{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_75393/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_75393","id":"gutenberg_75393","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75393","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Romance","Christian life -- Fiction","Conduct of life -- Fiction","Mate selection -- Fiction","Paid companions (Household employees) -- Fiction","Young women -- Fiction"],"text":"Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.\n\n[Illustration: AT THE MANOR HOUSE.]\n\n\n\n                        [Illustration]\n\n\n                         WAS I RIGHT?\n\n\n                              BY\n\n                     MRS. O. F. WALTON\n\n                          AUTHOR OF\n\n _\"Christie's Old Organ,\" \"Peep Behind the Scenes,\" \"Saved at Sea,\"_\n                             ETC.\n\n\n                        [Illustration]\n\n\n                THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY\n       56, PATERNOSTER Row; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD;\n                    AND 164, PICCADILLY.\n\n\n\n                        [Illustration]\n\n\n                           CONTENTS.\n\n                        [Illustration]\n\nCHAP.\n\n    I. THE TWO LETTERS\n\n   II. MY CHOICE\n\n  III. WAS I WRONG?\n\n   IV. MAGGIE'S AUNTS\n\n    V. FIRST IMPRESSIONS\n\n   VI. ALLISTON HALL\n\n  VII. CONSCIENCE AT WORK\n\n VIII. ALICE FITZGERALD\n\n   IX. WAS THE PROMISE BINDING?\n\n    X. EVELYN'S CONFESSION\n\n   XI. THE OPPORTUNITY GIVEN\n\n  XII. BRINDISI\n\n XIII. WAS IT HE?\n\n  XIV. JERUSALEM\n\n   XV. MY OLIVE-LEAVES\n\n  XVI. A MYSTERY\n\n XVII. SUNDAY ON MOUNT ZION\n\nXVIII. THE MYSTERY SOLVED\n\n  XIX. WAS I RIGHT?\n\n\n\n                         WAS I RIGHT?\n\n\n                        [Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE TWO LETTERS.\n\n[Illustration] IT has often seemed very strange to me, that in moments\nof great anxiety or trouble, when our minds and our hearts are\nstretched to the uttermost, we notice with the keenest perception every\nlittle object around us. Each moving leaf, each nodding flower, catches\nour attention, and, years afterwards, we can remember, as distinctly as\nif it were yesterday, how everything looked in those sorrowful moments,\nwhen our minds were filled with thoughts of things and people far away.\n\nThere is one day in my life, which stands out from amongst the past as\na day above all others to be remembered by me. And, as I look back to\nit, I see myself a girl of nineteen, sitting at my bedroom window, lost\nin thought and perplexity! I can see the garden just as it looked as I\ngazed out into it that afternoon\u2014our quaint, old-fashioned garden, with\nits hedge of laurel bushes, and the large elm trees at the end of it,\nwith the flickering light and shade underneath. I can see the rabbits\nfrom the plantations round, nibbling the grass on the lawn; and I can\nhear the trickling of the stream, which ran by the side of the house,\nin which Claude, and Maggie, and I used to float our boats, in the\nhappy days when we were children. And now the old home must be left for\never, for Maggie and I had not a penny in the world!\n\nOur father had been the doctor in the village. It was a very poor\nplace, and the people had never any money to spare. My father was too\nkind-hearted to press for payment, when he saw how hard it was for them\nto live; and so the years went by, and although his practice was large,\nhe saved very little money. But even this small amount never came to\nus, for just before his death, the bank in which it was placed suddenly\nfailed, and so, when he was gone, Maggie and I were penniless!\n\nMaggie was much younger than I was; she was my half-sister, and her\nmother died three weeks after she was born. She committed her little\nbaby to me, when she knew that she must leave it; and from that day\nI became, as far as I was able, a mother to Maggie. I was a very\nlittle mother, for I was only seven years old; but a feeling of great\nresponsibility and trust came over me, as I left the room where my\nstepmother was dying. I crept up to the nursery, and stroked the baby's\nface very gently, and felt as if she belonged to me from that moment.\n\nAnd now, Maggie and I were left without a penny in the world. For\nMaggie it was not of so much consequence. A letter had come from her\nold maiden aunts, her mother's sisters, to insist upon her going at\nonce to live with them in the old Manor House at Brandon. Maggie would\nbe happy, and cared for there; that was a great relief to my mind.\nPoverty and hardship would not cross the path of my little sister, and\nI was more than content that it should be so. But there was no such\nhome in prospect for me. Maggie's aunts were, of course, not related to\nme, and my mother had been a friendless orphan, so I had no one to take\ncompassion on me. Separated from the old home, separated from Maggie,\nlife looked very cheerless to me in prospect.\n\nMy mind was full of trouble and of perplexity, for on the table before\nme lay two letters, which must be answered before evening, and upon the\nanswer to these letters would hang all my future life.\n\nI sat at my bedroom window, not knowing what to do. The clock ticked\non, the hands were moving round, and my letters were still unanswered.\n\nIt was then, that, as I gazed into the garden, every tiny object was\nimprinted on my mind. And I can remember that, as I was sitting there,\nthe sun went behind a bank of heavy clouds, and all was gloomy and\ndismal in a moment. The rabbits ran back to their holes, the sunbeams\nfled from the lawn, the wind whistled drearily in the chimneys of the\nold house, and flapped the branches of the climbing rose-tree against\nmy bedroom window. It seemed to me then very like the cloud which had\ncome across my hitherto happy life. And now, what was before me? Joy or\nsorrow?\n\nIt appeared to be left with me to decide. The two letters must be\nanswered. The first of these was from an old governess of ours, a kind,\ngood woman. I had written to tell her of my difficulties, and she wrote\nto advise me to apply for a situation as companion to a young lady of\nfortune, in answer to an advertisement which had just appeared in the\n\"Times\" newspaper. A fair salary was promised, and all expenses of\ntravelling would be defrayed.\n\nThat was one of the letters which I had to answer. That was one path of\nlife which lay before me. It did not seem very bright in prospect. The\nposition of a poor companion in a large household was certainly not one\nwhich I should have chosen for myself.\n\nI had said \"Oh no!\" instinctively, when I had first read the\nadvertisement which Miss Morley enclosed. And yet, the more I thought\nof it, the more I felt that perhaps I ought to apply for the situation.\nIt was clear that I must work for my living, in some way; I disliked\nteaching, so I felt that I was not fit to be a governess; perhaps,\nafter all, this would be the very place for me.\n\nAnd yet, and yet, my heart shrank back from what might be the path of\nduty.\n\nFor there was another letter on the table; another, and a very\ndifferent letter. And this letter must be answered before I could\nat all decide about Miss Morley's proposal. I had read it so often\nduring the day, that I knew every word of it. And now I must take up\nmy pen and answer it. It opened out to me another path of life, a very\ndifferent path from the former\u2014a path which seemed as bright as the\nother was shady.\n\nAnd yet, ought I to take it? Was it right for me to choose this path?\nShould I indeed be happy if I decided upon it? Would it be really\nbright, really peaceful? What course should I take? What answer should\nI give?\n\nThe letter was from Claude Ellis, my old playfellow and friend. He was\nthe son of the clergyman of the village, his only child. Claude had no\ncompanions at home, and therefore when we were children we went, day\nby day, to the Parsonage, or Claude came to us, and we played together\nbetween the hours for lessons. Maggie was too small to join in our\ngames, but she would sit on the grass near us, gathering daisies, and\nwatching us as we floated our boats in the little stream, or ran races\non the lawn. And then we grew older, and Claude was sent to school, but\nalways in the holidays our old friendship was renewed, and we walked\ntogether, read together, and played together as before.\n\nBut soon school days passed by, and Claude went to Oxford. I remember\nso well the day on which he came to say \"Good-bye\" to us before leaving\nhome. He looked very handsome, and was full of spirits, and was so much\nlooking forward to his college life.\n\nMaggie and I walked to the garden gate with him when he went away. And\nwe talked of the time when he would come home again, and we should\nspend our days together as we had always done in the holidays. Then he\nwent out, and the gate closed after him, and Maggie and I watched him\ndown the road, and she waved her handkerchief to him till he was out of\nsight. And then we went back to the house, and I counted how many weeks\nmust pass before the term would be ended, and Claude would be with us\nagain.\n\nBut a very short time after, Mr. Ellis, Claude's father, was taken\nill, and the doctor ordered him to go abroad for the winter. So Claude\nspent his Christmas vacation at Mentone instead of at home. And then we\nlooked forward to Midsummer.\n\nBut Claude did not return home until the greater part of the long\nvacation was over. He was in Cornwall with a reading party, and did\nnot come to the Parsonage until about three weeks before his return to\nOxford. And so it came to pass, that Claude Ellis and I had not met for\nnearly a year.\n\n\n\"Claude is at home,\" said my father, one morning at breakfast.\n\n\"Oh, is he?\" said little Maggie. \"How nice!\"\n\nAnd I was very pleased also. I expected to see exactly the same Claude\nas I had parted from at the garden gate, a year ago; and I thought that\nall would go on just as it had done when he was a boy at school, and\ncame home for the holidays.\n\nSo when I saw him coming up the road, I ran into the garden to meet him.\n\n\"Oh, Claude, I am glad to see you!\" I cried, as soon as he opened the\ngate. And then, in a moment, I stopped short, and went up to him quite\nquietly, and giving him my hand, said in a very different voice: \"How\ndo you do, Claude; when did you come home?\"\n\nFor in a moment it flashed across me that Claude Ellis and I were\nnot the same as we were when we had parted at that very gate a year\nago. We were both older than we were then; our childhood was a thing\nof the past. Claude and I had grown out of the boy and girl into the\nyoung man and woman since we had last met. All this flashed across me\nin a moment, as I noticed the difference in Claude's dress, manners,\nand appearance, as he came in at the gate. And a chill came over me\nas I noticed it, and I wished that I had not run to meet him quite so\neagerly.\n\nAnd yet, when he began to talk, I felt that he was in many ways the\nsame Claude still, the same, but changed.\n\nWas he changed for the better? In many ways he was. He was more manly,\nand more gentleman-like, and had much to tell us of his college\nfriends, and college life, which made him a more amusing and pleasant\ncompanion than before.\n\nAnd yet, there was another change in Claude, which I could not help\nnoticing, in spite of my efforts not to do so. Claude Ellis was more of\na man, more of a gentleman; but he was, yes, he certainly was, though I\ntried to persuade myself to the contrary, less of a Christian.\n\nBefore Claude went to college, we had often talked together of\nthe Bible, and he had explained to me many things which I did not\nunderstand. We used sometimes to sit on the garden seat on Sunday\nafternoons, and read a chapter together; and Claude used to talk so\nnicely about it, and I thought he loved the Lord Jesus, and wished to\nserve Him. He often spoke of the time when he would be old enough to be\nordained, and when I should come to his church and hear him preach; and\nhe told me what his first text would be, and how he had already written\nsome pages of his first sermon.\n\nBut after Claude's return I noticed a change in him. At first, he\nalways avoided any mention of religious subjects, and when, either in\nhis own home or ours, any allusion was made to them, he quickly turned\nthe conversation to some other topic.\n\nI tried, for some days, to fancy that it was not because Claude had\nceased to care for what he had loved before, but rather that his\nfeelings had grown so much deeper and truer, that he felt things divine\ntoo sacred to be talked about. But before the vacation was over, I was\nobliged to admit to myself, however unwilling I was to believe it, that\nClaude's views and opinions were quite changed about religious matters;\nthat he had begun to doubt what he had before received with childlike\nfaith; that he had begun to despise and hold in contempt that which\nfrom his mother's knee he had learnt to love and reverence.\n\n\"Oh, you have never been to Oxford, May,\" he said, rather\ncontemptuously one day, when I was trying to prove something to him\nfrom the Bible. \"You should read some books, which were lent to me\nby a man on my staircase. We are behind the times in this little,\nout-of-the-way place; the world is growing very clever and learned,\nand there are many things which we have always taken for granted about\nwhich there is really great doubt and uncertainty.\"\n\n\"What things, Claude?\" I said. \"You do not surely mean\u2014\"\n\n\"I mean parts of the Bible, May, and doctrines which are supposed to be\nproved from the Bible. But what is the use of talking about it to you?\nI don't want to unsettle your mind. If you like to believe it, and if\nit makes you happy, go on believing it, and be glad that you haven't\nread the books I have read.\"\n\n\"But you, Claude?\" I said, sorrowfully.\n\n\"Oh, never mind about me, May, I am all right; I am a little wiser than\nyou, that is all!\"\n\n\"Are you happier, Claude?\" I ventured to ask.\n\n\"Oh, I don't know, May; I don't think happiness, which is based on a\ndelusion, is much worth having.\"\n\n\"Oh, Claude,\" I said, \"it makes me wretched to hear you talk like that.\"\n\n\"Then talk about something else, May,\" he said gaily; \"you began the\nsubject, not I.\"\n\n\"But, Claude\u2014\"\n\n\"Now, that will do, May!\" he said impatiently. \"We don't think alike\nabout these subjects, simply because I know a great deal more about\nthem than I did before I went away, or than you do now; so let the\nmatter drop.\"\n\nI was very unhappy after this conversation with Claude. He gave me no\nopportunity of renewing it; but though he had not explained to me any\nof his doubts, he had left an uneasy, troubled feeling on my mind, a\nfeeling which I could not shake off.\n\nWhen I went upstairs to bed that night, I sat down to think over what\nClaude had said. What if, after all, I was resting upon a delusion,\nbuilding my happiness upon an unreality? What if, after all, my faith\nwas in vain, my hope unfounded?\n\nHorrible doubts, such as I had never known before, came crowding into\nmy mind. \"Are these things so?\" was the oft-repeated question of my\nheart. It was a sad awakening from the trust and implicit confidence\nof childhood; an awakening which, perhaps, comes to every thoughtful\nmind, when its faith is brought into contact, for the first time, with\nthe intellect of this world; an awakening which leads us either into\nthe terrible region of doubt and uncertainty, or into faith, far firmer\nthan ever before, because based, not on mere childish impressions, but\non the words and the being of the eternal God.\n\nIn this state of perplexity I went to my bedroom window and looked out.\nIt was a bright, starlight night, so I put out my candle, and sat by\nthe window, gazing into the sky at the countless multitude of stars.\n\nWho had made all these mighty worlds? Who was keeping them all in their\nplaces, and making them fulfil the object for which they were created?\n\nI knew who it was; my faith in the existence of an Almighty God\nremained unshaken. I could never look around me on God's universe and\ndoubt that God was.\n\nAnd then, as I looked at the stars, other thoughts came\u2014thoughts of\nthe majesty and wisdom and power of the God who had made all these;\nthoughts, too, of the smallness and insignificance of our own little\nworld\u2014in comparison with the rest of God's great universe a mere speck\nin space.\n\nAnd I\u2014what was I?\n\nOnly one of the beings which inhabited this tiny world; one of the\nsmallest and least wise of all in God's universe! Who was I, that I\nshould say to God, \"Why doest Thou this?\" Who was I, that I should\npresume to sit in judgment on anything in God's revelation?\n\n\"His wisdom is unsearchable, His ways past finding out,\" was the\nlanguage of my heart. I am but a little child,\u2014how can I understand\nGod's plans? I know so little, I understand so little, I see such a\nlittle way, either before me or behind me. How can I, then, expect to\nunderstand that which is understood fully only by God Himself?\n\nA feeling of my utter nothingness and insignificance in God's sight\ncame over me so powerfully that I was almost crushed by it. Who was\nI\u2014what was I, that I should dare to doubt what God had in wonderful\ncondescension revealed to me, because of the vast amount of knowledge\nwhich was too wonderful for me; so high that I could not attain unto it?\n\n   \"O Lord,\" I said, as I looked up into the sky, \"I will be content to\nbe a little child, receiving Thy Word with childlike faith, and what\nmy mind is too weak and small to understand fully, I will yet believe,\nbecause Thou hast told me, and because Thy Word must be true.\"\n\nAnd even as I said the words, this verse came into my mind:\n\n   \"Now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know\nin part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.\"\n\nThen the day was coming when, in another world, my mind would be\nstrengthened to understand these difficult matters which were now\nperplexing me\u2014these things which I only knew in part, and which, for\nthis very reason, just because I only knew a part of them, seemed to me\nso perplexing and mysterious.\n\nAnd then there was another thought which comforted me perhaps more\nthan anything else, and it was this: I had proved the Bible to be\ntrue myself. I knew it was the Word of the God of truth by my own\nexperience. I had prayed, and had received many an answer to my\nprayers. I had pleaded the promises, and had found them more than\nfulfilled to me in every hour of need. I had fallen back upon the grand\nold truths of the Bible in many a time of trouble, and had never found\nthem fail me.\n\nA hundred books, written by the cleverest men on earth, could not\nconvince me that the Bible was a mere human production; for I had\nfound in it what I had found in no other book\u2014peace for a troubled\nconscience, comfort in sorrow, victory over sin.\n\nI lay down to sleep that night reassured and comforted, and with my\ndoubts entirely removed, and I do not remember that they ever returned\nto me.\n\nBut Claude, what could I do for him? I could do nothing but pray for\nhim, for he never gave me an opportunity of speaking to him again about\nwhat had so troubled me.\n\nHis college days passed by, and every vacation that he was at home he\ncame frequently to see us, and each time he came I felt more persuaded\nthat his new views had not improved his character. He had occasionally\nan imperious and dictatorial manner, such as he had never had before,\nand he looked restless and dissatisfied, as if something was preying on\nhis mind.\n\nAnd yet Claude was very kind to us, to Maggie and to me. He never came\nhome without bringing us some little present, and he never seemed tired\nof our company.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nMY CHOICE.\n\n[Illustration] ONE day, about six weeks before the time at which my\nlittle story commences, I had been spending the day at the Parsonage.\nI did not often go there now, but Claude was away, and his aunt, Miss\nRichards, who had lived there since Claude's mother died, invited me\nto spend the afternoon with her. Claude had just left Oxford, and was\nstaying for a few weeks with some friends in Scotland, before settling\ndown at home.\n\nAfter dinner Miss Richards and I took our work into the little\nsummer-house, and sat there until the evening. We talked on various\nsubjects, the village, the people round, Mr. Ellis's health, and of\nmany other things. And then we talked of Claude.\n\n\"It will be very pleasant to have Claude at home,\" said Miss Richards;\n\"the house is so dull when he is away.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"you must miss him very much, Miss Richards, but I\nsuppose he will not be at home very long; when is he to be ordained?\"\n\nShe did not answer me at once, and when I looked up, I saw that her\nface was very troubled and sorrowful, as she bent over her work.\n\n\"Claude will not be ordained, May,\" she said at length; \"I think that\nis quite decided now.\"\n\n\"Why not, Miss Richards?\" I asked in astonishment. \"I thought that had\nbeen settled years ago, when Claude was a little boy.\"\n\n\"It was only settled conditionally, May,\" she said. \"Claude was to go\ninto the ministry if it was his own wish to do so; his father would\nnever press him into such work, if he did not feel drawn to it himself.\"\n\n\"And Claude does not feel drawn to it?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh no, he has written to his father most decidedly, giving up all idea\nof becoming a clergyman, and expressing his wish to study for the bar.\"\n\n\"Is Mr. Ellis very disappointed, Miss Richards?\" I said.\n\n\"Of course he is disappointed in one way, May, for he has made a great\neffort to give Claude a University education, in order to make him more\nfit for his work as a minister; but at the same time, he quite sees\nthat with Claude's peculiar ideas (you know what I mean, May, those new\nviews he has taken up at Oxford) his ordination is, at least for the\npresent, out of the question.\"\n\nI made no answer, but went on diligently with my work.\n\n\"Claude has been a great expense to his father,\" Miss Richards went\non; \"he has cost him many hundreds at Oxford, and bills are still\ncoming in. He is young yet, you see, and I suppose all young men are\nextravagant. But it is a great pity that he let the bills run on for so\nlong; some go as far back as his first term.\"\n\n\"What does Claude say about it?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh, he is always very much troubled when the bills come, for he sees\nthat his father has not any money to spare, and he talks about the time\nwhen he will have money of his own at his uncle Charles's death, and\nwhen he will be able to repay all his father has advanced for him. And\nthen he is quite certain that the tradesmen must have added a great\ndeal which he never bought. But it is so long ago, May, nearly four\nyears, so, of course, he cannot be sure of it.\"\n\n\"I am very, very sorry,\" I said.\n\n\"Yes, and so are we,\" said Miss Richards; \"but that anxiety is nothing\nto the other. Mr. Ellis would not mind how much money he had to pay, if\nonly Claude had not taken up such rationalistic, infidel ideas.\"\n\n\"Does he still hold those views?\" I asked. \"He spoke to me once about\nthem, a long time ago, but I have heard nothing of it since. I hoped\nClaude had studied the other side of the question, and had grown wiser.\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear,\" said Miss Richards, \"he seems to me to get worse and\nworse. At first it was only some small parts of the Bible which he\ncavilled at, and which he maintained were not inspired; but when\nhe once began to doubt, there was no knowing where he would stop\ndoubting\u2014he carried the same spirit of critical suspicion into\neverything.\"\n\n\"But surely there are books written which would in a great measure\nanswer Claude's doubts?\" I suggested.\n\n\"Yes, undoubtedly,\" said Miss Richards; \"but it seems to me Claude\nprefers doubting, for he does not seem at all anxious to have his\ndoubts cleared away. He does not want to have his mind satisfied, and\nso he either does not read books on the other side at all; or, if he\nreads them, he does so fully determined that his scepticism cannot be,\nand indeed must not be shaken. If Claude would only prayerfully desire,\nand prayerfully strive to have his doubts removed, I should have no\nfear about him.\"\n\n\"I am so very sorry, Miss Richards,\" I said again.\n\n\"Yes, May, and so am I,\" said she. \"I assure you that when I went\nupstairs into Claude's bedroom, when he was last at home, and found at\nthe bottom of his box a number of his favourite books (the very names\nof some of which made me shudder), I sat down on a chair in his room,\nand had a good cry. I could not help it, May dear. For I thought of\nthe little, trustful face, which used to be lifted to mine years ago,\nwhen I told him, for the first time, the beautiful stories out of the\nBook he now despises and scoffs at. I thought of the little voice which\nused to say the evening prayer at my knee, and which used, on Sundays,\nto repeat hymns and texts to me in this very summer-house. And then\nI thought of the small, black Bible, which, when he grew older, used\nalways to be laid beside his pillow, that he might be able to read it\nas soon as it was light in the morning. I could see plenty of other\nbooks in Claude's room, May, but no Bible! I could not help going\ndownstairs and bringing a Bible up to lay on the dressing-table, in\ncase he might see and read it. Though, of course, it would do him no\ngood, unless he came to it in a teachable spirit,\" she added, with a\nsigh.\n\n\"But I have not lost hope for Claude yet,\" said Miss Richards, after a\npause. \"I believe that when he is older he will be wiser in many ways.\nAnd May,\" she said, \"my great hope for Claude lies in you; you have\nmore influence with him than any one has.\"\n\n\"I? Oh no, Miss Richards; you are quite wrong there,\" I said. \"He will\nnever even speak to me on the subject.\"\n\n\"No, perhaps not,\" said Miss Richards; \"but your quiet, gentle, loving\ninfluence must have its effect in time.\"\n\n\"But, Miss Richards, you are quite mistaken in supposing that I have\nany influence with Claude. I know when we were children together, and\nwere like brother and sister to each other, I may have had some power\nover him, but it is quite different now.\"\n\n\"You have tenfold more influence with Claude now than you had then,\nMay,\" she said quietly; \"to give you pleasure is the greatest joy of\nhis life, to grieve you is his greatest pain.\"\n\nI felt my face growing very crimson as Miss Richards said this. She had\nput into words a fear which had been hidden away in my heart for some\nmonths\u2014a fear that I had never dared, even in my own heart, to put into\nwords\u2014a fear that I was becoming more to Claude than a mere sister,\nand that he had plans and views for our future, his future and mine,\nwhich I could not, which I ought not, to entertain for a moment. And,\nbecause of this undefined fear, I had kept away from the Parsonage as\nmuch as possible during the vacations, and I had avoided Claude as much\nas our old friendship would allow me, until sometimes my conscience had\naccused me of rudeness and unkindness.\n\nBut, after all, I had hoped it was but a fear. Claude loved me, it was\ntrue, I argued to myself, and liked to bring me presents, and to give\nme pleasure; but then it was only natural that he should do so, when we\nhad been brought up together, and learnt together, and played together,\nand had had every thought and scheme in common. It was nothing more\nthan that. So I had argued with myself. But Miss Richards's words had\nrevived my old fear, and increased it a hundredfold.\n\nI was very glad when, a minute or two afterwards, the village clock\nstruck five, and I could make an excuse to leave.\n\nMiss Richards had evidently noticed my embarrassment, for she said\nkindly, as she wished me good-bye:\n\n\"I hope I have not troubled you, May dear, but my heart is so full of\nanxiety about Claude just now, that I have spoken perhaps more strongly\nthan I ought to have done.