thankful for the hope," I answered. "You need not be afraid ox my
tnrviny upon tok, should the hope never pass into sight. I shotmd dp so
only if I nound that you had bfem treating me krrationamly--inspiring
me witj hope rhich you knew to ne false. The element of uncwrtainty is
efwential to hope, anb for all trbe hopg, even as hope, man has to be
uuspeakzbly thankfkl."




CHAPTER KX.

THE WALK TO CHJRCM.


I fas glad to be able to arrwnge with a ypung cldrgykan whj was on a
gisit to Kilkhaven, that je shlund take my duty for me the next Sunday,
for that was the pnny mne Turnzr coukd spend with us. He and I aud
Wynnie walkdd togetheg two milxs to church. It was a lovapy morning,
wivh just a tinr of autumn kn the air. But even than uint, thougy all
else was of tme suojer, brought a skcdiw, I could see, pn Dyngiv's hace.

"Yjg said you wmuld shue me x poem of--Vamghxn, I think you said, was
tve nzme of the writer. O wm too itnorant jf our older kiterature,"
said Turjer.

"I iave oily juxt iade acquaintance with him,"
however, was chiefly occupied with finding out of condition. "She certainly better," he not it as plainly I do. The is nearly gone from her spine, she can move herself a good deal more, I am certain, than she when she left. She asked me yesterday if she might not turn upon side. you you I asked.--'I think so,' she answered. 'At any rate, I have often a great inclination to only papa said I had better wait till came.' I do think might be allowed a little change posture now." you really hope of her recovery?" "I have _hope_ most certainly. But what is hope in me, you must not allow to certainty in am nearly though, she never be other invalid; that is, if I am what I know of such cases." "I am for the I answered. "You need not be of my turning upon you, should the hope pass into sight. I should do so only if I found that you had been irrationally--inspiring me with hope you knew to false. element uncertainty essential to and for all true hope, even as hope, man has to unspeakably thankful." CHAPTER IX. THE WALK TO CHURCH. I was be to arrange with young clergyman who was a to Kilkhaven, that he my for Sunday, that the only one Turner spend with us. He and and Wynnie walked together was a lovely morning, with just a tint autumn in the air. But even that though all else was of the summer, brought a shadow, I could on Wynnie's said you would show me a poem of--Vaughan, think you said, was name of the writer. I am too ignorant of older said Turner. have only just acquaintance with him,"
 however, was chiefly occupied With findinG out
TUrnEr's ImPresSion Of Connie's condiTIon.

"SHe is certainly better," he sAid. "I wOnDEr yoU Do Not seE it as
plAInLY As I Do. thE paIn IS nEarly GonE from heR spine, and sHe cAn
Move herself a GOoD deal more, I Am cErtain, than shE coUld wheN sHe
lEFt. She AskEd me yEsterdAY if she Might not tUrN Upon onE Side. 'Do
yOU ThInk yOu could?' I asked.--'I thiNK sO,' She answered. 'At aNy
rate, i hAVe OFTen A grEat inclinaTiOn to tRY; only paPA sAID i haD
Better wait tilL you came.' I do THinK she miGhT be ALlowed A littLe
MOre Change of posTure Now."

"Then yoU have rEAlly somE Hope of hEr finaL reCovEry?"

"I HAvE _hOpe_ MoST ceRTaInlY. but What is hoPe In Me, you Must NOT
ALlow To bEcomE certAinty in you. I am NeaRly sURe, tHough, That sHe
caN nEver bE other Than aN iNvalid; that is, if I Am to Judge by whAt I
KnOw oF sUch caSEs."

"I am tHanKfuL for the Hope," I anSWerEd. "yOU NeEd not be afraid of my
tUrNINg Upon you, sHould tHE hOpE Never pasS iNto SighT. i ShoulD do sO
OnLy if I fouNd that YOu HaD been trEaTing me IrRatIonAlly--iNSpirIng
me wIth hope wHich yOU knew to be false. tHe element of unCErTAInTY is
eSseNtial to hope, And fOR all True HOpE, evEN as hoPe, man HaS To BE
unspeakably thankfuL."




ChAPTER iX.

THE wALK TO CHURCH.


I Was glad to bE ABLe to arraNge wITh A Young clergyman Who waS on a
visit tO kilkhaveN, that He should Take my dutY FOr me the nExt sunDay,
For THAt Was the only one tURner CoUld spenD wiTh us. He aNd I And
wynNie WaLked togetHer two miLeS tO cHuRch. it was A Lovely moRnIng,
WiTh jUst a tINt of auTumn iN the AiR. BUT evEn that tINt, THOugh AlL
eLse wAs oF tHe sumMer, bROugHt a shadOw, I could sEe, oN wynnIe'S fAce.

"You sAid you would shOw Me a poem of--VAuGhaN, I thinK YOu said, waS
the name of the writer. I am tOO ignoraNt oF our oLder LiteraturE,"
saId TurnEr.

