_I_ have been proud and rebellious, smarting under a sense of unmerited chastisement and wrong.

Because man was false, I thought God unjust,--but now, on this dying bed, the illusion of passion is dispelled, and I see Him as He is, longsuffering, compassionate, and indulgent, in all his loving-kindness and tender mercy, strong to deliver and mighty to save.

I feel that I have needed all the discipline of sorrow through which I have passed, to bring my proud and troubled soul, a sin-sick, life weary wanderer, to my Father's footstool.

What matters now, my Gabriella, that I have trod a thorny path, if it lead to heaven at last?
How short the journey,--how long the rest! Oh, beloved child, bow to the hand that smites thee, for the stubborn will _must_ be broken.

Wait not, like me, till it be ground into dust." She paused breathless and exhausted, but I answered not.