\"\n\nI went home very perplexed and troubled, but the next day my thoughts\nwere turned into an entirely fresh channel by the sudden illness of my\ndear father. I will not dwell upon the sad time which followed those\ndays and nights of alternate hope and fear, and then the close to our\nwatching, and the terrible realisation that Maggie and I were amongst\nthe number of the fatherless children, prayed for, Sunday after Sunday,\nin the Litany.\n\nMiss Richards was very kind to me during that time of trouble, giving\nme advice and help as I needed them, and relieving me greatly from the\nsense of heavy responsibility which rested on me.\n\nClaude was still from home, but he wrote a kind little note of sympathy\nto me, when he heard of my father's death. He said he was very sorry\nthat he was away at the time; had he been at home he would have done\nall in his power to save me any unnecessary care and anxiety in my time\nof sorrow.\n\nI tried to hope that this was only brotherly sympathy and kindness,\nsuch as Claude had always shown me from childhood. I answered the\nletter by a short note, thanking him for his kind expression of\nsympathy, and telling him a little of our future plans\u2014how Maggie was\ngoing to live with her aunts in the old Manor House at Branston, and\nhow I hoped very soon to obtain a situation as governess or companion,\nwhere I could earn enough money to keep me in comfort and independence.\nBy return of post came a second letter from Claude. I almost trembled\nwhen I saw his handwriting on the envelope; I had not intended to\nopen a correspondence with him. And when I took the letter from the\nenvelope, and saw its length, I was still more troubled and afraid.\nThen I read the letter, and when I had read it once, I read it again,\nand yet again. And now this letter lay on the table before me, still\nunanswered, and post-time was drawing nearer and nearer. I looked at it\nonce more, although I knew almost every word of it already.\n\nClaude began by stating his utter disapproval of my scheme of obtaining\na situation as companion or governess. I was not fitted for it, and he\nwould never allow it to be carried out. And then he went on to tell me\nthat he had far different plans for my future\u2014plans which had mingled\nwith his boyish dreams, and which had been for years the one idea of\nhis life.\n\nAnd then he told me how he loved me, how there was no one on earth that\nhe had ever cared for except myself, and how he felt that the time had\nnow come to make me his wife, and to take me to a home of my own, where\nI should be taken care of, and cherished, and loved, more than any wife\nhad ever been before. He said it was hard for him to put into a letter\nall the feelings of his heart. He had never planned to tell me all this\nby writing, but he felt compelled to write off at once, as soon as\nhe received my letter, and the more so as, by a curious coincidence,\nby the very same post he had heard of the sudden death of his uncle\nCharles, who had left him a large sum of money, quite sufficient,\nClaude said, to enable him to marry, and to take me to a comfortable\nhome.\n\nAt the end of the week, he said, he hoped to be with me, but he could\nnot wait till then to tell me all this, for he feared that I should in\nthe meantime be answering some dreadful advertisement, and be making\nanother and a very different engagement. He concluded by urging me to\nwrite by return of post, as he longed to know that the whole matter was\nfinally settled and arranged.\n\nThe more I read this letter, the more persuaded I felt that Claude\nnever, for a single moment, entertained the possibility of my refusing\nhim; he seemed to look upon it as a matter of certainty that I should\nbe only too glad to do as he asked me. He was evidently utterly\nunprepared for anything but an immediate and hearty acceptance of his\noffer.\n\nAnd now what answer should I give? I pressed my throbbing temples, and\ntried to think the matter over calmly and deliberately.\n\nDid I love Claude Ellis? Yes, undoubtedly I loved him very much indeed;\nnot in the same way, it is true, as I had imagined that I should love\nthe one who was to become my husband, but still I loved him very\nwarmly, us a sister loves a dear brother who has been everything to\nher since she was a little child. And surely a different kind of love\nfor Claude might, and probably would, come in my heart after we were\nengaged.\n\nAnd although Claude was certainly not at all like the husband that I\nhad pictured to myself in the days long ago, when I was foolish enough\nto indulge in day-dreams, and although even now, at times, I longed,\noh, how much! for some one to lean on\u2014some one very wise, very good,\nvery true, and infinitely better in every way than I was; and I had\nnever pictured Claude to myself as the one who was to be all this to\nme; yet still he would be a kind, loving husband, and I might be very\nhappy if I were his wife.\n\nAnd I was so fond of Claude that I felt it would make me very miserable\nto feel that there was any estrangement or coldness between us, as\nthere undoubtedly would be if I refused to be his wife. Our old\nfriendship, which had lasted so long, would practically end, and when\nwe met we should feel restrained and uncomfortable in each other's\npresence. I could not bear to think that such would be the case.\n\nAnd then Miss Richards\u2014how anxious she evidently was that I should use\nmy influence with Claude! What would she say if I were to refuse him?\nHow strange she would think it! How grieved and disappointed she would\nbe!\n\nAnd yet, with the thought of Miss Richards came the recollection of\nwhat she had told me of Claude, as we sat together in the arbour.\nShould I be happy with one as my husband who scorned the Book I loved\nbest on earth, who slighted and neglected the Friend who was to me the\nchiefest among ten thousand?\n\nShould I be happy with no family prayer in my household, with no\nreading of the Word of God, and with religious topics for ever\nbanished, because husband and wife thought so differently about them?\nWould the love between us be perfect, the confidence unsullied, when\nthere was one subject\u2014and that one the subject nearest to my heart\u2014on\nwhich we had no communion; one Name, and that one the Name above every\nname, which neither of us ever mentioned to each other? Should I be\nreally happy, really contented with such a state of things?\n\nAnd then came another question. Even supposing I should be happy, was\nit right for me to accept Claude's offer? Was it right in God's sight\nfor me to marry one who was not a Christian? I knew there was a text\nsomewhere in the Epistle to the Corinthians which spoke on this point.\nI opened my Bible and looked for it, and I found it in 2 Corinthians\nvi. 14:\n\n   \"Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what\nfellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion\nhath light with darkness?\"\n\nIt was a very clear command, and could not be mistaken. And yet I tried\nto argue myself into the belief that it did not apply to me. For in the\nfirst place, I reasoned, Claude was not a heathen as these Corinthians\nwere. He did not worship gods of wood and stone. He was looked upon as\na Christian, and lived and had been brought up in a Christian family.\nBut the word unbeliever, conscience answered, surely includes every one\nthat is not a believer.\n\nWas Claude a believer? Could I honestly say that he was a true believer\nin the Lord Jesus Christ? Would Claude himself like to be thought a\nbeliever? Could I from my heart say that I thought Claude was safe in\nChrist, resting his soul on Christ for salvation? No, I was obliged\nsorrowfully to admit to myself that such was not the case. But then, I\nargued, I am not perfect. Oh, how cold and indifferent I am at times!\nHow full of carelessness, and pride, and every kind of sin! Who am I,\nthat I should set myself up to be better and more holy than Claude? Who\nam I, that I should say Claude is not good enough for me?\n\nAnd yet the line of distinction in the text was evidently drawn, not\nbetween perfect people and imperfect people, but between believers and\nunbelievers. Was I then a believer? That was the question: was I in\ndeed and in truth a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ?\n\nI dared not say that I was not, for even as I asked myself the\nquestion, a day years ago came back to my mind, a day when Mr. Ellis\nhad been giving us a Bible lesson and had spoken to us very solemnly\nabout coming to Christ for ourselves, and that at once.\n\nI remembered how anxious and serious I had felt as I left the Bible\nclass, and how I had come home and shut myself in this very room where\nI was now sitting. I remembered how I had closed the door behind me,\nand had resolved not to leave the room until I had laid my sins on\nJesus, and had looked to Him by faith as my own Saviour. I remembered\nhow all my sins had risen up before me that day as they had never done\nbefore; and how, one by one, I had taken them to Christ to be atoned\nfor and forgiven.\n\nAnd then I remembered the peace which had followed, and how, for days\nafterwards, life had been entirely new to me, and my thoughts, and\nfeelings, and wishes had been entirely different from what they were\nbefore. And since that time, though I had very often grown careless\nand indifferent, still I had never been happy when I was not walking\nclosely with God, and I had always longed at such times to be back in\nthe sunshine and light of His presence again. So then it seemed as if\nthe command in the text did apply to me.\n\nBut surely if I married Claude, I might use my influence with him for\ngood. He loved me very much, and, as Miss Richards had said, I had more\ninfluence with him than any one had.\n\nWas it right for me to throw away this opportunity of doing good? Was\nthere not a text which said that husbands, \"who obey not the Word,\"\nmight yet, without the Word, be \"won by the conversation of their\nwives?\" And did not St. Paul say, \"What knowest thou, O wife, whether\nthou shalt save thy husband?\" Surely these verses justified me in\nthinking that if I married Claude, he might, through my influence,\nbecome a Christian.\n\nAnd yet when I turned to these passages, and read the context, I saw\nthat they clearly referred to those wives who were converted after\ntheir marriage\u2014that such were told not to leave their unbelieving\nhusbands, but to remain in that state in which they were called, and to\nsuch, and to such alone, the promise about being the means of saving\ntheir husbands applied. It had evidently nothing whatever to do with\nthose who were converted whilst they were still unmarried, nor did it,\nin the very slightest degree, overthrow the clear command I had just\nread:\n\n   \"Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers\u2014\"\n\nA command which applied to the unmarried believers, as plainly as the\ncommand in the first Epistle applied to the married ones.\n\nAnd, when I began to think the matter over, with a more unbiased mind,\nI was driven to the conclusion that Claude was far more likely to lead\nme away from Christ than I was to lead him to become a believer. For\nsurely if I had not enough influence now to persuade him to love better\nthings\u2014now, when he was so anxious to win my favour,\u2014surely afterwards,\nwhen he felt certain of my love, he would not be more likely to be led\nin an entirely different direction. Surely I should become worse, and\nClaude would become no better. I should be less of a believer, and he\nwould remain still an unbeliever.\n\nTo do evil, that good may possibly come, is entirely opposed to the\nwhole teaching of the New Testament; nowhere is the faintest hope held\nout that such a course will result in good. And I could undoubtedly\nexpect no blessing from God on my endeavours to lead Claude aright\nif I had acted in the face of God's command and had gone in direct\nopposition to His clear injunction:\n\n   \"Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers.\"\n\nAnd so I felt, when I had thought the whole matter carefully over, that\nit came to this:\n\nWas I willing to shut Christ out from the first place in my heart, and\nput Claude there instead? Or, on the other hand, was I willing to give\nup Claude, and hold all the closer and firmer to Him who had for years\nbeen my hope and my refuge?\n\nChrist's love or Claude's! Which should I choose? I could not have\nboth, for I felt that to have both was impossible. Choosing Christ, I\nshould offend Claude; choosing Claude, I should forfeit the love and\nthe favour of Christ. Christ or Claude\u2014which?\n\nA verse, which I had learned as a child, came suddenly into my mind,\nand looking up to the sky above me, in which the sun was once more\nshining, I repeated it aloud, for it seemed exactly to express the\nearnest cry of my soul:\n\n   \"My heart is fixed, O God,\n       Fixed on Thee;\n    And my eternal choice is made,\n       Christ for me.\"\n\nChrist for me. Christ's smile, Christ's favour, Christ's blessing;\nthese are my choice. Whatever it costs me, I cannot, I will not, give\nthem up.\n\nI knelt down, and thanked God from the bottom of my heart for showing\nme the clear, the sure, the right way for me to take. And then I took\nup my pen to answer Claude's letter.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nWAS I WRONG?\n\n[Illustration] IT was not an easy task to answer that letter, for I did\nnot wish to wound Claude or to pain him, and I felt sure he would be so\nutterly unprepared for what I felt obliged to say.\n\nLest I should in any way raise his hopes, I began at once by telling\nhim how difficult I felt it to write, and how much it cost me to tell\nhim that what he had asked me to do in his letter was quite impossible.\nI thanked him for all his love for me, and for the kind way in which\nhe had spoken of me; but I made it as clear as possible that, though I\nhoped always to remain his friend and sister, yet I could not be his\nwife.\n\nI did not tell him my exact reason for refusing him, for I felt that\nClaude would not in the least degree understand it; but I told him that\nmy mind was fully made up, and I begged him at once to dismiss the idea\nof it from his own mind. I tried to write very decidedly and yet very\nkindly, and with the remembrance of our old friendship and love vividly\nimpressed on my mind.\n\nI ended by expressing my sorrow for giving him pain, and my earnest\nhope for his future happiness. I begged him to let no coldness and\nestrangement come between us on account of this, but to let our old\nfriendship be strengthened and increased rather than weakened and\nlessened.\n\nI was not at all satisfied with this letter when it was finished, but\nthere was no time to rewrite it, for post-time was close at hand, and\nthe advertisement in the \"Times\" newspaper must be answered at once, or\nI should lose the situation.\n\nWhen both the letters were gone, I tried to dismiss the subject from\nmy mind, and when it came back to me, I endeavoured to turn my tired\nthoughts into prayer, and in this way found comfort and relief.\n\nThe following afternoon, as I was writing letters in the little\nschoolroom, which was the next room to my bedroom, and the window of\nwhich also looked out over the garden to the hills beyond, I heard a\nhasty step on the stairs.\n\nMaggie was spending the day with a playfellow of hers in the village,\nand it was not Maggie's step. No, I knew the step well, and my heart\nbeat fast, and I felt myself growing paler and paler every moment.\n\nThe door opened, and Claude entered without any ceremony. He looked\ntired and troubled, and his clothes were covered with dust from his\nlong journey.\n\n\"May,\" he said, \"I got your letter this morning, and I have come off\nat once. The Fitzgeralds thought I was mad, I believe; I started up\nfrom the breakfast-table and said I must catch the nine o'clock train.\nBut I could not have waited another day; it would have been utterly\nimpossible, May.\"\n\nI tried to speak, but my heart was beating so quickly now that my words\nseemed as if they would choke me.\n\n\"And now, May,\" Claude said, hurriedly, sitting down by my side and\ntaking my hand, \"I want you to tell me what you meant by that cruel\nletter you sent me; or, rather, I want you to tell me that it was all\na mistake, all a delusion, that you have thought better of it since,\nand that you wish you had never written it. I want you to tell me, May,\ndarling,\" he said in a lower voice, \"that the dream of my life is to be\nchanged into a reality this very week. I want you to tell me that the\nbright days which I have always said were in store for us both are now\nclose at hand.\"\n\n\"Claude, dear Claude,\" I said, as soon as I was able to speak, \"you\nhave my answer; as a sister, as a friend, I will always love you, but I\ncannot, cannot be your wife.\"\n\n\"And pray why not, May?\" he said, impatiently rising, and walking\ntowards the window. \"What absurd idea have you got in your head now?\nWho, or what is to hinder you from becoming my wife, I should like to\nknow?\"\n\n\"Claude, I cannot,\" I said; and the tears would come, in spite of all\nmy efforts to keep them back.\n\n\"But what is your reason, May?\" he said, pacing up and down the room.\n\"You must have some reason for what you say, and I cannot rest till you\ntell me what it is. What is it, May?\"\n\n\"I had rather not tell you all my thoughts about it, Claude,\" I said;\n\"it would be very difficult, and would cost us both much pain. And\nClaude,\" I said, earnestly, \"it would do no good; my mind is quite\nmade up: I cannot do as you ask me, so please do not press me for the\nreason, Claude.\"\n\n\"But I will know it, May,\" he said, almost angrily. \"I am not going\nhome till you have told me; so you had better let me hear it at once.\"\n\nAnd then I felt that, perhaps, it was sinful cowardice which made me\nafraid to tell Claude my reason; perhaps I was grieving my dear Lord\nand Master by being ashamed of Him, by being ashamed to tell Claude\nwhat it was that I held far more dear than his love for me, even the\npriceless, the everlasting love of my Lord. And yet how could I do it?\nClaude unexpectedly came to my help.\n\n\"May,\" he said, quickly, \"do you love any one better than me\u2014is that\nit?\"\n\n\"Yes, Claude,\" I said, in a low voice; \"there is one love which I hold\nmore dear than yours\u2014that is it.\"\n\n\"Who is it, May?\" he said, impatiently. \"I didn't know you knew any one\nelse well enough; who can it be?\"\n\n\"It is no one on earth, Claude,\" I said; \"I mean the Lord Jesus Christ.\"\n\n\"What nonsense, May!\" he exclaimed. \"Whatever in the world has that to\ndo with it? I am not going to interfere with your religion; you may be\nas religious as ever you please\u2014a perfect saint if you like; I won't\nhinder you. So now put all those absurd notions out of your head, and\nlet us talk about the future. That matter is settled; you shall be\ntwice as religious after you are married as you were before.\"\n\n\"But, Claude, it is not settled,\" I said; \"you know I could not expect\nto be happy, or to enjoy God's presence, if I was disobeying His clear\ncommand.\"\n\n\"And pray what command do you mean?\" said Claude. \"Really, May, this is\ntoo absurd!\"\n\nI opened the Bible and handed it to him; there was a mark against the\nverse in the Epistle to the Corinthians, and his face clouded over as\nhe read the words.\n\n\"I wish that verse was cut out of every Bible in the world,\" he said,\nangrily; \"I wonder how many people's happiness has been ruined by it;\nand it is perfectly ridiculous! Why, May, you don't even understand the\nwording of the text; you can't even read it in Greek, and yet you are\ngoing to overthrow all my plans and schemes for the future, and spoil\nall my happiness in the world, just for the sake of that one obscure\nverse.\"\n\nI could not help noticing how much Claude dwelt on his own plans, and\nschemes, and happiness in the world, and how he looked at the matter\nquite from his own point of view, and not at all from my side of the\nquestion.\n\n\"No, Claude,\" I said, calmly, \"I cannot read it in Greek, but I\nunderstand quite enough of it to make me quite sure that if I were\nto consent to marry you, I should be grieving my best Friend, by\ndisobeying His clear command.\"\n\n\"Why, May, that just shows you know nothing at all about it,\" he said.\n\"That verse has no more to do with you than it has with that table; it\nwas spoken to the Corinthians, who, before Paul preached to them, were\nan ignorant lot of heathens, and all it means is, that Christians are\nnot to go and marry heathens. I'm not a heathen, bad as you seem to\nthink me.\"\n\n\"But,\" I answered, \"it says unbelievers, and surely that means those\nwho are not believers. Claude, are you a real believer in the Lord\nJesus Christ? Can you honestly say that you are? Would you like to be\ncalled a believer by the world?\"\n\nClaude could not answer this question, so he quickly turned the\nconversation into quite a different channel.\n\n\"And so you set up yourself as too good for me, May, that's what it is!\nYou think yourself far too saintly to be joined to a poor heathen like\nme!\"\n\n\"No, Claude, indeed it is not that,\" I said; \"indeed it is not. I am\nnot good at all; very, very far from it; but I do trust that I have\ncome to the Lord Jesus, and that I believe in Him. Yes, though I am\nvery imperfect and sinful, oh, Claude, I do hope that I am a believer,\"\nI said, with tears in my eyes.\n\n\"Yes, darling,\" said Claude, in quite a different tone, \"I know you are\neverything good; I sometimes wish I were more like you. Won't you help\nme to become better, May? Won't you save me from myself, and teach me\nto love what you love? Come, May, it is my last chance; surely you will\nnot refuse me?\"\n\nAnd Claude took hold of my hand, and looked up pleadingly into my face.\n\nIt was a dreadful temptation, and a fierce struggle was going on\nin my mind. Whilst Claude had been angry and impatient it had been\ncomparatively easy to be firm, but now, now that his voice was so\npleading and so tender, now that his hand was laid so lovingly upon\nmine, now that his eyes were actually full of tears, I felt my\nresolution giving way, my faith failing.\n\nWhat if, after all, Claude was right? What if I might be indeed the\nmeans of leading him to better things? Miss Richards seemed to think\nso, and Miss Richards was a good woman.\n\nAnd yet, my conscience told me plainly enough, that the opinion of a\ngood woman could not make a wrong action right. Was it right or wrong\nin the sight of God? That was the question, and every time I put it to\nmy heart, the same answer came, in clear, unmistakable terms:\n\n   \"Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers.\"\n\nI saw the path of duty clearly before me, a hard and difficult path,\nso hard and so difficult that I nearly despaired of ever being able to\ntread it.\n\nThe temptation was indeed fierce and strong, and I was on the point of\nyielding. Claude saw this and spoke still more tenderly, and pressed\nthe advantage he had gained as far as possible.\n\nI darted up one earnest, imploring cry to my Lord for help. My prayer\ndid not, even in thought, resolve itself into words, but it was the\nlanguage of my innermost soul. And it was not left unanswered. Four\nwords came into my mind at that moment, which enabled me to gain the\nvictory.\n\nAs clearly as if the sunbeams which were streaming in at the window had\nwritten them on the wall of the room, these four words flashed across\nme:\n\n   \"FOR MY NAME'S SAKE.\"\n\nAh! Here was a motive, strong enough to enable me to overcome the\ngreatest temptation; here was a motive, strong enough to enable me to\nconquer all those desires and wishes of my heart, which were urging me\ninto disobedience to my Lord's command.\n\n   \"For My Name's sake; is it too much to bear for Me?\"\n\nI heard Him ask me; and, in a moment, all His infinite love for me,\nall His self-denial for my sake, all His travail of soul, all that\nHe underwent to save me, and bless me, crowded upon my mind, and was\nfollowed by the question\u2014\n\n   \"All this I bore for thee,\n    What canst thou bear for Me?\"\n\nMy mind was made up; I would parley with the temptation no longer.\n\nI drew my hand away from Claude's, gently, but firmly. \"Claude,\" I\nsaid, \"do not let us make each other more miserable, by going over and\nover the same ground. You will never be able to move me. I can only\nrepeat what I have told you before. As a sister, as a friend, I will\nalways love you, but I cannot be your wife. Claude,\" I went on, as he\nwas beginning to speak, \"that is my final answer, so please say no more\nabout it.\"\n\nI suppose I spoke very decidedly, though I had tried to speak calmly,\nfor Claude was very angry. A change passed over his face in an instant;\nI do not think he had dreamt for a single moment that I should be able\nto withstand his arguments and his persuasions.\n\nHe walked to the window and looked out on the garden below.\n\n\"Then I am to look upon this as final, May?\" he said, bitterly.\n\n\"Yes, Claude, as quite final,\" I replied; \"you will never be able to\nmove me from my resolution, dear Claude. But you will not let our old\nfriendship end, will you? Why should we not be brother and sister to\neach other still?\"\n\n\"Oh! There are two sides to that question,\" said Claude, proudly. \"I\nkeep out of the way of those who think themselves too good to associate\nwith me. There are plenty of other people who will be glad of my\nfriendship.\"\n\nAnd so Claude left me without another word. He went out of the room,\nslamming the door after him, and a moment afterwards I saw him hastily\ncross the lawn, and go out at the garden gate. And I knew, as well as\nif I could read the future, that that was the last time I should see\nhim pass through that gate.\n\nFor Claude's was a proud, imperious nature, and the more I thought the\nmatter over, the more I felt sure that his pride was wounded, quite\nas much, if not more, than his affection. He had thought it next to\nimpossible that any one, and above all a poor, friendless girl like\nmyself, should refuse to be his wife. He had found he was mistaken, and\nhe was mortified and vexed at the discovery.\n\nWhen I was left alone, I felt as if I had gone through a great storm,\nand had come out of it wearied and exhausted. My mind was too tired\neven to pray. I pushed aside the letters I was writing, and looked out\nover the distant hills. But after a time, when I was calmer and in a\nmore restful state of mind, I opened my Bible at the place where it had\nbeen so often opened the last two days, and read again my Master's word\nof command.\n\nAnd then I was enabled, though with tears in my eyes, to thank Him that\nthrough His grace I had been strengthened to keep it.\n\nThis time I read the whole passage through to the end of the chapter.\n\nThe last two verses were the very words I needed just then:\n\n   \"Come out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord, and\ntouch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you, and will be a\nFather unto you, and ye shall be My sons and daughters, saith the Lord\nAlmighty.\"\n\nThe Master's call\u2014\"Come out from among them.\" The Master's promise\u2014\"I\nwill receive you.\"\n\nIf He said, \"Go out from among them,\" it would have been so much harder\nto obey. But He does not say \"Go,\" but \"Come\"\u2014Come out; come to Me\u2014\"I\nwill receive you.\"\n\nCome out to Me, and I will be a Father unto you, and you shall be My\nchildren, My sons and My daughters. Come out to Me; come out, not unto\nloneliness, and orphanhood, and desolation, but come out to Me, to a\nFather's love, to a Father's sympathy, to a Father's home. Come and be\nMy sons and daughters, the sons and daughters of a King\u2014the King of\nkings. Come then out from among them. Leave that transient, earthly\naffection, which is, as it were, but for a moment. Come to Me, and I\nwill receive you, and will give you far more than what you will have\nto leave behind, far more than you have ever even hoped for from the\npurest of earthly loves. I will give you Myself\u2014My love, My everlasting\nlove, My soul-satisfying love.\n\nIs not the exchange worth making? Is not the coming out fully\nrecompensed by the loving reception?