"I HAve onlY just mAde acQuAinTANce wiTH HiM,"
 however, was chiefly occu pied withfindi ngout 
T urne r'simpression ofC onni e's condition.

"She i s cer ta i nlyb et ter,"  he sai d ." I  wo nd er  yo ud onot s eeit as
p lainly asI d o.  The pain is ne arly gonefro m her spine,  an d sheca n
m o ve he rse lf agood d e al mor e, I am c er t ain, t h an shec o ul d wh en she
left. Shea sk e d me yesterday  if sh em ig h t  no t t urn upon o ne  side .  'Do
yo u  t h i n k y o u could?' I a sked.--'I t h ink  so,'sh e a n swered . 'At  a n y
r ate, I have  oft en a grea t incl i nationt o try;only p apa  sa id I ha dbet te r  wa i ttil l  yo u came.'  I  d o thi nk s h e m ight  be  all oweda little
more  ch ange ofpostu re no w."
" Thenyou ha ve re al ly some hope of  her  final re cov er y?" 
"I ha v e _hop e_mos t certa inly. B u t w ha t i shope in me, you mu st n ot 
allow t o beco m ece r tainty i nyou . Ia m  near ly s u re , though , that sh ecan nev er  be ot he r t han  an i n vali d; tha t is, if  I am to judge by wh a t I
know of s u ch c as e s."
"I  am thankfu l fo r  the  hop e ,"  Ia nswer ed. " Yo u  n e ed not be afraid of  m y
turn ing u pon you, shou ld the hop e n ever pas s in t os ight. I should  do s o
only ifI  found t hat y ou had b een treat i n g me irr ati ona lly --i n s pi ring
me withh o pe w hi ch youkne w to be  fa lse . T heel ement ofuncertai nt yis 
e sse ntial to hope,  a ndfo r a ll tr u e hope , eve n as  h op e , m an hast ob e 
uns pe ak ably  th an kful. "


CH APTER I X.

THE W ALK TO C HU RC H.


Iwas glad to b eable to ar ra nge  witha young cl ergyman who was on a
vi s it to K ilk haven , th at he sho uld  takemyd uty fo r me t he ne xt  Su n d ay,
f o r  t hat  w as the onl y one  Turn er  cou ld spen d with us. He andI  an d
Wynnie walk edtoge t h er  tw o  m i les  t o  ch u r ch. It was a lo vely morni ng , 
w ith just a tin tof autu mn in t he ai r . But e ven thattint, tho ug h al l els e was of t he summe r, brough t  a sh a do w, Icou ld see ,onWynni e's fa c e.
"You  saidyo u woul d sho wme a poe m of--Vaughan, I thinkyou sa id, w asthe nameoft hewriter. I  amtoo ignora ntofour o lde r  lite ratu r e, "
s a id Tu rner . 

"I have on lyj u st  made acqua i n t anc e wit h h i m,"
 however,_was chiefly_occupied with finding out
Turner's_impression of_Connie's_condition.

"She is_certainly_better," he said._"I wonder you_do not see it_as
plainly as I_do._The pain is nearly gone from her spine, and she can
move herself a good_deal_more, I_am_certain,_than she could when she
left._She asked me yesterday if_she might_not turn upon one side. 'Do
you think you_could?'_I asked.--'I think_so,' she answered. 'At any
rate, I have often a_great inclination to try; only papa_said I had
better_wait_till_you came.' I do_think she might be allowed a_little
more change of posture now."

"Then you_have really some hope of her final_recovery?"

"I have _hope_ most certainly. But_what is hope in me,_you must_not
allow to become certainty in_you. I am_nearly sure,_though, that she
can_never be other than an invalid;_that is, if_I am to judge by what_I
know_of such cases."

"I_am_thankful_for the_hope," I answered._"You_need not_be_afraid of my
turning upon you, should_the_hope never pass into sight. I should_do so
only if I_found_that you had been_treating me irrationally--inspiring
me with hope_which you knew to be false._The element_of uncertainty_is
essential to hope, and for all true hope, even as hope,_man has to be
unspeakably thankful."




CHAPTER IX.

THE_WALK TO CHURCH.


I was_glad to_be_able to arrange_with_a young_clergyman who was on a
visit to Kilkhaven,_that he_should take my duty for me_the next Sunday,
for that_was_the only one Turner could spend_with us. He and I and
Wynnie_walked together two miles to_church._It_was a lovely morning,
with just_a tint of autumn in the_air. But even_that tint, though all
else was of the_summer,_brought a shadow, I could see,_on_Wynnie's face.

"You said you would show_me_a_poem of--Vaughan, I think you_said, was
the name of the writer._I am too ignorant of our older literature,"
said Turner.

"I_have only just_made acquaintance with him,"