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 Rosalind often reproached herself for the stupid indifference with which she rewarded her thousand delicate attentions; but she treasured them in her mind, and marvelled at the great forbearance that never gave way to a word of impatience or rebuke. Her mother understood her temperament too well to attempt any futile parade of argument in order to convince her of her unreasonable grief, which would only intensify it by driving it more despairingly inward. Reason is always a comfortless comforter at such times. It may serve to regulate, but it was never intended to control the emotions. They bring us joy,—they bring us grief; and we have not the power to say, Why comest thou?

Submission will come at length, but it must come according to its own natural laws; it cannot be forced upon us by any mechanical art of the human intellect. It is the serene, spiritual child of prayer and faith, born of speechless suffering, but borne triumphant in the loving Father's arms to a world of joy and peace.