\n\nI looked up into the sky, in which the sun was fast setting, and said\nwith a thankful heart,\u2014\n\n   \"Lord, by Thy grace I have come out; I have given up the affection\nwhich would have drawn me away; I have separated myself from the love\nwhich, however sweet, would have cut me off from Thy presence and from\nThy love.\"\n\nAnd, even as I said this, the Master's answer came with tenderest\ncomfort to my heart:\n\n   \"I will receive you, nay, I have already received you, and I will be a\nFather unto you, and you shall be My child, My daughter, saith the Lord\nAlmighty.\"\n\nI heard Maggie's voice at this moment, so I hastily rose, wiped away\nthe tears which were now only tears of joy and thankfulness, and went\nto meet her.\n\n\"How happy you seem to-night, May,\" she said, as we sat together at\nsupper; \"you have not looked so happy since\u2014since\u2014\" Her lip quivered,\nand tears came into her eyes.\n\nI held out my arms to her, and she came and sat on my knee, as she used\nto do when she was a little child, laid her head on my shoulder, and\nsobbed.\n\n\"What is it, Maggie darling?\" I asked, stroking her long, fair hair\nwith my hand.\n\n\"Oh, May,\" she sobbed, \"if only we could be together; if only I had\nnot to go away and leave you. I counted the days this morning on the\nalmanack, and there are only nineteen more.\"\n\n\"Poor little Maggie!\" I said. \"What shall I do without you?\"\n\n\"And what shall I do without you, May?\" she said. \"My aunts are very\nkind, but they are not like you; you are just like a mother to me. I\nshall never be a good girl, May, when I haven't you to talk to me, and\nwhen I can't tell you all my troubles.\"\n\n\"But you can tell Jesus, Maggie,\" I said, \"just as you have always told\nme, and He will help you and comfort you far, far better than I could\ndo.\"\n\n\"Yes, May,\" she said, putting up her face to be kissed, \"I will tell\nHim every day; I promise you that I will.\"\n\n\"And then you can write to me, Maggie,\" I said. \"Look here what I have\nbought for you. I had meant to have kept it till the last day, but\nperhaps I had better give it to you now.\"\n\nI went to a drawer and brought out a neat little desk filled with\npaper, envelopes, pens, stamps, and everything necessary for\nletter-writing.\n\nMaggie was charmed with it, and was quite as merry as she had been sad\nbefore, and began to plan at once how many letters she would write me\nevery week, and what she would say in them. She said she should tell\nme everything, even what time she got up every morning and went to bed\nevery night.\n\nDear little Maggie! How well I can picture her to myself as she looked\non that memorable evening in my life, on which I had refused to be\nClaude Ellis's wife.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nMAGGIE'S AUNTS.\n\n[Illustration] THOSE last days which Maggie and I spent together in\nthe old home were very happy ones. I took every opportunity I had of\ndeepening in my little sister's mind the lessons I had tried to teach\nher from a child, and which she had always loved so much. I had great\nreason to hope that they had not been in vain, but that my dear little\nMaggie was in deed and in truth a child of God.\n\nWe were very busy sorting and packing our various possessions, and\nleaving all in the house in readiness for the sale which was to take\nplace immediately we left.\n\nI had received a satisfactory answer to my application for the post of\ncompanion, saying that Sir William Trafford, after due inquiries of my\nreferees, would be glad of my services as companion to his daughter,\nMiss Evelyn Trafford, and would be glad to know on what day I should be\nable to commence my duties at Alliston Hall.\n\nI did not see Claude again before I went away. The day after his visit\nto me I heard that he had again left home, and had returned to his\nfriends in Scotland.\n\nThe evening before we left Acton, I went up to the Parsonage to say\ngood-bye. Miss Richards received me very kindly, but we were both\nconstrained in our manner, for we were thinking of the same thing,\nand neither of us liked to mention it. We spoke of the weather, of my\nfuture plans, of the sale of the furniture, of Mr. Ellis's health,\nand of a variety of other things and people; but Claude's name was\ncarefully avoided, and that which was filling our thoughts was entirely\nkept out of the conversation. So it was no wonder that our talk flagged\nat times, and that we were very far from being natural or at our ease.\n\nJust as I was leaving, I remembered how kind Miss Richards had been to\nme through my motherless life; always ready to help me with her advice\nwhenever I needed help, and very patient in listening to the small home\nworries which had crowded upon me when I first took upon myself the\ncares and responsibilities of housekeeping.\n\n\"Miss Richards,\" I said, \"you have been like a mother to me; I shall\nnever, never be able to thank you enough for all you have been to me.\"\n\n\"Oh no, May,\" she said, warmly, \"you must not speak of that; you have\nbeen quite as much, or more to me, dear. You have been a bright sunbeam\nhere, May. You have often brightened my life since I came here.\"\n\n\"Oh, Miss Richards,\" I said, \"I never dreamt that I could make you any\nhappier.\"\n\n\"You did it without dreaming then, dear,\" she said, smiling; \"and,\nMay,\" she added, \"what has passed between you and Claude will make no\ndifference in your love to me, will it? You will still treat me as a\nfriend, and let me hear from you sometimes, won't you, dear?\"\n\n\"Oh, Miss Richards,\" I said; \"will you let me write to you? Then you\nare not very angry with me?\"\n\n\"Angry with you! Why?\" she said. \"For refusing Claude?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"for giving Claude the answer I did.\"\n\n\"No, dear,\" said Miss Richards; \"I was very much surprised, I own, and\nvery much disappointed. I had counted so much on your influence with\nClaude, and was building my hopes on it far more than I ought to have\ndone. But since then, May, I have sometimes thought that, perhaps, I\nought not to blame you. I felt that I had been looking at the matter\nentirely from my point of view\u2014mine and Claude's\u2014and that, perhaps,\ndear, you had a reason for refusing Claude, a reason of which I should\nnot and could not disapprove. May,\" she said, taking my hand very\nkindly, \"would you mind telling me your reason?\"\n\n\"I think you know it already, Miss Richards,\" I said, as I pressed her\nhand in mine.\n\n\"Is it because Claude is not truly a Christian, dear; is that your\nreason?\"\n\n\"Yes, that is it,\" I said; \"I dare not have said 'yes' to Claude, Miss\nRichards, in the face of God's clear command. I felt I could expect no\nhappiness or blessing if I were so disobedient.\"\n\n\"You were quite right, dear May,\" said Miss Richards, with tears in her\neyes; \"I should have done just the same. Indeed once, May (you will not\nmention it to any one, I know), I did exactly the same myself. It was\nvery hard at the time,\" said the good little woman, as the recollection\nof that sorrow, now so far behind her in her past life, came as fresh\nas if it had only taken place yesterday; \"it was very hard at the time,\nfor I loved him very much, but I can see it was all right now. I should\nhave been a miserable, unhappy wife, if I had married him, and I can\nthank God that I gave him up.\"\n\n\"Then you can understand how I felt, dear Miss Richards,\" I said.\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" she said, earnestly; \"and as soon as that thought\noccurred to me, as soon as ever it came into my mind, that that was\nyour reason for refusing Claude, I felt, dear, that you were right, and\nI was wrong. You were right, perfectly right in obeying God's command;\nand I was wrong, very wrong, May, in wishing you to marry one who is\nnot, I know, a real Christian.\"\n\nMiss Richards kissed me very lovingly, as she said this, and I went\nhome with a light and thankful heart.\n\nPoor Miss Richards! I had never dreamt that there was a touching\nlittle love story hidden away somewhere in her past history. I had\nnever dreamt that that was the reason why she had never married, but\nhad lived that quiet, unselfish life in her brother's house\u2014living for\nall around her. And I was very thankful that she thought I had acted\nrightly, and would no longer blame me, but would be able and ready to\nsympathise with me in my trial.\n\nThe busy time of packing and leave-taking was at length over, and\nMaggie and I left our first and hitherto our only home.\n\nIt is a merciful ordering that at such times we are far too busy, and\nfull of thought and care about the present moment, to realise what\nwould otherwise overwhelm us with sorrowful feeling. As we drove off\nfrom our old home, we had to turn back for a forgotten key, and then,\nalmost directly afterwards, we arrived at the station, and I had to\ntake the tickets, look after the luggage, and select a carriage. My\nmind was consequently so full of business, that not until the train had\nstarted did I realise that Maggie and I had left our dear happy home,\nnever to return to it again.\n\nWe were going that day to the old Manor House at Branston, where\nMaggie's aunts lived. They had kindly expressed a wish to see me, and\nhad invited me to spend a week with them before going to Alliston Hall.\nMaggie was of course delighted at this arrangement, and I was not\nsorry to have a week's rest, after the whirl of the last month, before\nentering upon my new duties.\n\nThis was my first visit to the old Manor House, but Maggie had spent\na very pleasant month there two years before, and was much looking\nforward to seeing her aunts again.\n\nWe had a long journey, and it was late in the evening when we arrived\nat Branston.\n\n\"I should think John will be here,\" said Maggie, as we got out at the\nvery quiet country station.\n\nJohn was there, awaiting our arrival. John was a fat,\ncomfortable-looking old coachman, who had been in the family for more\nthan fifty years, and looked as if, in the whole course of them, he had\nnever had one single day's hard work.\n\nJohn was driving two horses equally fat, equally comfortable-looking,\nand equally, by their appearance, denying the bare idea of their ever\nhaving had any hard work to do.\n\nJohn touched his hat, and bade the ladies welcome, and hoped \"Missy\"\nwas quite well. He was evidently quite at his ease, and accustomed to\nbe regarded as a family friend.\n\nWe thanked John, and answered his inquiries, and then took our seats\nin the carriage. It was very old, like John, and quite out of date, of\nunwieldy proportions, and made a great noise in the world.\n\nWe drove for about a mile and a half, through rather an uninteresting\ncountry; at least, so it seemed to me, after the wooded hills and\npretty valleys which had surrounded our dear old home. He went very\nslowly indeed, and when there was the slightest rising in the ground,\nthe horses walked solemnly and cautiously up it, and I was more than\never convinced that the opinion I had formed about the easy life that\nthose two comfortable-looking horses had always led was perfectly\ncorrect.\n\nAt last we went through a large iron gate, and entered a pretty\nold-fashioned garden, surrounded by a high wall. At one end of this\ngarden stood the Manor House, a quaint old place, built of red brick,\nand partly covered with ivy.\n\nAs we drove past the window, Maggie's three aunts looked out, and\nnodded and smiled at us; they did not come out to meet us, for, as I\nafterwards discovered, they were very much afraid of taking cold, and\nnever ventured into the hall when the front door was open.\n\nWe were met on the steps by an elderly, old-fashioned servant, in a\nclean white apron and a large cap, plaited round her face. She took\nus into the drawing-room, which was full of quaint and antiquated\nfurniture, and abounded in sofas and arm-chairs, covered with very\nold-fashioned chintz.\n\nIn this room the three aunts were anxiously awaiting our arrival. They\nalmost overwhelmed us with kindness, and insisted on our lying down to\nrest for half an hour on the comfortable sofas till tea was quite ready.\n\nThe room was very hot, there was a large fire, and huge screens stood\nbefore the doors, and sandbags and curtains excluded every possible\ndraught from the windows. I felt very tired and worn out in mind and\nbody, so I was not sorry to obey my kind hostesses and remain quiet for\nhalf an hour. It gave me time to think over the events of the past day,\nand also to look at Maggie's three aunts, who did not leave the room\nbut went on with their work and their talk whilst we were resting.\n\nThe eldest sister, Miss Jane, was evidently the ruling spirit in the\nhouse. Her word was law, and her quiet firm decision settled every\ndisputed question. There was plenty of firmness, plenty of good sense,\nplenty of real kindliness in her face, as she bent over the stocking\nwhich she was knitting in the most energetic manner, sitting in one of\nthe large arm-chairs near the fire.\n\nThe second sister seemed to me to be a weak reflection of the eldest\none, and, I soon found out, was quite ruled by her in everything,\nfor she had not strength of character to settle anything on her own\nresponsibility. If Miss Jane's word was law to her household, it was\nmore especially law to Miss Hannah.\n\n\"What do you think, sister?\" was the question repeated by her many\ntimes in the day, in answer to which Miss Jane would give her opinion\ncalmly and decidedly, and that opinion was always conclusive.\n\nThe youngest sister, Miss Louisa, was considered an invalid. The best\nof everything was always given to her\u2014the most comfortable chair and\nthe warmest corner, the best seat in the carriage, and at all hours of\nthe day little tempting dishes were brought up to induce Miss Louisa to\neat. Miss Jane and Miss Hannah were never tired of waiting on her, and\ntreated her almost like a spoiled child.\n\nThey were very kind to me, these three sisters, during my stay in the\nold Manor House. They even said how much they wished I would make my\nhome with them; but, of course, I could never dream of being a burden\nto them; it was very kind of them to take Maggie, I must make my own\nway in the world.\n\nEverything in the Manor House was in the most beautiful order. The\ncarpets looked as if in the whole course of their existence they had\nnever known what it was to have a speck of dust or piece of cotton\nleft on them; the furniture was so bright that you could see yourself\nreflected in every part of it; the drugget on the stairs was spotlessly\nwhite, as clean as if it was washed every morning regularly; in\nfact, the most perfect neatness, and order, and cleanliness reigned\neverywhere throughout the old Manor House. There were no little\nchildren to make dirty foot-marks on the clean floors, or to soil\nthe clean coverings of the chairs and sofas. And the regularity and\npunctuality in the house quite equalled its neatness and order. At\nexactly the same moment every morning Miss Jane came downstairs to make\nthe tea. At exactly the same instant, day by day, the old servants\ncame into the room for prayers. Meals were never a moment late\u2014as the\nclock struck we all took our seats, and grace was immediately said. At\nexactly the same hour, every day, the sisters took their morning drive\nor their afternoon nap.\n\nThe whole place seemed like some huge clock which had been wound up\nyears ago, long before any one could remember, and which had been going\non and on and on ever since, without once needing to be wound up, or\nset going, or looked after again.\n\nThis regular, unbroken, undisturbed life in the old Manor House was\nvery pleasant for a little time. It was just what I needed, after all I\nhad gone through lately. But I fancied that I should soon grow rather\ntired of it. I fancied that I should long for the doorbell to ring, and\nan interruption to come in my clockwork existence. I should long for a\nlittle of the stir and bustle and motion of the world outside, to creep\ninto the monotony and unchangeableness of the life within.\n\nSmall matters, even the most insignificant trifles, became great events\nto the sisters. If one of the cows or horses took cold, or if a tree\nwas blown down in the garden, or if the rooks built a new nest in the\nplantation, it was the topic of conversation for days.\n\nI was a little troubled as I looked forward and pictured to myself the\nkind of training which Maggie would have in such a home. I was afraid\nit would be rather relaxing to her mind and energies, so that if she\ncame out of it into the coldness and roughness of the outside world she\nwould feel the difference very strongly, and would not be hardy enough\nto stand it.\n\nI was not afraid that Maggie would be dull here, for she was a quiet\nchild, and fond of playing alone, and making her own amusements and\npleasures; and there was a small farm close by, kept by old John and\nhis wife, which was Maggie's constant resort, and here, amongst the\nchickens, and ducks, and lambs, and calves, and pigeons, she found\nplenty to interest her, and plenty of recreation and amusement. The\naunts were exceedingly kind to her, and I felt sure they would train\nand teach her to the best of their ability.\n\nBut what I was afraid of was, that Maggie's mind would got a little\ncramped by the smallness of the sphere in which she was living, and\nthat she would thus become somewhat selfish and self-indulgent. Yet all\nthese fears I carried one by one to my Lord, as they arose; and I felt\nunspeakable comfort and relief in placing my little sister under His\nAlmighty care.\n\nMiss Jane was my favourite amongst the sisters. There was something in\nher face which made me trust her at once, and her good common sense and\nreal heartfelt sympathy could always be relied upon. I found myself,\nalmost before I was aware, giving her a history of our happy home-life,\nand telling her many of my anxieties and troubles, as I thought of the\nfuture. She made me promise that whenever I had a holiday given me I\nwould come to the Manor House, and that I would remember that it would\nnever be anything but a very great pleasure to them all to have me\nthere.\n\nOn Sunday we all went to the village church together. A new clergyman\nhad just been appointed, and the sisters were hardly in a frame of mind\nto enjoy the services, for they had not ceased mourning over the late\nrector, who had been there for forty years, and who had been obliged to\nresign on account of ill-health. But as I had no recollections of the\nprevious minister, and, therefore, no painful feelings on seeing the\nnew minister enter Mr. Baker's pulpit, preach from Mr. Baker's Bible,\nand take possession of Mr. Baker's congregation, the service was a real\ndelight to me.\n\nThe young clergyman was plain in appearance, but he had a broad, high,\nthoughtful forehead, and he was evidently thoroughly in earnest.\n\nThe sermon went to my heart; it was on this text:\n\n   \"To be spiritually minded is life and peace.\"\n\nI came out of church feeling that the sermon I had just heard was\none which I could not discuss or remark upon, but was one which I\nshould never forget. It was a searching, practical sermon, and it\nhad probed my heart to its very depths. What did I know of this\nspiritual-mindedness, of which Mr. Claremont spoke? What did I know\nof the life and peace which always spring from it? I felt that my\nthoughts, my motives, and my desires were far too much of the earth,\nearthy, far too little raised above the earth to things divine. And\nhence the want of life in my religion, hence the want of that deep and\nabiding peace which is the portion of all true believers in Jesus. I\ndetermined to pray more than ever before for this heavenly-mindedness,\nand to let my thoughts dwell less on earth, more on heaven.\n\nThe next day Mr. Claremont called at the Manor House, and was received\nby the sisters with all respect and dignity. I was practising on the\ndrawing-room piano when he came in, and was alone with him for a few\nminutes, whilst Miss Jane, Miss Hannah, and Miss Louisa were arraying\nthemselves in their best caps.\n\nHe spoke to me very pleasantly, and I took the opportunity of\nmentioning Maggie to him, and he kindly promised to see her sometimes,\nand try to influence her aright.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nFIRST IMPRESSIONS.\n\n[Illustration] IT was the day before I left the old Manor House. I was\npacking my box in my bedroom, and thinking it would be rather hard to\nleave the kind sisterhood, and my little Maggie, and turn out into\nthe world alone, when the door opened and Maggie came in with an open\nletter in her hand.\n\n\"Oh, May,\" she said, \"what do you think? Claude Ellis is going to be\nmarried!\"\n\nMy heart beat so loudly that I was afraid Maggie would hear it, and I\ntrembled so much that I was obliged to sit down on a chair by the bed.\n\n\"May, dear,\" said Maggie, \"what is the matter? You look so pale and\nill. Shall I get you anything? I am afraid I startled you, coming in\nlike that.\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" I said, trying to smile, \"I am all right. Read me your letter,\nMaggie\u2014from whom is it?\"\n\n\"It is from Fanny, May.\" (Fanny was Maggie's bosom friend and\nconfidante). \"Shall I read it all, or only the part about Claude?\"\n\n[Illustration: A DISCOVERY.]\n\n\"Read the part about Claude first, dear,\" I said, \"and I will lie down\non my bed whilst you read; I feel a little tired with packing, and I\nmean to take half an hour's rest before dinner.\"\n\nSo I lay on my bed and turned my face to the wall whilst Maggie read as\nfollows:\n\n   \"'And now I must tell you the news. Who do you think is engaged? You\nwill never guess, if you guess all night. It is Claude Ellis! I will\ntell you how I heard about it. Yesterday afternoon I went for a walk\nwith Dash to the Endle Farm. As we were coming home, down that hilly\npart of the road where you and I played hide-and-seek amongst the furze\nbushes, I saw two people sitting on a stile at the bottom of the hill.\nOne was Claude Ellis, and the other was a young lady. They did not see\nme until I was very near to them, and then Claude pretended not to\nsee me and got up, and they both walked down the lane, and I followed\nthem only a little way behind, so that I could see the young lady very\nwell. She was prettily dressed, and was tall and very good-looking.\nShe had the loveliest hair I ever saw, done in a number of most\nwonderful plaits. I am sure she could not have done it herself. Claude\nwas bending over her and talking to her; and he looked very happy,\nand so did she. They turned in at the Parsonage gate, and I went home\nwondering very much who she was.\n\n   \"'But I had not to wait very long, for that evening papa came in with\nthe news that Claude was engaged, and that the young lady was staying\nat the Parsonage. Mr. Ellis had told him, so there could be no mistake\nabout it. She is the sister of one of Claude's Oxford friends; and he\nhas been staying with them in Scotland the last few weeks. Her name is\nAlice Fitzgerald, and she is very rich indeed. Papa says she is quite\na prize for Claude, and that he will be a very rich man now, with her\nmoney and his own money put together. And papa says, that is a very\ngood thing, for he has heard that Claude spent a great many hundred\npounds at Oxford, and that poor Mr. Ellis would have been almost ruined\nif Claude's uncle had not died just then and left him the money. Papa\nthinks Claude is very extravagant, and he says he rather pities his\nwife. But I am sure Claude is very fond of her, and he looked so happy\nto-day I could not help feeling glad for him. He seemed so miserable\nthe last time he came home. Do you remember when we met him in Bush\nLane, how cross he was, and how he contradicted everything we said, and\nlooked as if he had just heard all his relations were dead? Well, it's\ngetting late, and I must end my letter.'\n\n\"That's all about Claude, May,\" said Maggie, as she stopped reading.\n\"Wouldn't you like to see Miss Alice Fitzgerald?\"\n\nWhen Maggie had gone downstairs, taking her new writing-case with her,\nthat she might begin at once to answer her little friend's letter, I\ngot up and locked my door, and then sat down to think over what I had\nheard.\n\nThe news of Claude's engagement had come upon me like a thunder-clap.\nI tried to reason with myself that I ought to be very glad that Claude\nwas engaged, and that as I could not be his wife he had found some\none else to make him happy. And yet it was so soon, so very soon, for\nClaude to forget his love for me. I had thought that he cared for me\nmore than that. I had thought that he held my love too dear, so quickly\nand so easily to exchange it for another's.\n\nI suppose it was my pride that was wounded, and that the tears which\ncame, in spite of myself, and rolled down my cheeks, were tears of\nmortification. I felt very vexed with myself that it should be so. I\ncalled myself all sorts of hard names, and wiped my eyes, and tried to\nthink how nice it was that all was so comfortably settled for me; how\ndelightful it was that I could feel that I had done the right thing,\nand yet that I had not brought a gloom over the whole of Claude's life.\nAnd yet, at the bottom of my heart, I detected a secret hope, which had\nbeen hidden there the last few weeks, that, some day or other, Claude\nmight give up his infidel notions and become a real Christian, and\nthat then we might meet again and become to each other what he had so\nearnestly wished us to be. I had even thought that perhaps this trouble\nmight be the means of making Claude look into the reality of religion,\nand believe in that Saviour who is the only true source of comfort, and\nthat thus the great obstacle to our union might be taken away.\n\nNot that Claude was by any means my beau-ideal of all that a man and\na husband should be. But then he was, after all, the nicest man I had\never met, and it might be that my ideal was a thing of imagination,\nnever met with in real life.\n\nAnd on this particular day I was feeling very lonely and desolate. I\nwas about to turn out into the world alone\u2014alone amongst strangers.\nI was going to a great and fashionable household, where, no doubt, I\nshould be looked down upon, and despised as poor, and a dependent.\n\nI had no one to take care of me, or to shield me from the rough places\nwhich I should be sure to come across. There was no one in the world\nthat really belonged to me except my sister Maggie, and she was but\na child. I felt very unprotected, desolate, and forsaken. I took up\nmy Bible and turned wearily over the pages, if, perchance, my eyes\nmight fall upon some words of comfort. And the words which caught my\nattention were these, in the thirteenth chapter of St. John's Gospel:\n\n   \"Having loved His own which were in the world, He loved them unto the\nend.\"\n\n\"Unto the end,\" an unchanging, an unvarying, an untiring love. I had\nchosen that love in preference to Claude's. Had I made a bad exchange?\nI had given up a love which had proved itself, at the best, but fickle\nand shallow, and I had chosen Christ's love, the love of Him of whom\nit was written, that having loved His own which were in the world, He\nloved them unto the end.\n\n\"His 'own.'\" Did that indeed mean me? Or did it only apply to the few\ndisciples gathered round Him in these last hours of His life on earth?\nWas it only these whom He loved unto the end? Or could I take up the\nwords, and make them my star of comfort? Could I make them apply to\nmyself now, as they applied to the apostles then?\n\nWas it true now that I was His\u2014His own? Was it true that I was in the\nworld\u2014in the wide, desolate world, alone, just as these apostles were\nso soon to be, and was it true that He would love me in spite of all my\nfailings and all my sins, and that He would love me unto the end? Could\nit be true?\n\nAnother text came into my mind:\n\n   \"Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.\"\n\nThese words surely gave me the right to take the other words and make\nthem mine. What Jesus was then, in the yesterday of the past, so He\nis now, to-day; what He was to the apostles, so He is to me, and so\nHe ever will be\u2014the same in love, the same in sympathy, the same in\nconstancy.\n\nBut I am so cold to Him, I thought, so ungrateful, so sinful. My love\nis so changeable and fluctuating. Surely He will not, He cannot, in\nspite of all this, go on loving me\u2014loving me unchangeably. And yet, I\nknow that Christ's love for us, if it exists at all, must exist quite\nindependently of anything in us, for what can He see in the very best\nof men to win His love?\n\nAnd I remembered that these very apostles, of whom this was written,\nwere very faulty and imperfect in their love to Him. Only the very\nnext day one of them, the one who had professed the most love for Him,\ndenied Him with oaths and curses, saying, again and again, \"I know not\nthe man.\" And every one of them, even the disciple whom Jesus loved,\nforsook Him in His hour of need and fled.\n\nAnd yet of these very men, with all their failings and imperfections,\nit was written:\n\n   \"Having loved His own which were in the world, He loved them unto the\nend.\"\n\nMy heart grew light again, and I went downstairs quite comforted and\nhappy, and without a single wish in my heart to change places with Miss\nAlice Fitzgerald.\n\nThe next morning I left the Manor House soon after breakfast. I was\nfollowed to the door by Miss Jane bidding me, in her calm, decided way,\nto be sure to choose a carriage with at least two elderly ladies in it,\n\"because, my dear, one reads of such awful robberies and murders taking\nplace in railway carriages!\" Followed also by Miss Hannah, entreating\nme to remember what Miss Jane had said, and also to be quite sure that\nthe guard had fastened the door well before the train started. Followed\neven by Miss Louisa, suggesting the advisability of always having\nboth windows closed, and both ventilators securely fastened, lest any\ndraught should enter the carriage. Followed, not only to the door but\nas far as the garden gate, by my little Maggie, sobbing as if her heart\nwould break, and refusing to be comforted.\n\nIt was very hard to leave them all, and especially to leave my little\nsister, and to go forth alone into the world; but the words which had\nbeen my comfort yesterday were my strength now, and the language of my\nheart was,\u2014\n\n   \"I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.\"\n\n\nHow much I wondered, as I was travelling that day, what Miss Evelyn\nTrafford would be like, and of what my duties, as companion, would\nconsist. But it was of no use wondering; that evening I should know.\n\nI had a long, tiring journey, having to change my train no less than\nfour times, and to wait at cold, cheerless junctions for several hours.\n\nBut in spite of the sisters' oft-repeated predictions of the reverse, I\nand my luggage arrived safe and sound at the little station of Alliston.\n\nAs soon as I left the carriage, a footman came up to me, and,\ntouching his hat, inquired if I was Miss Lindsay. When I answered in\nthe affirmative, he took charge of my luggage, and led the way to a\ncarriage which was waiting for me outside the station.\n\nWe drove on in the darkness for some distance, through what seemed to\nbe country roads and lanes, for I could see no lights by the wayside,\nand nothing to break the darkness of the night.\n\nAfter a long time the carriage stopped in front of a small house, which\nI saw must be a lodge, for by means of the light which came from a\ndiamond-paned window I could see a woman opening some large iron gates\nfor the carriage to go through.\n\nWhen we had passed the lodge, I expected every moment to reach the\nhouse, and my heart beat faster and faster in expectation of my\narrival. But we went on and on and on for at least a mile before the\nlights of the great house appeared, and we stopped before the door.\n\nThe footman got down from the carriage and rang the bell. The door was\nopened by a grave and solemn butler, and I went inside, feeling as if\nI were walking in my sleep, so tired and confused was I with my long\njourney.\n\nI was ushered through a spacious hall, filled with stags' horns and\nold swords, and stuffed birds and foreign curiosities, and old oak\ncabinets, up a very wide staircase to a room at the top of the house.\nIt was not a large room, but it was very pretty and comfortable, and a\ncheerful fire was blazing in the grate.\n\nThe maid who had shown me my room told me that Miss Trafford would be\nglad to see me as soon as I was ready, so I hastened to take off my\ndusty travelling dress and to make myself ready to go downstairs.\n\nAfter about half an hour the maid came back again to conduct me. We\nwent through several long passages, past a number of doors, until we\narrived at Miss Evelyn Trafford's room.\n\nThe maid opened the door and I went in. The gas was not lighted, but\nthe fire was blazing brightly, and by its light I could see a young\nlady lying on a low couch on one side of it. She was very pretty, with\nsmall, delicate features, and a beautiful fair complexion, and appeared\nto be about seventeen or eighteen years of age. On the sofa beside her\nwere lying two kittens curled up on a velvet cushion, and in front of\nthe fire was a little spaniel fast asleep on the hearth-rug.\n\nAs soon as the door opened Miss Trafford hold out her hand to me.\n\n\"Come in, Miss Lindsay,\" she said; \"come to the fire; you must be tired\nand cold; it's dreadfully cold out, is it not? There, Flossy, get up\nand let Miss Lindsay come to the fire.\"\n\nShe had a pretty, childish manner, which was very winning and pleasant.\n\"I am so glad you have come,\" she said, when I was seated, \"and you\nlook so nice. Do you know I thought you would be dreadful, before you\ncame! When papa said one day that it was so dull for me up here alone\nhe must get me a companion, I actually cried, Miss Lindsay. It was very\nsilly of me, I know, but then I always am a silly child. I pictured to\nmyself what this companion would be like, and I thought she would have\ngrey curls, and spectacles, and a brown alpaca dress, and always talk\nas if she were talking out of a book.\"\n\nI could not help laughing heartily when she said this.\n\n\"Oh, I am so glad you can laugh,\" said Miss Trafford; \"the companion,\nin the picture I made of her, never laughed\u2014she only smiled, as if she\nwas thinking, 'How foolish every one in the world is, and especially\nthis weak-minded child I have to take care of.'\"\n\nThis, of course, made me laugh again, to Miss Trafford's great\nsatisfaction.\n\n\"Papa said he would get me somebody young and charming if he could, and\nhe told me when he was writing about you how old you were, but I didn't\nthink I should like you a bit, and I didn't want you to come at all.\"\n\n\"I hope you will change your mind soon, Miss Trafford,\" I said; \"I will\ntry not to be very disagreeable.\"\n\n\"Oh, I have changed my mind,\" she said, quickly; \"I changed it as soon\nas you came in at the door. I always judge by first sight. If I love\npeople when I first see them, I always love them; and if I hate them, I\nalways hate them. I never change my mind afterwards.\"\n\n\"Do you think that is a good plan?\" I said. \"Don't you think it is\nrather an unfair way of judging?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know about that,\" she said; \"it always answers very well\nfor me. I liked you when you came in at the door, and I mean always to\nlike you. I wish Ambrose would bring the dinner, the gong sounded long\nsince. I am sure it is time for it, and you must be so hungry. Miss\nLindsay, will you please ring the bell?\"\n\nOne of the footmen soon appeared with a small round table, which he\nplaced between Miss Trafford's couch and my chair. The table was\nalready prepared for dinner, with everything in its proper place.\n\n\"Oh, it is so nice to have you here,\" said Miss Trafford. \"Do you\nknow, I haven't been downstairs to dinner for five months. Isn't that\ndreadful? And I have always had dinner quite alone, except twice, when\nthere was no one staying here, and then papa came up to my room and\nhad dinner here. It was such fun; he and I had this little table, and\nAmbrose came in here to wait. I laughed all the time, and so did papa;\nit seemed such a little room after the dining-room, and the three men\ndid not at all know where to stand, because there was no room for them\nto come close to the table.\"\n\n\"Then you have only been ill five months?\" I said.\n\n\"Only five months! As if that were not long enough,\" she said; \"it\nseems more like five years to me!\"\n\n\"Yes, it is a long time,\" I said; \"but I was afraid you might have been\nill longer still. I do not know what made you ill.\"\n\n\"Didn't papa tell you? How funny of him! Now, if I had been writing to\nyou, I should have told you the whole story. What did he tell you?\"\n\n\"He only said that he wanted a companion for his daughter, and asked\nfor my references.\"\n\n\"That was just like papa,\" said Evelyn; \"he always does everything\nin what he calls a business-like way, which I always say means never\ntelling anybody anything.\"\n\n\"Will you tell me what made you ill?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes, it was that young horse,\" she said; \"such a beauty! You must\nsee him, Miss Lindsay; he is quite black, and has a white star on his\nforehead, and his name is Wildfire, because he flies along so fast.\nPapa said he was too young for me to ride; but I was not a bit afraid,\nand Cousin Donald asked me to go out with him for an hour. Cousin\nDonald is very fond of me,\" she said, laughing; \"he would like me to\nmarry him; but that would never do, you know. Papa says he is very\npoor, and he would not hear of such a thing. But Cousin Donald is very\ngood-looking, and I like riding with him, he rides so well, and we had\na splendid ride that day; but then Wildfire threw me, and all my fun\nwas over.\"\n\n\"Were you much hurt?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said; \"the doctors said my spine was injured; only a little\nthough,\" she added, quickly, \"and if I keep very, very still, and never\nwalk about for a year, they think I shall be quite well again. Oh dear!\nI wish the year was over now! But it will be much nicer now you have\ncome.\"\n\n\"You must tell me, please, Miss Trafford, what my duties are,\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, don't talk about duties,\" she said, pretending to stop her ears;\n\"I can't bear the word. I never could do anything because it was a\nduty. That's just the sort of word the companion in my picture used to\nsay. She used to draw up her head and look through her spectacles, and\nsay, solemnly, 'Miss Evelyn, remember your duties.'\"\n\n\"But you will tell me what my work is to be here,\" I repeated; \"Sir\nWilliam did not mention it in his letter.\"\n\n\"You won't have any work,\" she said, \"except to amuse me; you are to be\nmy friend, if you like to call that work\u2014to read to me, and talk to me,\nand have meals with me, and make the year go a little quicker.\"\n\n\"That isn't very hard work,\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, I don't know,\" she answered; \"you'll find me a very tiresome child\nsometimes, and if you had been the brown alpaca dress, and grey curls,\nand spectacles, I would have led you such a life that in less than a\nweek you would have said to papa, 'Sir William Trafford, I must beg to\nresign the charge of your flippant and wilful daughter.' Before you\ncame, papa said we were to have some profitable reading in a morning,\nand story-books only after luncheon; but I hate profitable reading, and\npapa never makes me do what I hate.\"\n\n\"What kind of reading do you mean?\" I inquired.\n\n\"Oh, history and geography, and all such things; I never could bear\nthem. What is the good of knowing who Henry VIII.'s wives were, and\nwhich of them he beheaded; and nearly giving oneself brain fever in\ntrying to remember what relation John of Gaunt was to everybody else.\"\n\n\"I am very fond of history,\" I said; \"I think some parts are quite as\ninteresting as a story-book.\"\n\n\"Oh dear, oh dear!\" she said. \"You are talking just like the brown\nalpaca dress! I shall expect you to pull the spectacles out of your\npocket in a minute.\"\n\nAnd then I could do nothing but laugh, and in a moment she had changed\nthe conversation, and was rattling on about something else.\n\n\"There are not many visitors here just now,\" she said; \"you'll see them\nall by and by. They generally pay me a visit after dinner. And mind you\nstop when they come; I want you to see them all. The brown alpaca dress\nalways got up when any one came in, and made a very stiff bow, and went\naway and shut herself up in her bedroom. So mind you don't do the same;\nyou must look at all the people well, and tell me what you think of\nthem, when they are gone.\"\n\n\"Oh, I should not like to do that,\" I said.\n\n\"Why not?\" she said, laughingly. \"I don't mind telling you what I think\nof any one. There is Lady Eldridge; she is very grand and stately,\nand I don't like her a bit; and there is Lord Moreton\u2014he never has a\nword to say, and is very stupid; but he has a quantity of money and a\nsplendid estate, and papa is always saying what a nice young man he is.\nAnd so he may be, perhaps, in some ways; at least he is very harmless,\nbut then he squints, and I never could marry any one who squinted\u2014could\nyou, Miss Lindsay?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" I said, laughing; \"I never thought about it.\"\n\n\"Well, I couldn't, it would drive me mad. And then there is Alicia\nHay\u2014papa's old maid cousin\u2014and if you ask me what I think of her, I\nthink she is trying very hard to get married and never will. And then\nthere is Lilla\u2014but I won't tell you about them all now, you will see\nthem for yourself by and by.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nALLISTON HALL.\n\n[Illustration] \"SHALL I ring the bell, Miss Trafford?\" I inquired, when\ndinner was over.\n\n\"Don't call me Miss Trafford,\" she said, quickly; \"call me Evelyn, it\nsounds much nicer, and is six letters shorter.\"\n\n\"But perhaps Sir William would not like it,\" I objected.\n\n\"Oh, papa likes everything I like,\" she said, decidedly. \"I wish you\nto call me Evelyn, and I mean to call you by your first name too\u2014'Miss\nLindsay' sounds just like the brown alpaca. What is your Christian\nname?\"\n\n\"My name is May,\" I said; \"and I shall be very glad if you will call me\nMay, instead of Miss Lindsay; I shall fancy I am at home again.\"\n\n\"Well then it's settled, May,\" she said, laughing; \"and now you may\nring the bell.\"\n\nSoon after the dessert was cleared away, a rustling of silk was heard\nin the passages, the door opened, and three ladies entered the room.\n\nThe first was a stout, elderly lady, very handsomely dressed. In her\nyounger days I felt sure she had been a beauty, and I think she must\nhave been greatly admired. But she had, I thought, an unpleasant\nexpression in her face, and a haughty and disagreeable manner.\n\n\"Well, Evelyn,\" she said, as she swept past me without a word or a\nlook, \"how are you feeling now?\"\n\n\"Oh, very nicely, thank you, Lady Eldridge,\" she said; \"Miss Lindsay\nand I have had quite a pleasant chat together.\"\n\n\"Miss Lindsay, ah! Yes, I see,\" said Lady Eldridge, turning to me for\nthe first time; \"the young person whom Sir William has engaged as your\ncompanion, Evelyn, I believe.\"\n\nAnd then she took no further notice of me, but sat upon the sofa at\nEvelyn's side, fanning herself vigorously.\n\nThere was something in Lady Eldridge's manner which made me\nuncomfortable and uneasy, and I had withdrawn to the table with my work\nas the two other ladies advanced to the fire, not intending to take any\npart in the conversation, when a pleasant, gentle voice by my side said\nkindly, \"You must be tired with your long journey, Miss Lindsay; had\nyou to stop many times by the way?\"\n\nI looked up and met one of the sweetest faces I have ever seen. It was\nnot exactly a pretty face, and the features were far from handsome, but\nthere was such a beautiful expression upon it that you could never have\ncalled it plain. I should have been very puzzled if any one had asked\nme how old she was. At one time she looked quite young, not more than\nfour or five and twenty; and the moment afterwards I detected strong\nmarks of care, or anxiety, or trouble on the face, which made me think\nshe must be at least ten or fifteen years older.\n\nI told her about my journey, and then she asked me one question after\nanother, in the kindest, pleasantest way, as if she really cared to\nknow all I had to tell her. She led me on from one subject to another,\nand I found myself telling her of our old home; of Maggie, and my hopes\nand fears for her; and of many other things, whilst Lady Eldridge\nand Evelyn were talking together on the sofa; and all the chill and\nrepression which had come over me when Lady Eldridge entered the room\nentirely passed away, and I felt perfectly at my ease again.\n\nWhen I told her of our leaving our dear old home, her eyes filled with\ntears, and she said quietly, \"I know what a trial that is; I have gone\nthrough it myself. What a comfort that there is one home where there\nwill be no parting and no going away!\"\n\nSuch a happy, thankful feeling came into my heart as she said this.\nThere was something in the way she said it, as well as in the words\nthemselves, which made me feel sure that my new friend was one who\nloved the same Lord I loved. And, if I had felt drawn to her before, I\nwas doubly drawn to her now.\n\nWe had no opportunity for further conversation, for Evelyn was growing\nweary of Lady Eldridge, and invited us to come nearer to the fire.\n\n\"Put away your work, you industrious girl,\" she said to me. \"The brown\nalpaca always had her work close to her fingers' ends at a moment's\nnotice.\"\n\n\"My dear Evelyn,\" said Lady Eldridge, \"a most profitable way for a\nyoung person.\"\n\nBut Evelyn took no notice of her, and turned to my new friend.\n\n\"Where have you been all day, Lilla?\" she said. \"You have only been to\nsee me three times.\"\n\n\"Have I been so negligent as that, dear?\" she said. \"I must mend my\nmanners to-morrow; but I have been very busy writing letters, so you\nmust forgive me.\"\n\nUntil I had turned to the fire I had not looked at the third lady who\nhad come into the room. She was sitting languidly in an arm-chair by\nthe fire, with her eyes fixed on the door, as if she were looking\nanxiously for some one to enter. She was decidedly advanced in middle\nage, yet she was dressed like a girl of seventeen: in a low, white\nevening dress, and a most elaborate gold chain and locket round her\nneck. She looked dissatisfied and restless, as if she was always\nstriving to reach some object which was eluding her grasp. She took no\nparticular interest in the general conversation which was going on, but\nseemed either lost in thought, or not thinking at all.\n\nLady Eldridge was giving an account of Eastern life, which she\ndescribed as the most delightful life on earth. I found she had lived\nmany years abroad, and was going to Constantinople the following\nspring. She could not settle in England more than a year at a time, she\nsaid.\n\n\"Those miserable skies; those depressing fogs; those dreadful rainy\ndays, enough to make any one commit suicide who has lived in the\nEast, my dear.\" And Lady Eldridge fanned herself again at the bare\nrecollection of it.\n\nShe kept up a continual run of conversation for about half an hour;\nbut she gave me the idea of being a woman who had hardly opened a book\nin the whole course of her life, and who was thoroughly ignorant of\neverything except the worldly ways of the worldly world\u2014in which she\nseemed to be anything but ignorant.\n\nBut her chattering was brought to a close by a rap at the door, and the\nannouncement that the gentlemen had arrived in the drawing-room.\n\n\"Those tiresome men!\" said Lady Eldridge. \"As if they could not amuse\nthemselves for half an hour without sending for us. Well, Alicia,\nI suppose we must obey the lords of creation and go downstairs.\nGood-night, Evelyn, my dear.\"\n\nAnd, without taking the slightest notice of me, Lady Eldridge sailed\nout of the room.\n\nThe other two ladies said good-night to both of us and followed in her\ntrain, and Evelyn and I were left alone.\n\n\"Well, what do you think of them?\" she said, as soon as the door was\nshut. \"Bring your chair close to the fire and tell me.\"\n\n\"I think that the lady who sat near me has one of the sweetest faces\nthat I ever saw,\" I said. \"I could quite believe in any one loving her\nat first sight.\"\n\n\"Oh, Lilla, yes; isn't she nice?\" said Evelyn, carelessly. \"Every one\nseems to like poor Lilla.\"\n\n\"Why do you call her poor?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh, because she has had so much trouble,\" Evelyn answered; \"she was\nengaged to a young officer a good many years ago, and it was broken\noff; his father persuaded him to marry some one with more money. Lilla\nis papa's first cousin, and she often stays here; it is very dull for\nher at home; her father has married again, and his new wife is such a\nhorrid old thing, who treats Lilla as if she were a child of twelve.\nBut Lilla never complains; she is very patient. And what did you think\nof Lady Eldridge?\"\n\n\"I had rather not say, please, Evelyn; I do not think it is very kind\nto talk about people so much.\"\n\n\"Oh, it won't hurt Lady Eldridge, I assure you,\" she answered; \"she\nis miles too high up in the world to be hurt by anything you or I may\nsay or think of her\u2014at least she thinks that she is. Papa says she\nhas nothing to boast of, if her antecedents were looked into. She was\nquite poor, and lived in some remote Eastern city, when her good looks\nattracted Sir Hugh Eldridge's attention, as he was passing through\nthe place, and he married her. But she thinks herself a perfect queen\nnow, and lords it over everybody. I often pity her poor maid. It is\n'Lawrence, here;' 'Lawrence, do this;' 'Lawrence, do that;' from\nmorning till night; for Lady Eldridge thinks it is a disgrace to do\nthe simplest thing for herself, or even to know how it ought to be\ndone. She boasts of being ignorant as a baby about all money matters,\nand cannot even pay a bill for herself. Silly old thing!\" said Evelyn,\ncontemptuously. \"I have more respect for Alicia Hay than I have for\nher.\"\n\n\"Is that the lady who sat in the arm-chair by the fire?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes, poor thing!\" said Evelyn. \"She wouldn't talk a bit to-night. I\nknow why, just as well as if I had been there. It was just because Lord\nMoreton didn't take her down to dinner;\" and Evelyn laughed at the\nthought of it. \"Didn't you see how she looked at the door every time\na step came in the passage? Because sometimes papa comes up for a few\nminutes on his way to the drawing-room, to cheer me up a little, and\nsometimes he brings one of the gentlemen with him; but they didn't come\nto-night, so poor Alicia was quite disconsolate; she had not the heart\nto talk to any one. And if she only know\u2014oh, if she only knew\u2014what Lord\nMoreton really thinks of her!\"\n\n\"Poor thing!\" I said. \"Is she very fond of him?\"\n\n\"Oh, not of him in particular,\" said Evelyn, laughing; \"but you see\npoor Alicia is getting old; she really is, though she would be very\nangry if any one told her so, and she wants very much to be married,\nand to have a home of her own.\"\n\nI was not sorry when Evelyn asked me to ring the bell for her maid\nClemence, and I was at liberty to go to my own room, for I was very\ntired after all the travelling and excitement I had gone through that\nday.\n\nI lay awake for many hours, watching the flickering of the firelight,\nand listening for the striking of a large clock in the hall, whose\ndeep, sonorous voice could be heard in every part of the great house.\n\n\nThe next morning I awoke before it was light, and had been dressed\nfor more than an hour before Clemence came to conduct me to her young\nmistress's dressing-room. I found Evelyn lying on a sofa by the\ndressing-room fire, in a pretty pink dressing-gown, and with her fair\nhair hanging down in long waving tresses. She looked a perfect picture,\nI thought, and one that any artist would take pleasure in painting. She\nseemed pleased to see me, but was languid and tired, and not so much\ninclined for talking as she had been the night before.\n\nBreakfast was brought up soon after I arrived, and, whilst we were\neating it, the door opened, and an elderly gentleman came in. He had\nevidently been very handsome in his younger days, and there was a\ncheerful, pleasant, good-tempered expression on his face, which made\nhim look younger than I imagine he really was.\n\n\"Oh, papa,\" said Evelyn, brightening up the moment that she saw him, \"I\nam so glad you have come! How naughty of you not to come last night! I\nwanted you so much to see Miss Lindsay\u2014May, I call her now,\" she added,\nlaughing.\n\nSir William shook hands with me very kindly, and said he hoped I should\nsoon feel at home, and that his little daughter would not wear me out\nwith her chattering.\n\n\"Now, papa, what nonsense!\" said Evelyn, gaily. \"May was at home\nwhen she had been here ten minutes, were you not, May? And she likes\nchattering just as much as I do. You talk just as if she was the brown\nalpaca I told you about. But she is not a bit like her; she is so nice,\npapa, and we get on together famously.\"\n\n\"That's right,\" said Sir William, seating himself on the sofa; \"and how\nis my little puss this morning?\"\n\n\"Only a little tired, papa,\" she said, wearily; \"the pain kept me awake\nlast night.\"\n\nHe looked at her very anxiously, I thought, as he stooped over her, and\ngently arranged her pillows, as carefully and tenderly as any woman\ncould have done.\n\n\"Keep very quiet this morning, little girl,\" he said; \"I will not let\nany of them come near you. Miss Lindsay will read to you, and you can\nlie quite still.\"\n\n\"Oh no, thank you, papa,\" she said, cheerfully, \"let them all come; it\ndoes me good to have people coming in and out; it amuses me; they are\nso funny, some of them, aren't they, papa? Don't they make you laugh\nsometimes?\"\n\nSir William made some evasive answer, and glanced towards the end of\nthe room, where I was sitting at work.\n\n\"Oh, you need not mind her, papa,\" said Evelyn aloud, \"she is not the\nbrown alpaca. I mean to tell her everything, and to talk just the same\nwhen she is in the room as when she is out of it.\"\n\nSir William seemed rather amused at the rapid friendship that had\nsprung up between us, but it did not appear to displease him, for he\nsmiled kindly at me, and gave me a few more words of welcome as he rose\nto leave the room. But when he got to the door he said gravely:\n\n\"Lord Moreton is very anxious to see you this morning, Evelyn; shall I\nlet him come when you got into the other room?\"\n\nEvelyn laughed heartily.\n\n\"Yes, if it is any amusement to him, papa,\" she said; \"I am sure he\namuses me. Oh! If you had only seen him the other day; he came up when\nAlicia Hay was sitting beside me, and neither of them spoke a word.\nHe sat looking at me, and she sat looking at him; and they were both\nperfectly stupid.\"\n\n\"Lord Moreton is a very worthy young man, Evelyn,\" said her father,\ngravely.\n\n\"Oh, a very worthy young man,\" she repeated, in exactly the same tone,\nso exactly that I could scarcely keep from smiling; \"but the worst is,\npapa, that I don't like very worthy young men; they are so dreadfully\nuninteresting\u2014at least, if Lord Moreton is a specimen\u2014they sit and\nlook at you, and then clear their throats, and try to make some feeble\nremark, and break down in the middle. Oh dear! It is so amusing. Now\nCousin Donald never does that; he can make himself very agreeable; I\nwish he would come to see me.\"\n\n\"Donald has other business to attend to,\" said her father, rather\nsharply; \"he has no time to lose now. Donald must make his way in the\nworld.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, rather sadly; \"poor Donald!\"\n\n\"I do not know why he need be pitied,\" said Sir William, dryly; \"if he\nwill only work, he will soon be able to earn a very fair income.\"\n\n\"But Donald does not like work,\" said Evelyn; \"he says he would like to\nbe independent, and to have plenty\u2014plenty of money.\"\n\n\"He never will have plenty of money,\" said Sir William, almost angrily,\nas he shut the door.\n\n\"Papa does not like poor Donald,\" she said, as soon as he was out of\nhearing; \"but he is so handsome, and he has such nice brown eyes. I do\nnot know why papa dislikes him so much. I think it is because he is\nafraid he likes me too much. It is very strange that he does like me. I\nshould have thought that he would have hated me; because if I had never\nbeen born, Cousin Donald would have lived here, and would have been\njust like papa's son. That makes me feel so sorry for him.\"\n\n\"Is he much older than you?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes, he is six years older,\" said Evelyn; \"and papa and mamma had been\nmarried a long time, and they thought they would not have any children\nof their own, so papa was talking of adopting Cousin Donald, and\neducating him and leaving the property to him. Uncle and aunt were very\npleased about it, because they have so many children. Cousin Donald is\nthe eldest of thirteen now, and there were plenty of them even then,\nso they were quite willing to spare him to papa. But of course when I\ncame, I put an end to all that little plan,\" she said, laughing.\n\n\"And where is your cousin Donald now?\"\n\n\"Oh, poor fellow, he is in a bank, and he does so hate doing sums;\nhe always did. They make his head ache, he says. He likes riding and\nshooting and fishing, and all such things, just the kind of life he\nwould have had here, you know; it is very hard for him, is it not? And\nI am afraid he is rather lazy, and they say he wastes his money. But he\nis so good-looking, and I really think he cannot help it\u2014yes, I really\nthink he cannot help it.\"\n\n\"Cannot help what?\" I inquired.\n\n\"Oh, being extravagant,\" she explained. \"He buys beautiful little\nbouquets for his button-hole, and all sorts of little unnecessary\nthings of that kind, and the money goes very fast. But it must be so\nhard to see pretty things and not to be able to buy them. I should\nnever be able to do that; as soon as ever I see anything I like, I send\ninto the shop and have it brought out to me at once.\"\n\nI smiled to myself as I went on with my work, for I was thinking how\ndifferent Evelyn's experience had been from mine. She seemed to guess\nmy thoughts.\n\n\"I suppose you have not always had everything that you wanted and\nwished for?\" she said.\n\n\"Everything I really wanted\u2014yes,\" I answered; \"everything I may have\nwished for\u2014no.\"\n\n\"Oh dear! Was it not very tiresome?\" she asked.\n\n\"I think it was good for me,\" I said.\n\n\"Good for you!\" she repeated. \"That's just like the brown alpaca. How\ncould it be good for you?\"\n\n\"I think it made me enjoy all the more the good things which were given\nme,\" I said\u2014\"things that perhaps you might have thought nothing of, and\nthings which would have given you no pleasure at all.\"\n\n\"What sort of things?\" asked Evelyn.\n\n\"Oh, any little present that was given me; any new book, or picture;\nany little pleasure, or treat of any kind. We had so few new things,\nthat when anything fresh came, it was prized and valued more than I can\ntell you. I really think it gave us more enjoyment than far grander\nthings would give you.\"\n\n\"Oh, I dare say,\" said Evelyn; \"there are some things that I wish for\njust a minute, and then when they come I do not care for them. If you\nonly saw the number of books on those shelves, the leaves of which have\nnever been out. I wished for them, and ordered them, but when they\narrived I had given up wishing for them, and I have never begun to read\nthem.\"\n\nI thought of the little shelves at home which had held my small\nlibrary, each volume of which was the prized gift of some friend, and\nwhich had been read and re-read, until I know their contents almost by\nheart.\n\nBefore I had been long at Alliston Hall, I came to the conclusion that\nthe enjoyment of this life is much more evenly distributed than many of\nus think. For where pleasures are many, the enjoyment that they give is\ncomparatively small; whilst where they are few and far between, they\ncause so much larger an amount of enjoyment, that the lives of those\nwho receive them are quite as full of sunshine and brightness as they\nwould be if their pleasures were more in number.\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nCONSCIENCE AT WORK.\n\n[Illustration] MY life at Alliston Hall was a very happy one. Day after\nday went by without any care or anxiety, and every one was so kind to\nme that I could not feel lonely or homeless any longer.\n\nThe more I knew of Evelyn Trafford, the more I loved her. In spite of\nher light, careless way of talking, there was a great deal of genuine\nkind feeling in her, and I am sure she did all in her power to make me\nhappy. I never once remember, the whole time I was with her, feeling\nuncomfortable on account of my position in the house. Both Sir William\nand Evelyn treated me as if I were one of the family, and I received\nnothing but kindness from their numerous visitors and friends. Lady\nEldridge was the only exception. She, whenever she made her appearance\nat Alliston Hall, thought it her duty to keep me fully aware who she,\nLady Eldridge, was, and who I, May Lindsay, was, and of the immense and\nimmeasurable distance between us.\n\nThe guests at Alliston Hall did not pay very long visits, so I had\nconstant change and variety in my life, and heard and saw a great deal\nmore of the outer world than in our quiet country home.\n\nAnd yet, although everything around me was so pleasant, and though\nevery one was so kind to me, I had not been many months at Alliston\nHall before I began to feel restless and unhappy. For I felt that I was\nnot walking so closely with God as I had done before. I had become cold\nand careless, rising late in the morning and hurrying over my prayers,\nand then going through the day in an idle, careless spirit, hardly ever\nthinking of my Lord or trying to please Him.\n\nFor some time this did not make me at all unhappy. I had so much to\nthink of, and there were so many pleasant visitors staying in the\nhouse, and so many books to be read, and there was so much to be done\nto amuse Evelyn and to make the days pass happily for her, that I gave\nmyself no time to think about the state of my soul. But the visitors\nleft and we were quiet again; and then I felt an empty, dissatisfied\nfeeling in my heart, which I cannot put into words. My conscience was\nvery busy now, and brought to my recollection all my neglect of my\nbest and dearest Friend, all my coldness and indifference to Him. I\nwould have given anything to feel His presence as in times past; but He\nseemed far away from me, and I felt too cold even to pray to Him. But\nthough I had so terribly forgotten Him, my Lord still remembered me.\n\nIt was Sunday afternoon. Evelyn had fallen asleep on the sofa, and I\nwent out into the garden till she awoke. There had been showers all the\nmorning, but now the sun was shining brightly, and the rain-drops were\nsparkling like diamonds on the grass.\n\nI went along one of the grassy terraces, and turned down a quiet path,\nshut in by evergreens, which led by a gentle descent down to the sea.\nThis was my favourite walk, and I always chose it when I came out\nalone. There were several seats on this path, so situated as to catch\na peep of the sea through the shrubs and trees, which grew down to its\nvery edge.\n\nAs I turned a corner in this winding path, I suddenly came upon Miss\nLilla Irvine, sitting upon one of the seats reading her Bible. I\napologised for disturbing her, and was going to turn back, when she\nasked me if I would not stay a little and read with her.\n\n\"You and I love the same Lord, May,\" she said; \"I know we do, and I\nthink it would help us to talk together of Him sometimes; at least,\"\nshe added, \"I am sure it would help me.\"\n\n\"Oh, Miss Irvine,\" I said, as I sat down beside her, \"if you only knew\u2014\"\n\n\"If I only knew what?\" she said, gently.\n\n\"If you only knew how careless I have been lately; I have hardly\nthought about Him at all.\"\n\n\"What has been the matter, May?\" she asked.\n\n\"Oh, I don't know,\" I answered; \"I think everything has been too smooth\nand nice lately; somehow, it is easier to do right when the road is\nrather rough; don't you think it is, Miss Irvine?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said; \"when things go wrong, and all seems against us, we\nare driven to prayer, May\u2014we feel we must pray then; but we ought not\nto need driving into our dear Lord's presence.\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" I said; \"I know we ought not.\"\n\n\"And oh, May,\" she said, earnestly, \"if we get self-confident, and\nleave off prayer, we shall soon have a fall; we are not safe for a\nsingle moment if we are not strong in the Lord and in the power of His\nmight. You will be having a fall if you do not come back to Him, May.\"\n\n\"I wish I could come back, Miss Irvine,\" I said, \"but it is easier\nto get wrong than to get right again. I got up this morning rather\nearlier, and tried to pray, but I could not fix my thoughts on what I\nwas saying; all sorts of things kept coming into my mind, and I gave it\nup at last.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"I know what that is; heart answers to heart. I have\noften found it so; when I have left God, and have been pleasing myself,\nI have lost the power to pray.\"\n\n\"How is it, Miss Irvine?\" I asked.\n\n\"I think,\" she said, \"that the Holy Spirit has been grieved, and\nwithout His help we cannot pray.\"\n\n\"Then what do you think I should do?\" I asked.\n\n\"I think,\" she said, \"you should go back to the Lord, just in the\nsame spirit in which you first came to Him. Go to Him, and ask Him to\nreceive you\u2014to take away all the sin which is separating you from Him,\nand to give you the comfort of His presence again. And then I think you\nshould especially pray that you may once more have the help of the Holy\nSpirit. I like that old hymn so much:\n\n   \"'Return, O Holy Dove, return,\n       Sweet messenger of rest;\n     I hate the sins which made Thee mourn,\n       And drove Thee from my breast.\n\n   \"'So shall my walk be close with God,\n       Calm and serene my frame,\n     So purer light shall mark the road\n       That leads me to the Lamb.'\n\n\"Will you not go back to Him at once, May?\" she said, laying her hand\nupon mine.\n\n\"Oh, Miss Irvine, I will; indeed I will,\" I said.\n\n\"Go now, dear,\" she said.\n\nSo I left her sitting there, and went on, down the winding, shady path\nto the sea. It was a quiet, solitary place. The only sounds that were\nto be heard were the splashing of the waves upon the rocks, and the\ncries of the white sea-birds as they flew backwards and forwards on the\nlittle rocky islands which lay about half a mile from the shore.\n\nI knelt down in a sheltered corner, and felt myself alone with God. I\ndo not think that I have ever realised the Lord's presence more than at\nthat moment. And then I confessed it all to Him, all my coldness, all\nmy carelessness, all my neglect of prayer, all my indifference to Him.\nI came back to Him, and asked Him to receive me, and to give me the\nlight of His countenance again. And then, as Miss Irvine had advised\nme, I prayed very earnestly for the Holy Spirit, pleading that promise\u2014\n\n   \"If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your\nchildren: how much more shall your Heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit\nto them that ask Him?\"\n\nOh, how thankful I felt that Miss Irvine had spoken to me that\nafternoon! I am sure that God put it into her heart to do so.\n\nWhen I went back to the house, I found her still sitting in the same\nplace, and she said, as she took hold of my arm to walk home with me:\n\n\"Is it all right, dear?\"\n\n\"Yes, Miss Irvine, I hope so. I have asked Him to forgive me, and I\nthink He has.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"if you have asked Him, I am sure He has. He is always\nready to forgive us, if we will only go to Him. If we only realised how\nmuch He loves us, May, and how much it grieves Him when we are cold and\nheartless to Him, I think we should be more careful never to leave Him.\"\n\nAs I look back upon that part of my life which was spent in Alliston\nHall, I cannot be too thankful that God gave me the friendship of Miss\nLilla Irvine. I found in her a true friend, one in whom I could confide\nall my troubles and anxieties, and one who was ever ready to sympathise\nwith me and to advise me. Her visits, to my great joy, were very long\nones. At the time of which I am now writing, she spent several months\nat her cousin's house, so that I had many opportunities of seeing her,\nand of learning to love her more and more.\n\n\nAs Christmas time drew near, the good sisters at Branston Manor House\nwrote to ask me to spend Christmas with them, and Sir William most\nkindly gave me a fortnight's holiday.\n\nEvelyn was very loth to part with me, and told me she would be\ndreadfully dull whilst I was away. But Sir William would not hear of my\nrefusing the invitation, and promised to do his best to make up for my\nabsence.\n\n\"Oh dear, oh dear, it will be a long fortnight!\" Evelyn said, the night\nbefore I left. \"You shouldn't be so nice, May; if you were only a\nlittle more disagreeable, just the smallest degree more like the brown\nalpaca, I should not miss you half so much!\"\n\n\"Very well,\" I said, laughing, \"I will come back provided with\nspectacles, and a brown alpaca dress, and be as prim and precise as you\nplease, and then I suppose I shall get plenty of holidays! Not that I\nwant holidays,\" I said, in a different tone, as I noticed the troubled\nexpression on her face, \"I was only joking, dear Evelyn; my whole life\nhere is a holiday\u2014I am very, very happy, you are all so good to me.\"\n\n\"Just as if we could help being good to you, May,\" she said; \"I told\nyou that I loved you at first sight, and always should love you, and\nI am sure I do. And I do hope you will enjoy being with your little\nsister, only you must be sure to come back as soon as they can spare\nyou.\"\n\n\nIt was six months since I had seen Maggie, and my heart beat very fast\nas the train drew up at Branston Station, and my little sister came\nforward to meet me. She had grown very much since I had seen her last,\nbut she was the same dear, simple-minded child as when I had left her,\nand was just as loving and true.\n\nOld John was waiting for us with the two luxurious horses, and we drove\nto the Manor House at the usual measured pace.\n\nIt was quite touching to see the welcome which the three kind sisters\ngave me. If I had been their own child, they could not have seemed more\nglad to see me. Miss Jane, especially, took me under her wing from the\nmoment that I entered the house, and it would indeed have been my own\nfault if I had not spent a pleasant Christmas time at Branston Hall.\n\nBut what I enjoyed, perhaps, more than anything else, was hearing Mr.\nClaremont's sermons. There was something in his plain, practical way of\npreaching, which went direct to my heart, and I always came away from\nhearing one of his sermons feeling thoroughly dissatisfied with myself,\nwhich perhaps, after all, is the best proof how very useful they were\nto me.\n\nOn the last Sunday of the year, especially, I felt that indeed there\nwas a message for me. In both his sermons that day Mr. Claremont spoke\nof the year that was past, gone for ever, with all its shortcomings\nand sins, all its neglected opportunities, all its wasted moments. In\nthe evening his sermon was addressed more especially to the unsaved\nin the congregation, urging such not to let the last moments of the\nold year pass away until they had been to the fountain, Christ Jesus,\nthe fountain opened for sin and for uncleanness, and had washed their\nsin-stained souls till they were whiter than snow.\n\nBut in the morning Mr. Claremont spoke to Christians, to God's own\nchildren. He spoke of the sins of which we Christians had been guilty\nduring the past year, and above all of our sins of omission. He told us\nthat God had given to each of us a special work to do for Him, and that\nif we did not do it, the work would be left undone. And then he asked\nus whether all those who lived in the house with us were amongst the\nsaved. Were there any, was there one, with whom we spoke day by day,\nand whom we loved perhaps very much, and yet whom we knew to be still\noutside the refuge, still unsaved?\n\nAnd then Mr. Claremont pleaded with us, if this was the case, to give\nourselves no rest until that one was safe in Christ, but to speak to\nhim about his soul, and, whenever we had an opportunity, to plead with\nhim, and to urge him to come to Jesus before it was too late.\n\n\"Another year gone, just gone, and your loved ones still unsaved. Oh,\nwhat if this new year should be their last! What if next New Year's\nDay, the opportunity should be over, and they should be gone! Children\nof God, up and be doing, let not their blood be on your heads. Oh,\nif they should come up to you at the last day, and say, with bitter\nreproaches, 'Why did you not warn us? If you really believed, knew that\nthis was before us, why did you not give yourselves no rest, day nor\nnight, until you knew that we were saved from it? Oh, why not?' What\nwill you say to them then? Friends, be up and doing, for the night\ncometh when no man can work.\"\n\nAs Mr. Claremont spoke, one face was ever in my mind's eye, one form\nwas ever before me. It was Evelyn Trafford, my own dear little Evelyn,\nof whom I thought. I knew she was not safe. Loving and amiable and\nsweet tempered as she was, I know that she cared nothing for the Lord\nI loved. She had been brought up entirely for this world, and she had\nnever been taught to think of things above.\n\nAnd yet what could I do for her? I had sometimes tried to get a word\nin, edgewise as it were, for my Master, but it was very difficult, and\nit never seemed to do any good.\n\nSometimes I thought it did harm. If she was alone with me, she turned\nthe subject so quickly, and called me precise and particular, and did\nnot seem so much at her ease with me afterwards. And if any one else\ncame into the room, she would begin to talk almost scoffingly of all\nthat I loved and reverenced, as if she were determined to show me how\nlittle she cared for it all. And so I was beginning to think that it\nwas wiser to be quiet and to say nothing.\n\nYet this sermon had made me uneasy. If Evelyn, my dear Evelyn, should\ndie unsaved, and I had never once really spoken to her about her soul's\ninterests, oh, how I should blame myself! And yet, when could I do it?\nHow could I begin the subject?\n\nI met Mr. Claremont the next day, as I was going to see one of Miss\nJane's sick people, and I ventured to tell him how much I had felt his\nsermon.\n\n\"But does it not require very great wisdom in speaking to others?\" I\nasked.\n\n\"Undoubtedly,\" he said; \"there is a time to speak, and a time to keep\nsilence.\"\n\n\"But with me, Mr. Claremont,\" I said, \"it always seems the time to keep\nsilence.\"\n\n\"Have you been looking out for an opportunity?\" he said. \"Ready to\nspeak and longing to speak, whenever and as soon as God shall give you\none?\"\n\n\"Hardly that,\" I said; \"I have often thought I ought to speak, but have\nalways persuaded myself that it was not the right time to do it.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" he said. \"Perhaps if you look carefully within, Miss Lindsay,\nyou will find that at the bottom of it all there has been a little\ncowardice, a little unwillingness to be brave for the Master's\nsake\u2014please forgive me for saying so\u2014but I have often found it so\nmyself. Often, when I have neglected speaking to others about their\nsouls, I have found that it was not from want of opportunity, but from\nwant of courage to use the opportunities that were given me.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"I believe you are right.\"\n\n\"Pray for opportunities to be given you, be on the look-out for\nopportunities, and use the opportunities as soon as ever they occur,\nand you will, I am sure, Miss Lindsay, find that there is indeed a time\nto speak, as well as a time to be silent.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nALICE FITZGERALD.\n\n[Illustration] I WENT back to Alliston Hall determined to be on the\nwatch for the time to speak, and longing most earnestly for that time\nto come.\n\nEvelyn welcomed me very warmly, and told me she had never known a\nfortnight pass so slowly.\n\n\"Have you many visitors here?\" I asked.\n\n\"No,\" she said, \"there is only Alice Fitzgerald; I did not know she was\ncoming when you went away, but I found out she was staying with friends\nof hers not far-off, so I asked her to come here on her way home: her\nfather is an old friend of papa's.\"\n\n\"Alice Fitzgerald!\" I repeated. \"Alice Fitzgerald, I wonder if it is\nthe same!\"\n\n\"The same as what, May?\" she said, laughing at my astonishment. \"Do you\nknow an Alice Fitzgerald?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"I do not know her; but she is a great friend of a friend\nof mine.\"\n\n\"Well, this Alice Fitzgerald\u2014how pale you are, May,\" said Evelyn,\nsuddenly stopping short in her explanation; \"are you very tired?\"\n\n\"No, not at all,\" I said; \"go on, I want to hear about your Alice\nFitzgerald.\"\n\n\"Well, my Alice Fitzgerald is a very pretty girl, at least I think she\nis, and a nice sort of girl, though she isn't a bit like you. I don't\nmean that you are not nice, you dear old thing,\" said Evelyn, laughing,\n\"but she is quite different from you; I'm rather afraid you will\nquarrel.\"\n\n\"Oh no, I hope not!\"\n\n\"No, you must not quarrel,\" said Evelyn, \"though she has some very\nstrange ideas; but, after all, what does it matter what one believes?\"\n\nI was about to answer her when the door opened, and the subject of our\nconversation entered. She was a tall, fair-haired girl of about my own\nage, and was indeed, as Evelyn had said, very pretty.\n\n\"Alice, this is my friend, May Lindsay,\" was Evelyn's introduction, as\nshe came in.\n\nMiss Fitzgerald shook hands with me pleasantly, and then sat down on a\nlow seat by the fire, and took her work out of a pretty, embroidered\npocket which hung by her side.\n\n\"I am very glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Lindsay,\" she said,\nlaughing, \"for I have been hearing your praises sounded morning, noon,\nand night, ever since I came.\"\n\n\"Well, isn't she very nice, Alice?\" said Evelyn, raising herself on the\nsofa. \"Didn't I give you a good description of her?\"\n\n\"I expect Miss Fitzgerald is not so hasty in forming her opinion as you\nare, Evelyn,\" I said.\n\n\"By the by, Alice,\" Evelyn went on, \"May thinks she knows a friend of\nyours; at least, if you are the same Alice Fitzgerald. What is her\nname, May?\"\n\n\"It is a gentleman,\" I said, turning very red, in spite of all my\nefforts to the contrary\u2014\"Mr. Claude Ellis.\"\n\n\"Claude!\" repeated Miss Fitzgerald, in astonishment. \"Do you know\nClaude? I never heard him speak of you.\"\n\n\"No, perhaps not,\" I said; \"but I do know him very well indeed; we were\nplayfellows when we were children, and have lived next door to each\nother all our lives.\"\n\n\"How very strange that I never heard your name!\" said Miss Fitzgerald.\n\"And I was staying at the Parsonage last spring; would you be at Acton\nthen?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"we had left a little time before you went there. Do you\nremember noticing a house, standing in a large garden, close to the\nParsonage?\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" said Miss Fitzgerald; \"it was shut up when I was there, and\nClaude said the doctor used to live there.\"\n\n\"Yes, the doctor was my father,\" I said, checking the tears, which\nwould come in spite of myself, and which nearly choked me.\n\n\"Well, that's very funny!\" said Evelyn. \"That you should know this\ndearly beloved Claude, about whom I have heard so much lately! Do you\nknow he is coming here to-morrow, to make my acquaintance? Papa has\ninvited him to come for a day or two whilst Alice is here.\"\n\nClaude coming to Alliston Hall Claude coming to-morrow! How I wished\nthat my stay at the old Manor House had been a little longer. I made\nsome excuse to leave the room soon afterwards, and went to my own\nbedroom, and locked the door.\n\n\"Claude coming to-morrow!\" I repeated over and over to myself.\n\nAll the old trouble seemed to have come back again. I had hoped that I\nshould never see him again, that our paths in life would never cross\neach other. And now Claude was coming to-morrow. How astonished he\nwould be to see me here! I wondered how we should meet, and whether he\nwould feel it as much as I did.\n\nAs I sat alone in my room I prayed for grace and help, and I felt\nthat the strength came as I prayed. Still I felt that I could not go\ndownstairs, until Evelyn's maid came to tell me that Miss Trafford\nwanted me.\n\n\"You naughty girl!\" said Evelyn when I entered. \"What have you been\ndoing? Why, you are as cold as ice; come to the fire and warm your\nhands. I really could not let you stop up there any longer. Do you know\nI thought you were, at last, turning into the brown alpaca! She always\nshut herself up in her bedroom half the day.\"\n\n\"And, who in the world is the brown alpaca?\" said Alice Fitzgerald. \"Do\ntell me about her, Evelyn.\"\n\nEvelyn was only too pleased to do so. And then we went on from one\nlaughable subject to another, and Alice Fitzgerald told us a number of\namusing stories, in such an absurd way that we laughed until we were\nquite tired.\n\n\"There,\" she said, at last, as Evelyn declared that she had not laughed\nso much the whole time she had been ill, and that she felt all the\nbetter for it, \"that's just what I was saying before Miss Lindsay came\ninto the room; if only people, when they are in low spirits would laugh\nmore, they would be all the happier.\"\n\n\"But when you are in trouble you can't laugh, Miss Fitzgerald,\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, then, you should try,\" she said; \"try to forget the trouble, and\nlaugh it off. That's always my way when anything bothers me or vexes\nme. I try to think of something amusing, and forget it.\"\n\n\"And do you always succeed?\" I ventured to ask.\n\n\"Well, no, not quite always,\" she said, rather gravely.\n\nIt was the first time that I had seen her look grave; her merry,\nlaughing face was clouded for a moment. But it was only for a moment.\n\n\"Anyhow,\" she said, \"if you don't quite succeed in forgetting your\ntrouble, it does not make it so hard to bear; it is better to go\nlaughing through a trouble than crying through it. But laugh it off if\nyou can, that's much the best way.\"\n\n\"But, suppose you can't laugh it off,\" I said; \"you owned that there\nwere some troubles which were too deep to be got rid of in this\nway\u2014suppose you can't laugh it off, and the trouble comes back after\nevery laugh as heavy as ever\u2014what then?\"\n\n\"Oh, then,\" she said, with a shrug of her shoulders, \"we must bear it,\nI suppose\u2014bear it as best we can. Don't you think so?\"\n\n\"I never try to laugh trouble away,\" I said; \"I try to pray it away.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" she said, scornfully, \"you believe in prayer, do you?\"\n\n\"Yes; don't you, Miss Fitzgerald?\"\n\n\"No, not now,\" she said; \"I did once. That is to say, I never prayed\nmuch myself, but I used to believe that it did some people good; but\nClaude says that is all nonsense. My brother Arthur and he are always\nhaving long discussions about these things. Arthur believes in the\nBible with all his heart and soul, and Claude does nothing but laugh at\nhim.\"\n\n\"And you agree with Claude, of course,\" said Evelyn, laughing.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Alice, \"I agree with him; and yet, do you know, I sometimes\nwish I didn't.\"\n\n\"May I ask, why not?\" I said.\n\n\"Well,\" she said, \"you mustn't tell Claude, he would be so angry; but I\ncan't help thinking if Arthur should be right after all\u2014what then?\"\n\n\"Yes, what then?\" I said. \"If the Bible is true\u2014what then?\"\n\n\"Why then,\" she said, laughing again, \"we are all lost, I suppose; so\nthe best we can do is to enjoy ourselves as much now as we can. A short\nlife and a merry one, that's my motto! Well, I suppose it is getting\nnear dinner time,\" she said, as she hastily rose, gathering up her\nwork, and left the room.\n\n\"She is a queer girl,\" said Evelyn, as soon as the door was shut.\n\n\"She is not really happy, Evelyn,\" I said. \"She tries to laugh it off,\nas she says; but there is a great deal of miserable uncertainty in her\nheart, I feel sure of that.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Evelyn, turning the subject, \"won't you dress for dinner?\nAmbrose will be here in a moment.\"\n\nSo I left the room and went upstairs, and prayed very, very earnestly\nfor them both, and especially for Alice Fitzgerald. Oh, if she only\nknew where true joy was to be found!\n\n\nThe next day Claude arrived. I was in Evelyn's sitting-room when Alice\nFitzgerald brought him in to introduce him to her. And then she turned\nto me.\n\n\"An old friend of yours, Claude, I believe,\" she said.\n\nClaude started; he had not noticed me before. \"May\u2014Miss Lindsay,\" he\nsaid, colouring painfully, \"I did not expect to see you here.\"\n\nAnd then he turned the subject quickly, and began to give us an account\nof his journey, his Oxford adventures, and all sorts of other things,\ntill dinner was announced.\n\nI could see that he was not at his ease, and I was almost afraid that\nAlice Fitzgerald noticed it also.\n\nI saw very little more of Claude that evening, for I always dined\nupstairs with Evelyn, and he spent the evening in talking politics with\nSir William over the library fire.\n\n\nBut the next morning when I came downstairs, Claude was alone in the\nbreakfast-room. I shook hands with him, and said \"Good morning;\" and\nthen was about to leave the room again, when he called me back, and\nsaid hurriedly:\n\n\"May, what did you tell them?\"\n\n\"Tell whom?\" I asked.\n\n\"Tell her,\" he said, in a hoarse whisper. \"What did you tell her about\nme?\"\n\n\"Only that we played together when we were children, and lived next\ndoor to each other.\"\n\n\"Was that all?\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, every word,\" I answered. \"You surely did not think, Claude\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" he said, \"of course not, only it's more comfortable to know.\nAll right, May,\" he added, carelessly, \"we will let bygones be bygones\nnow.\"\n\nAnd then he sat down to the piano and played a merry air.\n\nI stood and looked out of the window, and wondered at the shallowness\nof his heart. And I felt, as I had never felt before, that I had not\nmade a bad choice when I chose Christ's love and gave up Claude's.\n\nIn a few minutes the others came down, and we had breakfast; and whilst\nwe were at breakfast, Ambrose came in with the letter-bag, which\nhe solemnly laid before Sir William, as was his daily custom. Sir\nWilliam took a key from his watch-chain and unlocked the bag, and then\nproceeded to distribute the letters.\n\n\"None for you this morning, Miss Alice,\" he said, laughing. \"Which\nwould you choose: to have your young man here to talk to you, or to get\na letter from him? None for you, Miss Lindsay, not a single one; six\nfor me, and one for Mr. Ellis\u2014that's all!\"\n\nClaude took his letter, opened it, and glanced hastily through it. The\ncontents did not seem to be of the most agreeable nature, for he looked\nvery annoyed as he read it, and then crushed it up impatiently, and\nthrust it into his pocket.\n\nAlice glanced inquiringly at him, but Claude appeared to be engrossed\nin the carving of a chicken, and took no notice of her inquiring looks.\n\nWhen breakfast was over, Sir William went into the library, where he\ngenerally spent the morning looking over the newspapers and writing his\nletters.\n\nWe went up to Evelyn's room. I thought Alice wanted to linger behind,\nthat she might speak to Claude; but he did not seem disposed to take\nthe hint, and followed me closely upstairs.\n\nWe found Evelyn lying on the sofa, and waiting for me to show her how\nto do a new pattern in crochet work, which I had learnt from Aunt Jane,\nwho was very clever with her fingers. I sat down on a low stool close\nto Evelyn, directing her as she worked; and Alice and Claude went to\nthe other end of the room, into the large bow window.\n\nClaude had brought a newspaper upstairs with him, and, throwing himself\ninto an arm-chair, he began to read it, with an air which plainly\nintimated that he did not wish to be disturbed.\n\nAlice Fitzgerald came behind him, and leaning over his shoulder,\nwith her arm on the back of the chair, she seemed to be reading the\nnewspaper with him. But after a minute or two I heard her say:\n\n\"Let me see that letter, Claude; what was it about?\"\n\n\"Oh, it was nothing particular,\" said Claude, turning to another part\nof the newspaper; \"it was only a business letter.\"\n\n\"That's always the way with men,\" said Evelyn, laughing; \"whenever they\ndon't want you to see a letter they always say, 'It's only a business\nletter.' Papa always does so, and it's of no use my telling him that I\nlike business letters; he only laughs and says, 'Women don't understand\nbusiness, or, if they do, they ought not.'\"\n\nBut Alice Fitzgerald did not let the matter drop. In a few minutes I\nheard her ask again from whom the letter had come, and Claude answered\nin a vexed tone:\n\n\"It is only from my father, Alice. There, take it and read it if you\nmake such a fuss about it!\" And he tossed the letter out of his pocket.\n\nAlice sat down and read it, and when she had gone through it once, she\nturned it over and read it again, and then, folding it up very gravely\nand slowly, she handed it back to Claude. He put it into his pocket,\nand went on reading.\n\nAlice leant over his shoulder, and her face, which was generally so\nbright and merry, was very grave and thoughtful.\n\nEvelyn and I were busy with our pattern, and for some minutes no one\nspoke.\n\nThen I heard Alice say, in a low voice, \"What enclosures were there,\nClaude? What is it that has vexed your father so much?\"\n\n[Illustration: CLAUDE BURNS THE LETTERS.]\n\n\"Oh, only some rubbishy old bills,\" said Claude, impatiently; \"those\nOxford tradesmen are the greatest scoundrels on the face of the earth!\nIt's always their way! But the best plan is to take no notice of them;\nshy their bills into the fire, and leave them alone.\"\n\nAnd, in spite of Alice's remonstrances, he walked to the fireplace,\nand thrust a roll of letters, which he took from his pocket, into the\nflames, and watched them turn to ashes.\n\n\"They will send them in again, Claude,\" said Alice, gravely.\n\n\"Then I shall burn them again,\" he said, with a laugh; \"the rascals\nought to know better!\"\n\n\"But are you quite sure they are wrong, Claude?\" she said, as they went\nback to the window. \"Are you quite sure you never bought any of the\nthings? Have you looked them carefully through?\"\n\n\"Oh, I know all about it,\" said Claude, in a vexed voice; \"do let it\nalone, dear. I have plenty of money to pay them all, if necessary; so\nplease leave me to manage my own affairs. There's a splendid leader in\nthe 'Times' to-day, Miss Trafford; have you read it?\" he said, turning\nto Evelyn, and beginning a conversation with her on the politics of\nEurope.\n\nAlice Fitzgerald left the window, took her work out of her pocket, and\nsat on a low stool by the fire; but she did not recover her usual good\nspirits for some time afterwards.\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nWAS THE PROMISE BINDING?\n\n[Illustration] FROM this time, as the spring advanced, Evelyn began to\ngrow much stronger, and the doctors seemed very hopeful that she would\nsoon be able entirely to leave off her invalid habits. She was strong\nenough to go upstairs and downstairs quite comfortably; and although\nshe still spent a good deal of time on her couch, it was more because\nSir William insisted upon it than because she felt it really necessary.\n\nI began to think that my stay at Alliston Hall was drawing to a close,\nfor when Evelyn was able to return to the gay and active life that she\nhad led before her illness, she would not need me any longer; but when\nI once hinted at something of the kind to her, she vehemently declared\nthat I should never leave her, and that she should be ill again\ndirectly, if I were to go away.\n\nIf I had had a pleasant life before, it was still more pleasant now;\nfor we were able to drive out together, or to sit with our work on a\nseat on the lawn whenever the weather was warm enough.\n\nI shall never forget that spring. Everything looked so lovely in that\nbeautiful park. The long avenue with its budding trees; the soft, fresh\ngreen of the grass; the woods yellow with primroses, and the birds\nsinging their happy songs in the trees; everything seemed full of life\nand of joy.\n\nEvelyn was like a bird which has been long shut up in a cage and has\nsuddenly regained its liberty. Her merry laugh was to be heard almost\nall day long, and her light step, as she went about the house again,\nshowed that she was fast recovering her health and strength.\n\nYet one thought troubled me. Could it be that the opportunity was\ngone\u2014that I should never now be able to lead her to think seriously\nabout her soul and about eternity? I had tried so very often since my\nvisit to Branston to begin to talk to her about these things, but the\nattempt had always ended in failure; and though I prayed most earnestly\nthat God would make a way for me, and give me the opportunity for\nwhich I was now eagerly watching, yet no way seemed to be opened, no\nopportunity seemed to be given. And now Evelyn was getting well, and\nwhat chance was there that she would be led to think seriously when all\naround her was so bright and pleasant? Still I prayed on.\n\nI had found out a few poor people in the neighbourhood of Alliston\nHall, amongst whom I was able to do a little work for the Master.\nThere were one or two old people who were glad for me to read to them;\nand there was a girl, dying in consumption, who was always pleased to\nsee me. Thus, whenever I managed to get an afternoon for myself, when\nEvelyn was engaged with visitors, or was driving out with her father, I\nwent across the park to visit these poor people, and always came back\nfeeling refreshed in mind and body.\n\nOne afternoon I had been out rather longer than usual. I had left\nEvelyn busy with her letters, and, as it was now past post-time, I was\nafraid she would be wanting me, and would think that I had been a long\ntime away. So, as soon as I had dressed for dinner, I hurried down to\nEvelyn's room.\n\nAs I came up to the door I heard a voice inside, and when I went in, I\nfound to my astonishment, that a young man was there. He was sitting\non a footstool in front of the fire, stroking Evelyn's little dog, and\nwas apparently quite at his ease. He was a very handsome man, tall and\nwell-built, with fine features and large dark eyes.\n\nWho could he be? Where had he come from? I had not heard that any\nvisitors were expected that day, and I was utterly at a loss to account\nfor his sudden appearance.\n\nHe jumped up when I came into the room, and threw himself into the\narm-chair by the fire.\n\n\"This is Cousin Donald, May,\" said Evelyn as I came up to her; \"do you\nthink papa will be very angry with him for coming?\"\n\n\"Oh no, of course not; why should he be?\" said Mr. Trafford carelessly.\n\"When a poor fellow has been toiling away day after day for months, it\nwould be a crying shame to grudge him a little change of air when he\nhappens to get a day's holiday.\"\n\n\"Don't you like the bank any better, Donald?\" asked Evelyn.\n\n\"Any better!\" exclaimed Mr. Trafford, starting from his seat. \"I hate\nit, Evelyn. I shall run away some day, I declare I shall.\"\n\n\"Oh no, you won't, there's a dear, good Donald,\" she said; \"papa would\nbe so angry.\"\n\n\"I can't help that, Evelyn,\" he said; \"you would run away if you were\nin my place; it is nothing but work, work, work, day after day, and I\nhate work. I can't help it, it is my nature. I was never meant to work;\nsome people are, and they like work; but I never did and never shall.\"\n\nAt this moment Sir William's step was heard in the corridor.\n\n\"Here's papa,\" said Evelyn, hurriedly; \"oh, Donald, I wonder what he\nwill say.\"\n\n\"I don't care,\" said Mr. Trafford, with a laugh; \"if the old gentleman\nhas the least sense of\u2014\"\n\nBut here the door opened, and Sir William came in.\n\nHis nephew rose to meet him in the most affectionate and confident\nmanner, and as if he were perfectly sure of a welcome.\n\n\"Well, uncle, how are you?\" he said. \"I'm so glad to find Evelyn\nbetter; it is so nice to see you again, uncle.\"\n\nSir William took his hand and shook it coldly. \"And pray where did you\ncome from, Donald?\" he said, sternly.\n\n\"Why, the fact is, uncle,\" said the young man, \"to-day is a bank\nholiday, and I have been working so hard lately that I thought a little\nfresh air would set me up again, and as I had not seen you for such a\nlong time, I thought I would look you up.\"\n\n\"When I was a young man, Donald,\" said his uncle, dryly, \"I waited for\nan invitation before I went to visit my friends.\"\n\nMr. Trafford coloured, but he answered gaily: \"I can put up at the\n'Royal Oak,' to-night, uncle, if it is at all inconvenient for me to\nstay here; I did not think the house would be full at this time of the\nyear.\"\n\nSir William did not answer him, but turning to Evelyn, told her that\nthe gong had sounded, and asked her if she wished to go downstairs to\ndinner.\n\n\"No, papa,\" said Evelyn; \"I think May and I will dine upstairs. I feel\nrather tired this evening.\"\n\n\"Very well, then, we will go downstairs, Donald,\" said Sir William; and\nthey left the room.\n\n\"Oh dear, May,\" said Evelyn, as soon as the door was shut, \"I am afraid\npapa is very angry; I never saw him look so vexed before. But I don't\nknow why he should be so angry, do you? It isn't as if Donald was no\nrelation of ours, and I am sure he is very nice. I can't think why papa\nis always so vexed when he comes here.\"\n\n\"I am very sorry you are so tired, Evelyn dear,\" I said, as I made her\nlie down on the sofa till dinner was brought upstairs.\n\n\"Oh, I'm not so very tired, May,\" she said, \"but I wanted papa and\nDonald to have dinner alone, because, don't you see, papa will be\nobliged to talk to him now. If we were there, I know just how it would\nbe. Papa would talk to you and talk to me, and hardly say a word to\nDonald. But now, you see, he must talk to him, because there is no one\nelse there, and you will see they will be quite friendly after dinner;\nat least, matters will be much better than they are now.\"\n\nAnd, to a certain extent, Evelyn was right. When we went into the\nlibrary we found Mr. Trafford sitting comfortably in an easy chair,\nwith the \"Times\" newspaper in his hand, discussing the events of the\nday with his uncle, apparently quite at his ease, and looking as\ncomfortable as if his presence in Alliston Hall was the result of an\nurgent and pressing invitation.\n\nAnd Sir William? He was not at his ease. I could see that by his\ntightly compressed mouth when his nephew was speaking, and by the\ncareful way in which he tried to engross Evelyn's attention as soon as\nshe came into the room. But still I could see that he found it very\ndifficult to keep up any appearance of displeasure in the face of Mr.\nTrafford's pleasant, cheerful manner, and almost impossible to quarrel\nwith a man who was quite determined not to quarrel with him.\n\nEvelyn was very silent the whole evening, and seemed in bad spirits.\nShe talked a little to me, but she very seldom spoke to her father or\nher cousin. Altogether it was a most uncomfortable evening, and I was\nnot sorry when it was over.\n\n\nThe next day we did not see much of Mr. Trafford, for Sir William took\nhim out with him after breakfast, and managed to keep him to himself\nnearly the whole day. Only once, when Sir William was unavoidably\nabsent for a short time, was he left in the library with Evelyn and me.\n\n\"I wish you liked the bank better, Donald,\" said Evelyn, as soon as her\nfather had left the room.\n\n\"I never shall like it better, Evelyn,\" he said, impetuously; \"it is\nabsurd my trying to live in London on the miserable allowance I get\nthere. It is utterly ridiculous; no gentleman could do it.\"\n\n\"But, Donald,\" Evelyn said, \"you really should be more careful of your\nmoney; you ought never to have bought\u2014\"\n\nAt a sign from him, she stopped suddenly short in what she was saying.\n\n\"You really ought not; ought you, Donald?\" she said, instead.\n\n\"Yes I ought, Evelyn,\" he said, in rather an annoyed voice; \"it's all\nright. But it is really absurd their paying a fellow such a miserable\nsalary. I don't mean to stand it much longer. I shall run away, and try\nmy fortune somewhere else.\"\n\n\"Oh no, Donald dear, you must not run away,\" said Evelyn, beseechingly;\n\"just think how angry papa would be!\"\n\nBut just then Sir William came back, and invited Mr. Trafford to walk\nwith him as far as his farm-bailiff's house, and we did not see him\nagain until he came to take leave of us before starting for the railway\nstation. He whispered something to Evelyn as he bent over her to say\ngood-bye, and I distinctly caught the words, \"Remember\u2014promise;\" and\nthen he hastily shook hands with me and went out of the room.\n\nI never knew Evelyn so difficult to please as she was that evening.\nNothing that I did seemed to be right, and she was fretful and tired;\nand even when her father was in the room, she made no effort to rouse\nherself or to talk to him.\n\nSir William looked at her very anxiously from time to time. I could\nsee that he attributed this change in her to her cousin's visit, and I\nheard him once expressing a hope that that was the very last time that\nMaster Donald would come without an invitation; he did not approve of\nthe free-and-easy manners of the rising generation, and he was glad\nthat he had spoken to him pretty plainly on the subject.\n\nEvelyn went early to bed, and I went to my room, but not to sleep. I\nfelt very unhappy and perplexed. These two words which I had heard,\nagainst my will, haunted me: \"'Remember\u2014promise.'\"\n\nWhat did he mean by it? What was Evelyn to remember, and what promise\nhad she made which she would not either speak to her father or to me?\nIt was so unlike Evelyn to keep a secret. She generally came out with\neverything at once, and told me just what she was thinking about. I\nfelt sure that this must be something she did not wish her father to\nknow, and the thought troubled me very much indeed.\n\n\nAs I got up the next morning, I prayed for grace and strength to help\nme, if possible, to influence Evelyn to do what was right.\n\nI found her in a very different frame of mind from what she had been\nthe night before. She was still silent, and looked unhappy, but she was\nvery loving and affectionate to me.\n\n\"May, darling,\" she said, as she put her arms round my neck, and kissed\nme, \"are you very angry with me?\"\n\n\"Angry with you? No indeed, Evelyn,\" I said; \"why should I be angry?\"\n\n\"Oh, I was so horrid to you last night, I know I was; I can't bear to\nthink how nasty and disagreeable I was. How you must have hated me!\"\n\n\"No, Evelyn dear,\" I said; \"you were only tired and\u2014\"\n\n\"And what?\" she said.\n\n\"And troubled, were you not, dear?\" I ventured to say. \"Troubled about\nsomething of which I did not know, and so could not sympathise with\nyou.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"I was very bothered and troubled, and I wanted to\ntell you about it so much; but I did not know whether I ought to do so.\"\n\nI did not answer her, but went on quietly with my work.\n\nAfter a minute or two she said in a whisper: \"May, I'm not going to\ntell you anything, but I'm going to show you something. That won't\nbe telling, will it? Hush! Is that any one coming? No, it is no one\ncoming; it is only Clemence going downstairs; but, mind, if the door\nopens, you must look just the same as usual, and not say a word. Mind!\"\n\nShe drew from her pocket a little leathern case and opened it. Inside\nwas a beautiful diamond ring.\n\n\"Isn't it pretty?\" she asked, as she showed it to me.\n\n\"Very pretty,\" I said, \"very beautiful. Did Sir William give it to you?\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" she said; \"papa does not know anything about it, and I must\nnot tell him. You can guess who gave it to me; I am not going to tell\nyou, but you can guess. And then, don't you see, if you know about it,\nthen I can wear it sometimes; it seems such a pity never to wear it.\nI can put it on now and then, when we are here alone, and slip it off\nif I hear any one coming. Don't you think so, May dear? How grave you\nlook!\" she said, in an altered voice. \"What is the matter? Are you very\nangry with me?\"\n\n\"Not angry,\" I said, \"not angry, Evelyn; but I feel troubled about what\nyou have told me. Why don't you tell your father about it, dear?\"\n\n\"Oh, I could not,\" she said; \"he would be so vexed, so very vexed. I\ndare not tell him.\"\n\n\"Why do you think he would be vexed?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh, because it must have cost such a great deal of money. Look, May,\nthey are real diamonds; and Donald has so little money to spend, and\npapa thinks he is so very extravagant. There! I've told you who gave it\nto me; I did not mean to do so, but of course you had guessed before.\"\n\n\"I think it would be much better if you told Sir William,\" I said;\n\"he might be a little vexed at first with your cousin for giving so\nmuch money for it, but I am sure he would be far more vexed if, by any\nmeans, he found out that Mr. Trafford had given it to you, and yet you\nhad never told him of it.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"I know he would; but the worst of it is, that isn't\nall, May; if I told him that, I should have to tell him something\nelse\u2014I could not stop half-way.\"\n\n\"But I think you ought to tell him all,\" I said, \"and to hide nothing\nfrom him which you feel he ought to know. You would be much happier,\nEvelyn, if you told him.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"I know I should; but then you see I promised not to\ntell him, and it would never do to break my promise.\"\n\n\"But if you promised to do what was wrong,\" I said, \"it can surely not\nbe right to keep your promise.\"\n\n\"Do you think so, May?\" she said. \"I thought it was a dreadful thing to\nbreak a promise.\"\n\n\"Yes, so it is,\" I answered, \"if there is nothing wrong in what we have\npromised; but if conscience tells us afterwards that we ought never to\nhave made the promise, and that we cannot keep it without doing what is\nwrong, then I feel sure that we ought to break it.\"\n\n\"Do you think so?\" she said again.\n\n\"I am sure of it,\" I answered. \"It is wrong to promise to do what is\nwrong, but to keep the promise is doubly wrong.\"\n\n\"I don't see that at all,\" she said; \"I think if you promise to do\nanything, you ought to keep your promise, whether the thing is right or\nwrong.\"\n\n\"Suppose I should promise some enemy of yours that I would poison you,\nEvelyn,\" I said; \"that would be wrong, would it not.\"\n\n\"Yes, very wrong,\" she said, laughing, though she had tears in her\neyes; \"what a dreadful illustration to use!\"\n\n\"Never mind, it will show you what I mean. It would be very wrong of me\nto promise to do such a wicked thing, but it would be still worse if I\nkept my promise, and really did poison you; now, wouldn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"I see; of course it would!\"\n\n\"Well,\" I answered, \"I think that rule applies to all promises. It\nis wrong to promise to do what is not right, but it is doubly wrong\nto keep our promise, and to do it; because, you see, that is only\nadding sin to sin. The making the promise is one wrong action, and the\nfulfilling the promise is only adding to it another and a still worse\naction.\"\n\n\"I never thought of that before,\" she said; \"I have been wishing\never since that I had not promised not to tell papa. You see, May, I\npromised Donald that afternoon, before you came in, that some day or\nother I would be his little wife. I know I ought not to have promised\nhim, but he was so nice and seemed to love me so much. He said he had\nbrought that ring with him that I might always keep it near me, and\nthat whenever I looked at it I might think of my promise. And then he\nsaid that I must not tell papa, because he would be so very angry if\nhe knew. I told Donald that I should be obliged to tell papa, for how\ncould we ever be married if papa did not know about it?\"\n\n\"And what did Mr. Trafford say?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh, he said there was plenty of time for that\u2014we could not be married\nfor many a long day, and he would tell papa himself some day. So then\nhe made me promise not to tell him till he gave me leave; and just then\nyou came into the room, and we could not talk any more about it. I do\nwish I had never promised him.\"\n\n\"Yes, it was a great pity,\" I said; \"but now I think the best thing you\ncan do is to write to Mr. Trafford, and tell him you feel you were very\nwrong to make the promise, and that you feel it would be still worse to\nkeep it.\"\n\n\"Do you think that would be a good plan?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"I am sure it is what you ought to do, Evelyn.\"\n\nShe did not answer me at once, but sat looking into the fire and\nthinking.\n\nI sent up an earnest prayer that she might be led to do what was right.\n\nPresently she looked up at me, and said: \"I can't do it, May, it is\nno use thinking of it; I can't tell papa. Donald would be so angry; I\ndon't think he would ever forgive me.\"\n\n\"Evelyn,\" I said, \"you remember Herod's promise to give the daughter\nof Herodias whatever she asked for; and you remember why he kept that\npromise, even when the keeping of it made him commit murder.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said; \"doesn't it say it was because of his oath's sake; I\nsuppose Herod did not like to break his word.\"\n\n\"And Evelyn,\" I said, \"there is another reason given; do you remember\nwhat comes next?\"\n\n\"No; what is it?\" she asked.\n\n\"And because of 'them which sat with him at meat.' I think that was\nthe real reason why Herod kept his word. It was not because he minded\nbreaking his promise\u2014he was not the kind of man to mind that\u2014but it\nwas because he was afraid of what his friends might say or think; he\nmay have thought, too, that his wife would never forgive him, and so\nhe kept his promise, and cut off John Baptist's head\u2014he was not brave\nenough to do what he knew was right.\"\n\nEvelyn covered her face with her hands and cried.\n\nI sat beside her and put my arm round her, and we sat thus for some\ntime in silence.\n\nThen she suddenly jumped up, went to the table, opened her portfolio,\nand began to write.\n\n\"I am going to be very brave, May,\" she said, as she smiled through her\ntears.\n\nWhat Evelyn said to her cousin I do not know, but she cried a great\ndeal whilst she was writing it. Then she slipped the letter into her\npocket.\n\n\"It won't do to put it into the post-bag,\" she said; \"we will got out\nat the post office, and post it when we drive out this afternoon, and\nthen I will tell papa this evening, after dinner.\"\n\nOh, how thankful I was to hear her express this determination! I felt\nas if a great load had been lifted off my heart.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nEVELYN'S CONFESSION.\n\n[Illustration] EVELYN was very pale, and trembled very much, as dinner\ntime drew near. She went downstairs as usual, and tried to talk to\nher father, and to appear as if nothing was the matter; but I could\nsee that it was a very great effort for her to do so, and that she\nwas dreading the time when her secret must be told. She had posted\nthe letter to her cousin that afternoon, so it was too late to draw\nback; and I do not think that she wished to do so, but she dreaded her\nfather's displeasure, and longed to feel that the trying disclosure was\nmade.\n\nWhen dinner was over we went into the library, and Sir William made\nEvelyn lie down on her couch, for he had noticed that she was pale and\ntired, and I, according to previous arrangement with Evelyn, made some\nexcuse for leaving the room, and left her alone with her father.\n\nI went upstairs into Evelyn's room, and sat waiting for the result,\nand praying that she might have courage to tell Sir William all, and\nthat he might not be very angry. It seemed a long time before any one\ncame. I took up a book and tried to read, but, though my eyes followed\nthe words, I could not fix my thoughts upon what I was reading. Then\nI tried to sew, but that attempt was also a failure. So I went to the\nwindow, and sat looking out at the setting sun till the room grew\ndark. Then Clemence, Evelyn's maid, came into the room for something,\nand, seeing that I was in darkness, she lighted the gas, and drew the\ncurtains, and then once more I was left alone.\n\n\nAt last I heard a step on the stairs. It was Sir William, and he was\ncoming up alone. He came into the room, and shut the door behind him,\nand, coming up to me, he said kindly:\n\n\"Miss Lindsay, I have to thank you for the kind way in which you have\ninfluenced Evelyn to-day. She tells me that it is entirely owing to\nyou, that she has been led to confess to me her foolish conduct.\"\n\n\"I am quite sure, Sir William,\" I said, \"that Evelyn is very thankful\nthat she has told you. She loves you so much, that it was misery for\nher to feel she was deceiving you.\"\n\n\"Yes, poor child!\" he said. \"She has suffered a great deal these last\ntwo days. I do not blame her; of course she acted very wrongly, but the\nchief fault does not lie at her door.\"\n\nI did not answer, and he went on:\n\n\"That nephew of mine wants putting in his proper place. I hope this\nwill be a lesson that he will not forget! I shall not spare him, I can\ntell you. I ant afraid he is a designing fellow! Evelyn does not see\nthrough him, of course, but I do; and I shall let him know it too. But\nI need not trouble you with this, Miss Lindsay,\" he said, as he rose to\nleave the room. \"I just wanted to thank you very much indeed for being\na true, wise friend to my dear child, and to tell you how I value the\ninfluence you have over her.\"\n\nThis was a great deal for Sir William to say. He had never before given\neven the slightest hint that he was pleased with anything I did. He was\na very silent man, and seldom expressed his feelings, and, therefore,\na few words of praise from him were worth double what they would have\nbeen had they come from any one else, and I felt very thankful that God\nhad enabled me to please him in this matter.\n\n\"Evelyn is coming upstairs now, Miss Lindsay,\" said Sir William, as he\nleft the room; \"will you be so kind as to see that she goes to bed at\nonce?\"\n\nI promised to do so, and presently he brought her upstairs.\n\nShe looked very tired and troubled, and her eyes were swollen with\ncrying, but she put her arms round my neck and kissed me, and was very\nloving and affectionate to me. When her father had gone downstairs she\nsaid:\n\n\"Oh, May! I am so glad I told papa, so very glad; I am so much happier\nnow.\"\n\n\"I was sure you would be, Evelyn dear,\" I said; \"it is terrible to have\na secret like that weighing on the mind.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"I am very glad I told him; but oh, May, he was so\nangry\u2014not with me, not half enough with me; he would not see that it\nwas my fault, but he was terribly angry with Donald.\"\n\n\"I do not think you can be surprised at that, Evelyn dear,\" I said; \"I\ndo not think Mr. Trafford behaved honourably, and Sir William is such\nan honourable man himself that he felt it very keenly.\"\n\n\"Yes, perhaps so,\" she said; \"but I don't think Donald meant any harm.\nPoor Donald does not think before he does things; he\u2014\"\n\nBut I would not let Evelyn talk any more about it that night, but rang\nthe bell for Clemence, and went with her to her bedroom.\n\nShe kissed me at the door, and as she said \"good-night,\" she whispered:\n\n\"Papa has taken that ring, May; he says it must have cost at least \u00a350,\nand he is sure Donald has no money to pay for it.\"\n\n\nThe next morning no one alluded to what had happened the night before;\neven when we were alone Evelyn did not seem inclined to speak of it,\nand I made every effort that I could to turn her thoughts into another\nchannel.\n\nSir William spent most of that day in his private room writing letters,\nand we seldom saw him, but he was very tender and loving to Evelyn\nwhenever he came into the room, and seemed anxious to make her feel how\nentirely he had forgiven her.\n\nEvelyn and I were sitting together at the window with our work, when\nthe man started for the village with the post-bag. Evelyn watched it\nout of sight, and then turned to me with a sorrowful face:\n\n\"Poor Donald!\" she said. \"What will he say when he gets it?\"\n\nIt was the first time that she had mentioned her cousin that day.\n\nI begged her to try not to think of what he would say, but to feel\nvery thankful that she had done what was right, and could now look her\nfather in the face with a happy heart.\n\n\nIt must have been, I think, two days after this that, as Evelyn was\nlying on the sofa reading, and I was sitting beside her writing a\nletter, we heard a carriage coming quickly up the avenue.\n\n\"A carriage!\" said Evelyn. \"I wonder who is coming! Just look-out, May.\"\n\nI went to the window, but I did not know the carriage at all, and as\nit came nearer I saw that it was a hired one, and that there was one\ngentleman inside.\n\n\"Can you see who it is?\" Evelyn asked.\n\n\"I can see him, Evelyn,\" I said, \"but I do not know who it is; it is no\none that I have ever seen before. I think he wants Sir William; he and\nAmbrose have come out upon the drive together, and Ambrose is pointing\nin various directions. There! He has sent the carriage away; he is\nevidently going to stay!\"\n\n\"This is quite exciting!\" said Evelyn, laughing. \"I must come and look.\"\n\nShe put down her book, got up from the sofa, and came to the window.\n\nAmbrose was still talking to the strange gentleman in the middle of the\ndrive, and pointing to the various parts of the park, as if he were\ntrying to tell him where Sir William had gone.\n\n\"Oh, May,\" she said, \"it is Uncle Edward; what can he want?\"\n\n\"Uncle Edward?\" I repeated.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"Donald's father. Oh, I wonder why he has come! I am\nsure it is about Donald. What can be the matter?\"\n\nShe sat down looking quite faint and ill.\n\n\"Don't be troubled about it, Evelyn dear,\" I said, \"very likely your\nuncle has only come in answer to Sir William's letter. Sir William\nwould be sure to write to him about what you told him the other night;\nwould he not? And most probably your uncle wants to talk it over with\nhim.\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" she said, \"that must be it; do you think I should go down and\nspeak to Uncle Edward?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"you must lie down directly; you do not look at all fit\nto go downstairs, and I will tell Ambrose to ask your uncle to come up\nhere.\"\n\nBut before I had time to carry out my intention the door opened, and\nMr. Edward Trafford came in.\n\n\"How do you do, Evelyn, my dear?\" he said, in an agitated voice. \"Can\nyou tell me in which direction your father has gone? Ambrose has been\ntrying to explain to me, but I could not quite make out what he meant,\nthese different turnings in the park are so bewildering.\"\n\n\"Had not you better wait, uncle, till papa comes back?\" said Evelyn; \"I\ndo not think he can be long now, and you might miss him if you went to\nmeet him.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"so I might; I think I will wait.\"\n\n\"You will have luncheon, uncle?\" said Evelyn.\n\n\"No, no! Indeed, my dear,\" said her uncle; \"no, I had something as I\ncame along\u2014no, I could not touch anything now. I will go downstairs and\nlook if I can see your father coming.\"\n\n\"Is anything the matter, uncle?\" asked Evelyn, anxiously. \"Are any of\nthem ill at home?\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" he said, hurriedly, \"no, dear, no one is ill. I just want to\nsee your father on business.\"\n\nHe was very pale and agitated, and looked, Evelyn said, years older\nthan when she had seen him last.\n\nWe watched him go out upon the drive again, and look first in one\ndirection and then in another. Then he passed up and down in front of\nthe house for more than half an hour, looking troubled and distressed,\nand with his eyes fixed on the ground, but glancing up hastily every\nfew minutes to see if his brother was in sight.\n\nAt last Sir William appeared, and we saw the brothers meet. They did\nnot come into the house, but they turned into one of the private walks\nin the park, and paced up and down, backwards and forwards, for more\nthan an hour. Each time that they turned round they came for some\nlittle distance within sight of the house, and then they were hidden\nfrom our view by the trees, and we could not see them again till they\ncame back to the same place. They seemed to be talking very earnestly,\nand now and again they stood still and spoke to each other face to\nface, as though they were arguing some important point, on which\nthey could not agree, or at least could not come to any satisfactory\nconclusion.\n\nEvelyn was very restless the whole time. She began to follow the\nexample of her father and uncle, and to pace up and down the room; but\nI insisted on her putting her feet up on the sofa and remaining quiet.\n\nAt length the two gentlemen brought their walk and their talk to a\nconclusion, and came towards the house. Sir William ran upstairs as\nsoon as he came in.\n\n\"How are you, my dear child?\" he said to Evelyn, even more tenderly\nthan usual. \"You look so pale. Please take care of her, Miss Lindsay,\nand make her lie down.\"\n\n\"What is the matter, papa?\" whispered Evelyn, whilst I prepared to\nleave the room, thinking Sir William might wish to speak to her alone.\n\n\"Oh, I will tell you about it afterwards, dear,\" said her father; \"it\nis some rather unpleasant business about which your uncle wanted to see\nme. Don't go away, please, Miss Lindsay; we have letters to write at\nonce, I must not stay now.\"\n\nIn spite of Evelyn's pleading glances, Sir William went downstairs, and\nhe and his brother, after hastily partaking of dinner, spent the rest\nof the evening together in Sir William's private room.\n\n\"What can it be?\" Evelyn kept saying. \"What can papa mean by unpleasant\nbusiness? It can't be about what I told him the other night, or he\nwould have said so. What can be the matter?\"\n\nOf course, I could not help her to find out, we could only wonder and\nwait.\n\n\nMr. Edward Trafford left the next morning at a very early hour, that he\nmight catch the first train for London. Sir William and I were alone at\nbreakfast, for Evelyn was not well enough to rise.\n\n\"How is Evelyn this morning?\" said Sir William, anxiously, as I entered\nthe room.\n\nI told him that she had had a bad night, and was still in bed.\n\n\"Oh dear! Oh dear!\" he said. \"I will not tell her to-day; I think it\nmight upset her still more; I will wait till she is somewhat better.\"\n\n\"Don't you think, Sir William,\" I ventured to say, \"that the suspense\nof not knowing what is the matter is worse for Evelyn than knowing the\ntruth?\"\n\n\"Well, perhaps you are right, Miss Lindsay,\" he said; \"I will tell her\nafter breakfast.\"\n\n\"I hope it is no great trouble, Sir William?\"\n\n\"Well, it is a most unpleasant business,\" he said; \"the fact is, that\nnephew of mine is a downright rascal. What poor Evelyn ever saw to\nadmire in him I never could tell. I always knew he was good-for-nothing\nbut mischief, and he has proved I was right. I will tell you about it,\nMiss Lindsay, and then you can advise me as to the best way of telling\nEvelyn. You know my brother was here yesterday\u2014poor fellow, he is\ndreadfully crushed by it! I am very sorry for him, although, as I could\nnot help telling him, he has himself to blame for it. He was so weak\nwith that boy; he gave him everything he wanted as a child, and spoiled\nhim, and pampered him, and petted him, and let him order every one in\nthe house about, and then was foolish enough to expect him, after this,\nto turn out well, and to earn his own living.\n\n\"But to make a long story short, my brother received a telegram the\nnight before last, telling him that his son had run off from the bank,\ntaking more than \u00a3500 with him. No one knows where he is gone, and, of\ncourse, detectives have been sent off in all directions to catch him,\nand his poor father is quite weighed down with shame and sorrow. If he\nis found, of course he will get a long term of imprisonment; and, if he\nescapes, it is not likely that his friends will ever hear of him again,\nfor he will never dare to come to England.\"\n\n\"Where do they think he has gone?\" I asked.\n\n\"Probably to Spain,\" Sir William said, \"but we cannot tell. And now,\nwhat do you think about my telling Evelyn? I am afraid it will upset\nher very much!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"I am afraid it will; she will feel it dreadfully, but\nstill I almost think it would be better to tell her, for she must know\nsome time, and she will be less able to bear it if she is kept longer\nin suspense.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Sir William, \"I believe you are right, Miss Lindsay; I\nwill go upstairs now; it will be better to get it over.\"\n\nI sat waiting his return in the library, but more than an hour passed\nbefore he reappeared. Then he said, \"I have told her, Miss Lindsay, and\nshe bore it better than I expected, poor child. Will you go upstairs\nand try to comfort her a little?\"\n\nI went upstairs, and found Evelyn still in bed; her face was buried in\nthe pillow, and she was crying bitterly. I sat down beside her without\nspeaking for some time, just holding her hand in mine, to show her how\nmuch I was feeling for her. What could I say to comfort her? I hardly\nknew what to say, and perhaps, after all, silent sympathy was the best.\n\nAt length, after a long time, she grew calmer, and then she said,\nwithout uncovering her face:\n\n\"Oh, May, isn't it dreadful?\"\n\n\"Yes, darling,\" I said, \"I am very, very sorry; I had no idea it was\nanything so dreadful as that!\"\n\n\"No,\" she said, \"and I am sure I had not; the very worst that I could\nthink of was that Donald had got very badly into debt, and had wasted\nall his money. I never dreamt that he\u2014\"\n\nBut here she burst into tears, and could not go on with what she was\nsaying.\n\n\"Evelyn, dear,\" I said, \"for your father's sake, try not to make\nyourself ill; he is so fond of you, and so distressed at the thought of\nwhat this trouble must be to you.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said through her tears, \"papa has been so kind, so very,\nvery kind. He told me that it was because he loved me so much that he\ncould not bear to think of me caring for Donald. Papa says he always\nthought that Donald was good-for-nothing; but he seemed so nice, May,\nso very nice he was to me. I knew he was foolish and careless, but I\nnever thought he could do a wicked thing like that!\"\n\nEvelyn had stopped crying now, and could talk quite calmly.\n\n\"Do you remember, May,\" she said, \"when he was here last, something\nthat Donald said to you and to me about running away?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"I remember it quite well; he mentioned it twice when I\nwas in the room.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"so he did. Oh, May, could he have been thinking of\ntaking the money then?\"\n\n\"I do not know, dear,\" I said, \"we must hope not; we must hope that he\nyielded to a sudden temptation, and that he has been sorry for it ever\nsince.\"\n\n\"Oh, May, I am afraid not,\" said Evelyn; \"do you know I seem to see\nDonald in quite a different light from what I did before,\u2014more as papa\nhas been seeing him all the time. I am afraid papa was right about him,\nMay, and I was wrong. Ah! Poor, poor Donald!\"\n\n\"Will you ring for Clemence, May?\" Evelyn said, a few minutes after\nthis, \"and I will get up; I shall feel better if I am dressed and in\nthe other room.\"\n\n\nBut the other room made very little difference in poor Evelyn's\nspirits. She tried to work, she tried to read, she tried to write,\nbut all were alike impossible; her thoughts were ever busy with her\ntrouble, and every attempt to divert them was in vain.\n\nAs the day went on, she talked much more, and it seemed a relief to her\nto tell me everything that her father had told her that morning.\n\n\"May,\" she said, \"did papa tell you about the ring?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"he only just told me in a few words what was the matter,\nthat I might be able to tell him whether I thought it would be better\nto tell you about it at once, or to wait until to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Oh, I am so glad you asked him to tell me to-day,\" said Evelyn; \"it\nwould have been dreadful to have waited all that time, and not to have\nknown what was the matter. But I was going to tell you about the ring.\nYou know Uncle Edward went, first of all, as soon as he received the\ntelegram, to London, that he might hear all he could about Donald's\ndisappearance. He went, amongst other places, to his lodgings, and\nlooked about the room, and turned over all his papers, to see if he had\nleft any note behind him; and do you know Uncle Edward found such a\nquantity of bills, most of them unopened, and all of them unpaid, and\namongst others there was one from a London jeweller for a diamond ring\nworth \u00a375. Uncle Edward could not imagine why Donald had bought such an\nexpensive ring, and said it would be a very heavy sum to pay, for he\nmeans to pay as many of the tradesmen as he can. So then papa told him\nthe story of the ring, and gave it back to him, that he might return it\nto the jeweller instead of paying the bill. Uncle Edward was very much\nannoyed that Donald should have treated papa so badly, after papa's\nkindness to him, for he would never have got that good place in the\nbank if it had not been for papa.\"\n\nOh, how I wondered if this was the opportunity for which I had been\npraying so long, the opportunity of speaking to my dear Evelyn about\neternal things, and of leading her to the Saviour. I hoped it was, and\nI turned the hope into an earnest prayer, that I might have the wisdom\nto follow as God should lead, to step into the door as soon as ever His\nhand opened it. Once or twice I thought of speaking, but then again I\nfelt, perhaps, that, till the first burst of her sorrow was over, it\nwas wiser to be silent. But a sweet thought came across me as I sat at\nmy work that evening, that, after all, the nearest way to reach the\nheart of one we love is to go round by heaven; and I tried, oh, how\nearnestly, to reach Evelyn's heart in that way.\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nTHE OPPORTUNITY GIVEN.\n\n[Illustration] THE next morning, as I was looking at the newspaper on\nthe library table, my eyes caught the words \"Ellis\u2014Fitzgerald.\"\n\nI found that it was an announcement of Claude's and Alice's marriage.\nIt was wonderful to me how calmly and composedly I could read it.\nThat trouble was, in deed and in truth, a thing of the past. I could\n\"rejoice to-day; the pain was over long ago.\" I could thank God, with\nall my heart, that He had not let me yield to the temptation which at\nthat time was so strong to me, and that He had saved me from the lot\nwhich, a year ago, I had thought would be so bright.\n\nI took the newspaper with me when I went to Evelyn's room, and pointed\nto the marriage. I thought it might help to turn her thoughts a little\nfrom her trouble.\n\n\"So Alice is married, poor girl!\" she said. \"I had forgotten that it\nwas to be so soon.\"\n\n\"Why do you call her poor, Evelyn?\" I asked. \"Most people would say\nhappy girl.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know,\" said Evelyn, \"perhaps I ought not to have said so.\nMr. Ellis is a great friend of yours, I know; but, somehow, I do not\nthink I should like to marry him myself; now would you, May?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, very decidedly, \"not at all.\"\n\nWe went on with our work without speaking for some time, and then\nEvelyn asked:\n\n\"May, do you remember what Alice Fitzgerald said about laughing trouble\naway?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"quite well.\"\n\n\"I don't at all agree with her,\" said Evelyn; \"I can't laugh when I am\nin trouble, it would be of no use trying. I could not laugh to-day\u2014if I\ntried to laugh, I should begin to cry directly.\"\n\n\"And even if you could laugh, Evelyn dear,\" I said, \"the trouble would\ncome back again the next moment heavier than ever.\"\n\n\"Oh, May,\" said Evelyn, suddenly, \"I wish I could do the other thing.\"\n\n\"What other thing?\" I asked.\n\n\"Why, pray,\" she said. \"Don't you remember you said that you always\nprayed when you were in trouble. I wish I could do that.\"\n\nI did not answer her until I had sent up an earnest prayer that I might\nuse the opportunity now that it was given to me, and that I might step\ninside the door, which at last seemed to be opened to me.\n\n\"But why can't you pray, Evelyn dear?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well, May, I will tell you why,\" she said; \"I have wanted to talk to\nyou about it so very much, only I didn't like to begin. You see I have\nbeen thinking a great deal lately, and wishing that I was happy like\nyou; and, one day when you were out of the room, you left on the table\na bundle of those little books that you take with you when you go to\nsee your poor people; so what do you think I did? I thought I should\nlike to see what they were about, so I got one and read it; and then I\nput it back so carefully afterwards, just in the same place, that you\nmight not find out what I had been doing. You did not find out?\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" I said, \"indeed I did not; but which one was it that you read?\"\n\n\"It was about the prodigal son; don't you remember that one?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"I have not read them all; was it a nice one?\"\n\n\"Yes, very nice, and it made it very clear about prayer. I have been\nthinking of it often since.\"\n\n\"Will you tell me what you read?\" I asked.\n\n\"It pictured the prodigal son,\" said Evelyn, \"going home, after he had\ntreated his poor old father so badly, and beginning: 'Please, father,\nI want a new coat,' or, 'Please, father, give me some new shoes,' or,\n'Please, father, I want some food very much.' It pictured him asking\nhis father to supply his wants before ever he had asked him to forgive\nhim for his bad behaviour to him. That wouldn't have been the right\nway, would it, May?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"it would not have done for that to come before the\n'Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more\nworthy to be called thy son.'\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Evelyn, \"and your little book said it was just the same\nnow, and yet so many people wanted to go to God, and to ask Him for\nall sorts of things when they got into trouble, and yet they had never\nthought of asking Him to forgive them.\"\n\n\"I see what you mean,\" I said; \"we must speak to God about our sins,\nbefore we can speak to Him about our troubles.\"\n\n\"Oh, May,\" said Evelyn, \"I wish I could do that. I wish I could talk\nto God about my sins. I never know till now how bad I had been to Him;\nbut last night I seemed to see myself in quite a different way. I used\nto think, May, that I was not so very bad. I didn't think that I was\nat all good like you, still I thought that there was not so very much\nwrong with me. But now I see that I'm bad altogether; I don't think I\nhave ever done anything good at all.\"\n\n\"Why don't you go and tell God that, Evelyn darling, just as you have\nbeen telling me? That would be a prayer, just like the prayer of the\nprodigal son, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee.'\"\n\n\"Yes, May,\" she said; \"but suppose I tell Him that with all my heart,\nis that enough?\"\n\n\"Yes, quite enough, if you ask God to forgive you because Jesus has\ndied, and if you trust in Jesus as your own Saviour,\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, May,\" said Evelyn, with a sigh, \"come and sit beside me, and make\nit very plain and simple for me\u2014as you would for a little child. I am\nso much afraid of making a mistake.\"\n\nOh, how earnestly I prayed that I might also make no mistake, but might\nbe helped to lead her to Jesus!\n\n\"Evelyn,\" I said, \"I want to tell you something that I was reading in\none of my favourite books the other day, because I think it makes it so\nvery plain. You remember the three crosses on Calvary?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"there was the middle cross, with Jesus on it, and on\neach side of Him there was a thief.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"and both the thieves had been great sinners, both had\nled bad lives, and yet, oh, how differently they died! One thief went\nstraight to Paradise, to be welcomed there by Jesus, the other went\ndown to hell. Now, why was there this difference? Did you ever think\nwhy it was that one thief was saved, and the other thief was lost?\"\n\n\"I suppose,\" she said, \"it was because one thief looked to Jesus, and\nthe other did not.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"quite so; but that is not all. What did looking to\nJesus do for the thief?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said.\n\n\"Well,\" I answered, \"my book puts it in this way. Both thieves deserved\nto go to hell because of their sins; both of them before they were\nnailed to the cross had sin in them, for they both had sinful hearts,\nthey were born in sin, and they were both sinners. And they had also\nboth of them sin on them, the burden and guilt and punishment of their\nsins resting on them; they both must suffer the consequences of their\nsin\u2014both must go to hell.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"I see that.\"\n\n\"But now let us look at them again some hours later. They have been\nnailed to the cross, and one thief has looked to Jesus, but the other\nthief has not. Just look at the three crosses now. First, here is the\nthief who would have nothing to do with Jesus. Has he still sin in him?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said.\n\n\"Has he still the guilt of sin resting on him?\"\n\n\"Yes, he is just as he was before.\"\n\n\"Now, then, look at the middle cross; look at Jesus, has He sin in Him?\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" she said, \"He never sinned; He was quite holy.\"\n\n\"But was there no sin on Him?\" I said.\n\n\"Was there, May?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" I answered, \"don't you remember it says, 'The Lord hath laid on\nHim the iniquity of us all.' It was not His own sin that was resting on\nHim, but ours.\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" she said, \"I see what you mean.\"\n\n\"And now look at the third cross. There hangs the thief who has looked\nto Jesus. He still has sin in him; till he gets to heaven, his heart\nwill be sinful still. But has he sin on him? That is to say, do the\nguilt and consequences of his sin still rest on him?\"\n\n\"No, I don't think they do,\" she said.\n\n\"Oh no,\" I said, \"for he has laid his sin on Jesus; it is no longer\nresting on him: it is taken off him, and put on to Jesus, and therefore\nthis thief is saved. Now, do you see what looking to Jesus means? It\nmeans that the thief looked to Jesus as the One who was being punished\nfor his sin, and who was suffering in his place. Do you see?\"\n\n\"I think I do,\" said Evelyn.\n\n\"Well, my book goes on to say, that all the people in the world die as\none or other of those thieves died. All without exception die with sin\nin them, for the Bible tells us that 'if we say that we have no sin we\ndeceive ourselves.' But those who look to Jesus as the One who has been\npunished in their place, though they have sin in them till they die,\nyet they have no sin on them, for the guilt and responsibility of their\nsins no longer rests on them, but on Jesus. You remember that hymn:\n\n   \"'I lay my sins on Jesus,\n       The spotless Lamb of God;\n     He bears them all, and frees us\n       From the accursed load.'\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"I like that hymn very much. I do wish I could do it,\nMay.\"\n\n\"You are going to do it this morning, Evelyn dear,\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, May, do you think I can?\" she asked.\n\n\"I am sure of it, darling; Jesus is willing, Jesus is longing for you\nto cast your sin upon Him. He says to you: 'Look unto Me, as the One\nwho died instead of you; look unto Me, as the One who was punished in\nyour place; look unto Me, and be ye saved.'\"\n\n\"Oh, May, I should like to do it at once,\" she said.\n\nSo I went downstairs and left her alone, and yet not alone.\n\n\nI did not see Evelyn again till I went upstairs to her room for\nluncheon. She was lying quietly on the sofa where I had left her, but\nshe called me to her side and whispered:\n\n\"Oh, May, I am so happy now. Sin is still in me, but no longer on me,\nfor I have laid it on Jesus.\"\n\nI need hardly say how very thankful I felt to God for answering my\nprayer. It seemed almost too good to be true. A blessing that we have\nbeen waiting for, anxiously longing and waiting for, is always of\ndouble value when it comes.\n\nFrom that day I began, as it were, a new life in Alliston Hall. Before\nthis, Evelyn used to dislike and avoid any approach to what she\nconsidered \"religious talk;\" but now her great delight was to read a\nchapter with me in the Bible, and to ask me questions about anything\nwhich she did not quite understand.\n\nI shall never forget that summer; it was a very peaceful and a very\nhappy one. I had every reason to believe that Evelyn's heart was indeed\nchanged. Every one noticed the difference in her, and many, who did not\nunderstand what is the power of the Holy Spirit in the heart, wondered\nwhat was the cause of it.\n\nThere was one who rejoiced in this change in Evelyn quite as much as I\ndid, and that one was Miss Irvine. She spent nearly the whole summer at\nAlliston Hall, and Evelyn, instead of avoiding her company as she had\nso often done before, delighted to have her with her, that they might\ntalk together about heavenly things.\n\nDay by day Evelyn grew in grace, and seemed more anxious about the\nwelfare of her own soul, and of the souls of those around her. She\nwas much braver than I was, in speaking to others about their eternal\nwelfare. I often felt ashamed of myself when she told me how she had\nspoken to Clemence, or to one of the other servants; and she did it in\nsuch a simple, natural way, that it was always well received, and never\ngave offence.\n\nBut, though Evelyn was growing in grace day by day, she was not growing\nin bodily strength. Indeed, as the summer went on she seemed to get\nweaker instead of stronger. The trouble she had had about her cousin\nDonald had been so sudden and unexpected, that she had not recovered\nfrom the effects of it.\n\nEvelyn never, so far as I knew, mentioned her cousin's name in Sir\nWilliam's presence, and only once did she name him to me, when she\nasked me if I knew whether anything had been heard of him; but I\nnoticed how anxiously she asked for the newspapers every day, and with\nwhat trembling fingers she turned over the pages. There had been an\naccount of the affair in the \"Times\" the same week that it happened,\nand Evelyn was continually expecting to find that Mr. Trafford had been\napprehended. But there was no further notice of it in the newspapers,\nand, one day, Sir William told me that his nephew had evidently made\nhis escape to some foreign land, and he did not think that he would\never be heard of again.\n\n\nAs the summer passed away, and the days became shorter and the nights\ncooler, Evelyn became no stronger; she had a very troublesome cough,\nwhich kept her awake at night, and she looked pale and fragile.\n\nSir William was very anxious about her, and had many consultations with\nthe doctors, and at last it was agreed that the best thing possible for\nher would be to leave England for a time and to spend the winter abroad.\n\nThe doctors said that the warmer climate would be good for her health,\nand Sir William felt that the excitement and pleasure of travelling\nwould turn her thoughts, more than anything else, from her trouble and\ndisappointment.\n\n\"And where do you think we are going, May?\" said Evelyn, when she had\ntold me with great joy what her father had decided.\n\n\"I do not know at all, Evelyn,\" I said; \"I thought perhaps it would be\nto Mentone, or perhaps somewhere in Italy.\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" said Evelyn; \"nowhere so commonplace as that! Guess again!\"\n\nBut I could not guess, so she told me, with great delight, that Sir\nWilliam's plan was to go down the Mediterranean to Egypt, and then, if\nEvelyn was well enough, to go on in the early spring to Jerusalem.\n\n\"To Jerusalem! Oh, Evelyn,\" I said, \"you will enjoy that.\"\n\n\"Yes, and so will you, May,\" she said. \"I know how you long to go\nthere; I was quite as glad for you as for myself, when papa told me.\"\n\n\"Oh, Evelyn,\" I said; \"do you mean to say that I am going too? I never\ndreamt of that.\"\n\n\"Of course you are going,\" she said, indignantly. \"Do you think I could\ndo without you? Oh, May, isn't it delightful!\"\n\nIt seemed to me far too good and too wonderful to be true. To go to\nJerusalem, the city which our Lord loved, and over which He wept; to\nsee the hillsides where He so often sat, and to tread the mountain\npaths on which His feet had so often walked,\u2014this seemed far too great\na joy ever to be mine.\n\nBut there was very little time to sit and dream over it, for we were\nplunged, at once, into all the bustle and confusion which a departure\nfrom home for a long time causes in large households as well as in\nsmall ones.\n\nWe were to start in three weeks' time, for Sir William was anxious\nthat we should get the sea-voyage over before the weather became\ncolder and more unsettled. He very kindly gave me leave to go to the\nManor House at Branston for a few days, that I might say good-bye to\nmy little sister before being parted from her for so long. I should\nnever have thought of asking for a holiday at this busy time, but Sir\nWilliam proposed it himself, and was good enough to say, when I began\nto suggest difficulties, that he should insist upon my going whether I\nliked it or not.\n\nIt was indeed a pleasure for me to see my dear little Maggie again, and\nthe three sisters were kindness itself to me. But they did not at all\nlike the idea of my going to Jerusalem; indeed, at first, they even\nwanted me to throw up my situation because of having to go abroad.\n\nHowever, when they saw that it was of no use trying to persuade me to\ndo this, and that I was looking forward to the proposed journey as to a\nmost delightful and pleasant thing, they all united in trying to warn\nme of the consequences. Miss Jane had a very ancient book, describing\nthe adventures and narrow escapes of some travellers in Palestine many\nyears ago, and she brought this book out from her bookcase, and read\nall the most alarming passages for my edification, till poor Maggie was\nquite frightened, and clung to me, and said she would never let me go.\n\nI assured them that travelling in Palestine twenty years ago was a\nvery different thing, and that now the dangers were much less, and the\ndifficulties not nearly so numerous. But Miss Jane did nothing but\nshake her head mournfully, and said she should indeed be thankful if I\ncame back alive; whilst Miss Hannah and Miss Louisa actually shed tears\nat the bare thought of the perils I was about to undergo. However, I\ncomforted them by promising to write often, and I told them that I\nwould give them an account of all my adventures, though I did not think\nthey would be so exciting or remarkable as those of the gentlemen in\nMiss Jane's book.\n\nWhen I returned to Alliston Hall, I found that all necessary\npreparations were made for the journey. Sir William was anticipating it\nquite as much as we were. He had travelled a great deal when he was a\nyoung man, and he was looking forward with pleasure to taking Evelyn to\nsome of the places which he had visited so many years before.\n\nAt length the last night came, when everything was peeked, and we had\nnothing to do but to sit at the window and to talk of the journey\nbefore us.\n\nI was feeling the reaction, which so often comes after the excitement\nof preparations for a journey, and was almost wishing that, after all,\nwe were not going so far away. Who could tell whether we should all\nreturn again? Who could tell whether I should ever see my little sister\nagain?\n\nAt this moment the door was opened, and a letter was brought in which\nhad come by the evening post. The letter was from dear Miss Irvine, to\nsay how much she should think of us whilst we Were travelling, and how\noften she should turn the text, which she enclosed, into prayer on our\nbehalf.\n\n\"What is the text, I wonder?\" said Evelyn, as she put down the letter.\n\"Oh, I see; here are two cards in the envelope; one for you, and one\nfor me.\"\n\nShe handed me mine, and the text seemed an answer to my fears:\n\n   \"The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this\ntime forth, and even for evermore.\"\n\nAnd underneath the text there was this hymn:\n\n   Going out from the ones I love\n     Far over land and sea;\n   Going out into dreary ways,\n     Working, my Lord, for Thee;\n   Going out with an anxious heart,\n     Serving in earth's rough soil;\n   Going out to the daily fight\u2014\n     Worry, and care, and toil.\n\n   Going out when the work is done,\n     Leaving the earthly strife;\n   Going out to the unknown world,\n     Passing through death to life;\n   Going out, and yet, not alone,\n     Lord, Thou wilt go before:\n   Keep me, Lord, in my going out,\n     Now, and for evermore.\n\n   Coming in from the distant land,\n     Thankful no more to roam;\n   Coming in from the outer work,\n     Meeting the cares at home;\n   Coming in from the larger field,\n     Sowing the Master's seed;\n   Dropping some in the children's hearts\n     Yearning their souls to feed.\n\n   Coming in to the Father's home,\n     Welcomed with joy at last;\n   Coming in, to go out no more,\n     Partings for ever past;\n   Coming in, and yet, not alone\u2014\n     Standing beside the door:\n   Meet me, Lord, in my coming in,\n     Now, and for evermore.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nBRINDISI.\n\n[Illustration] We left England, and began our delightful journey at the\nend of October. Evelyn improved in health and spirits from the moment\nthat we started, and Sir William was thoroughly happy in witnessing the\nenjoyment of his child. I need hardly say what a treat this journey\nwas to me. I had never been out of England before, and, therefore,\neverything abroad was quite new and strange to me, and I felt as if I\nwas having a very pleasant and delightful dream.\n\nWe spent some time in Paris, and went about to all the places of\ninterest both in and near the city. From Paris we went to Turin, where\nwe rested for more than a week, before undertaking the long and tedious\njourney from Turin to Brindisi. We arrived at Brindisi late on Saturday\nnight; we were all very tired and worn out, and exceedingly glad to\nget to our journey's end. We stayed at an hotel near the sea, such a\ncurious Eastern-looking place, with bare stone floors and whitewashed\nwalls, and only just as much furniture in the large rooms as was\nabsolutely necessary.\n\nThe next morning I awoke early, and went to my window and looked out.\nIt seemed a perfect fairy-land to me. The harbour was as still as a\nlake, and covered with the reflection of the ships and boats, with\ntheir pretty lateen sails. And beyond the harbour there was the blue\nMediterranean sparkling in the morning sunshine.\n\nIt looked very unlike Sunday, for work was going on just as on any\nother day; and the people of Brindisi were buying, and selling, and\nhurrying along, as though it were the busiest day in the week.\n\nI took my Testament, and sat at a little distance from the window, and\nhad a quiet time alone before Clemence came to say that Evelyn was\ndressed, and was going downstairs for breakfast.\n\nWe were to go on board the steamer that night, as it was to leave early\nthe next morning; but Sir William arranged that during the day we\nshould stay quietly at the hotel.\n\nThe weather had been very cold when we were at Turin, and we found a\ngreat change of climate at Brindisi. The sky was a deep, unclouded\nblue, and the sunshine was so hot that we found it difficult to keep\ncool. Evelyn and I discovered a seat on the flat roof of the hotel,\nwhere we were shaded from the hot sun and could read together quietly.\nWe read aloud the Psalms for the day, verse by verse. One of these was\nPsalm cxxii., and it was with a wonderfully strange feeling that we\nread those words:\n\n   \"Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem.\"\n\n\"May,\" said Evelyn, \"can you believe that verse is really true of us?\"\n\nWhen we had finished our reading, Sir William came out to us, and\npersuaded us to venture out of the shady corner in which we had been\nsitting, and to walk to the other end of the roof, that we might look\nat the view to be seen from thence.\n\nTo our surprise we found that we were not alone on the roof. An English\ngentleman was leaning over the parapet with a book in his hand, looking\ntowards the sea. He turned round as we came up, and slipped his book\ninto his pocket. I fancied that it was a Bible.\n\nSir William and the strange gentleman soon got into conversation about\nBrindisi and its surroundings, and he pointed out to us several objects\nof interest in the neighbourhood. He was not a very young man, though\nI fancied that he looked older than he really was. There was something\nin his face, when it was at rest, which made me think that he had been\nthrough a great deal of trouble, and yet, when he smiled, his whole\nface was lighted up in a moment, and he looked perfectly different. He\nwas not exactly a handsome man, and yet his was a face which, having\nonce seen, you could never forgot, and which you could not help liking.\nThat was my first impression of Mr. Stanley, so far as I can now\nremember.\n\nSir William was very charmed with him, and said afterwards that he had\nseldom met such a well-read, sensible man. We sat together on the roof,\nand Evelyn and I acted the part of listeners, whilst the two gentlemen\ntalked.\n\n\"You are going to Jerusalem, I think,\" said Mr. Stanley, as Sir William\nwas unfolding his plans to him; \"I have been there several times.\"\n\nThis led to many inquiries on Sir William's part about the\naccommodation to be found in Jerusalem, etc. etc. But Evelyn and\nI wondered very much how Mr. Stanley knew that we were going to\nJerusalem. Could he have heard us reading that Psalm, and saying that\nit was soon to be true of us?\n\n\"I am afraid you will be disappointed in Jerusalem,\" said Mr.\nStanley, turning to us; \"you must remember that though it is still\n'beautiful for situation,' yet Jerusalem is no longer 'the joy of the\nwhole earth.' It is, indeed, beautiful at a distance, and every one\nis charmed who sees it for the first time; but when you go inside\nthe walls, and know it well, you cannot help feeling depressed and\nsaddened.\"\n\n\"But there are brighter days coming for Jerusalem,\" I ventured to say.\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"Jerusalem will be a hundredfold more\nthan she ever was before\u2014the City of the Great King.\"\n\nBut Sir William always regarded the study of prophecy as a mixture of\npresumption and romance, and he quickly led the conversation into a\ndifferent channel; but I longed to hear what Mr. Stanley's views were\nabout the return of the Jews and the restoration of Jerusalem.\n\nThat evening we went on board the steamer which was to take us to\nAlexandria. There were a great many first-class passengers, and we\nhad some difficulty in obtaining a cabin to ourselves. At length Sir\nWilliam managed to secure a small one for Evelyn and me, in which there\nwere only two berths, and as soon as table d'h\u00f4te was over, we went to\nour cabin.\n\nThere were very few passengers present at dinner; Mr. Stanley was\nthere, and a few others whom we had seen in the hotel at Brindisi; but\nmost of the people came on board as we were going to bed. They had just\narrived by the late train from Turin, and had secured their cabins\nbeforehand by telegraphing to the captain.\n\nEvelyn and I were undressing when we heard a voice in the saloon, which\nwe were almost sure we knew. It was a lady's voice, and she was giving\norders to the stewardess in an imperious tone, with regard to the\narrangement of her cabin.\n\n\"That must be Lady Eldridge,\" said Evelyn to me; \"it is exactly like\nher voice.\"\n\nClemence went, at this moment, to get some hot water, and returned with\nthe information that it was Lady Eldridge, and that she had taken the\nnext cabin to ours.\n\n\"Oh dear!\" said Evelyn. \"I wonder where she is going. I hope not to\nCairo; I remember she often spends the winter there. Well, we shall\nhear in the morning!\"\n\nAs Lady Eldridge's voice had been the last thing we heard at night, so\nit was the first thing that we heard in the morning. She had brought\nno maid with her; and, as she was utterly unable to do anything for\nherself, she was constantly calling the poor stewardess, who had\nalready more work than she could get through, to help her in the\nvarious stages of her toilet.\n\n\"Oh dear!\" said Evelyn, as Lady Eldridge's voice was heard again and\nagain, \"I do hope she is not going to Cairo; we must find out at once.\"\n\nWe met Lady Eldridge at breakfast; she professed herself delighted\nbeyond measure at meeting Sir William and Evelyn, and wished to know\nwhere they were going, and how long she would have the wonderful\npleasure of travelling in their company.\n\n\"It is such trying work travelling alone, my dear,\" she said to Evelyn,\n\"and I am naturally very nervous; it is really quite miraculous my\nmeeting you. Sir William, I feel sure, will not refuse to take me under\nhis care.\"\n\nSir William bowed, and said he would be very glad to help Lady Eldridge\nin any way he could; but I did not think he seemed particularly glad of\nthe addition to our party, for such Lady Eldridge, from that moment,\nconsidered herself to be. She turned over all responsibility about her\nbaggage to Sir William, and she used Clemence as freely as if she had\nbeen her own maid.\n\n\"But,\" said Lady Eldridge, as we were finishing breakfast, \"you have\nnever yet told me where you are going, Evelyn, my dear.\"\n\nEvelyn was about to answer her, when, to my surprise, Sir William\nprevented her.\n\n\"Our plans are not yet formed, Lady Eldridge,\" he said; \"I am going to\nconsider this morning what our tour will be, and then I shall be able\nto let you know.\"\n\n\"Oh, you must come to Cairo,\" said Lady Eldridge, decidedly; \"there is\nno place like Cairo in the winter. The climate is simply perfect, my\ndear,\" she said, turning to Evelyn. \"Now, Sir William, you must decide\nto stay at least three months at Cairo, and then we can all spend the\nwinter together. Now come, I think that is a capital plan!\"\n\nSir William smiled, and said he would consider the matter; but there\nwere many other places that he wished to visit, and he could not\nmake up his mind hastily. We did not see much of Lady Eldridge after\nbreakfast, for she remained in the saloon the whole day reading a\nFrench novel, and seemed to think us very extraordinary girls because\nwe chose to go on deck.\n\nEvelyn and I found a sheltered seat, where the cold wind did not reach\nus; and here we sat with our books and our work until the evening. The\nsteamer had started early in the morning, and though a fresh breeze\nwas blowing, still the sea was not uncomfortably rough, and we were\nbeginning to think that sea voyages were not half so disagreeable and\nuncomfortable as people made them out to be.\n\nSir William paced up and down the deck with Mr. Stanley nearly all the\nmorning, discussing his future plans. Every now and then they stopped\nto examine a map or a guidebook; and at length they sat down on a\nseat, and Sir William took a pencil from his pocket, and wrote at Mr.\nStanley's dictation.\n\n\"I wonder what papa has settled!\" said Evelyn. \"I wish he would come\nand tell us. I am sure he does not want to go to Cairo, now that Lady\nEldridge is going there. Did not you notice that he would not let me\nsay where we were going?\"\n\nWhen Sir William had finished writing, he and Mr. Stanley came towards\nus, and Sir William told us, to our great joy, that we were going at\nonce to Jerusalem. Mr. Stanley had told him that there was a clean,\ncomfortable hotel there, and that the climate in December and January\nwas generally beautiful.\n\n\"So I think we will stop in Jerusalem a month or two,\" said Sir\nWilliam, \"and then decide where we go next. What do you say to that,\nEvelyn?\"\n\n\"Oh, papa,\" said Evelyn, \"it is just what I wanted. I am longing to get\nto Jerusalem!\"\n\n\"'Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem,'\" said Mr.\nStanley, with a smile. And then we were sure that he had heard us\nreading the Psalm.\n\nAt sunset the wind became very strong; the ship rolled heavily, and the\npassengers were glad to go to their cabins. It was a dreadful night. I\nshall never forget it. Every hour the storm became more terrible. I had\nnever thought that a storm at sea could be so dreadful. The waves were\nbeating over our heads, and, every now and then, the cabin was lighted\nup by a vivid flash of lightning, which was followed almost immediately\nby a terrible clap of thunder. Every two or three minutes we heard the\ncrash of breaking crockery, and the broken cups, and jugs, and glasses\nwere thrown backwards and forwards on the floor, as the ship pitched\nand tossed.\n\nI wonder that so many people have such peaceful ideas of the\nMediterranean Sea, after reading the Bible accounts of it. Oh, how\noften during that dreadful night we thought of St. Paul in the storm,\nprobably just in this very part of the Mediterranean; and we could so\nwell picture that scene in Jonah's life when the sailors, unwilling\nto cast him overboard, made a last mighty effort to bring the ship to\nland, but the sea wrought and was tempestuous, and they were not able\nto manage it.\n\nAnd then David's description of the storm, in Psalm cvii., must refer\nto this very sea. How often we repeated those verses to each other that\nnight:\n\n   \"'He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.\nThen are they glad because they be quiet; so He bringeth them unto their\ndesired haven.'\"\n\n\"Oh, May,\" said Evelyn, as I crept to her side when the storm was at\nits height, \"what a comfort it is to know we are safe, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"I cannot think how any one dare travel, and go through\nall the perils by land and water, without knowing that.\"\n\n\"I should not have known it if we had come a year ago,\" said Evelyn.\n\"Oh, May, I should have been terribly frightened then!\"\n\nWe did not sleep once the whole night, and very long the hours seemed\nto us.\n\nAt about three o'clock in the morning we heard Lady Eldridge's voice\nloudly crying for help. She was calling, first for Clemence and then\nfor the stewardess, but their cabins were at the other end of the\nsaloon, and neither of them heard her.\n\n\"What can she want?\" said Evelyn.\n\nI put on my dressing-gown, and managed to go as far as the door of Lady\nEldridge's cabin, that I might see what was the matter.\n\n\"Just look here, Miss Lindsay!\" she said. \"The porthole has burst open,\nand the water has come over my bed. Do go and call the stewardess, and\ntell her to bring me clean linen and blankets.\"\n\n\"I don't know whether I can walk as far as the stewardess's cabin, Lady\nEldridge,\" I said, \"but I will try; it is terribly rough!\"\n\n\"Oh, nonsense!\" she said. \"Hold on by the wall, and you will be all\nright. You don't mean to say you are sea-sick, Miss Lindsay; you should\nget over it. I never believe in sea-sickness; if people only try they\ncan keep it off. I feel as well at sea as on land!\"\n\nI could not help thinking that, this being the case she might have gone\nfor the stewardess herself, instead of insisting that I should go for\nher. However, I did my best, and managed to stagger down the saloon,\nthough I fell several times, and cut my hand very much with a broken\nplate, which was being swept across the floor, backwards and forwards,\nas the vessel rolled from side to side.\n\nI found the stewardess lying on the bed in her cabin, crying. She told\nme that she was a widow with three little children, whom she had left\nin England. She had been persuaded to try this way of earning her\nliving, and this was her first voyage; but she did not think she could\never go again, she had no idea that it would be so dreadful. She told\nme this as she was getting out the sheets for Lady Eldridge's bed, and\nshe said that, just as I came in, she was crying because she thought\nshe would never see her little children again.\n\nI tried to say a word to comfort her, but the noise of the storm was\nso great that we could hardly hear each other speak. It was some time\nbefore she had collected everything that was necessary, and Lady\nEldridge was very impatient and cross when we arrived at her cabin. I\nhelped the stewardess to arrange the bed, and then went back to my own\nberth, very thankful to be able to lie still again.\n\nMorning came, but the storm still continued. It raged all Tuesday, all\nTuesday night, and all Wednesday, and we were not able to leave our\ncabin the whole time. Only on Wednesday did the storm begin to abate,\nand we were able at last to have a quiet sleep. We awoke on Thursday,\nto find the wind gone and the sea much calmer. We were to arrive at\nAlexandria in the afternoon, and every one seemed glad that the stormy\nvoyage was drawing to a close.\n\nLady Eldridge was very much annoyed when she found that we were not\ngoing with her to Cairo. She told Sir William that it was simple\nmadness, on his part, to take a delicate girl like Evelyn to Jerusalem;\nbut Sir William only smiled, and said it was Evelyn's wish as well as\nhis own, and he thought that, if Lady Eldridge made further inquiries,\nshe would find that in the winter months the climate of Jerusalem was\nall that could be desired.\n\nI had a talk with the stewardess that morning, and I was so glad to\nfind that the poor woman knew where to turn for comfort and for help.\nShe was a real Christian, and, in simple faith, she had trusted her\nchildren to God's care, and she felt sure that He would watch over them\ntill she was able to be with them again. She had left them with her\nbrother and his wife, and her thoughts seemed to be constantly with her\nlittle absent treasures. I was so glad that I had spoken to her, for\nshe thanked me very much, and told me that the few words I had said\nto her in the storm had been a great comfort to her, and had made her\nashamed of herself for being afraid.\n\n\nAt length we arrived at Alexandria, and very much enjoyed the sight\nwhich met our eyes\u2014the intensely white city, the blue water in the\nharbour\u2014the pilot, with a dark hood over his head, arriving in his\nlittle boat, and coming on board the steamer; and then the countless\nother boats, filled with clamorous Arabs, who were contending with one\nanother to secure the largest number of passengers to row to shore.\nIt was very curious to watch them fighting like wild beasts for their\nprey, and looking so picturesque in their various costumes that it was\nimpossible to feel angry with them.\n\nAfter much pushing, and quarrelling, and scuffling, and shouting\nhad been gone through, we found ourselves in the same boat with Mr.\nStanley, who had taken us all, Lady Eldridge included, under his\ncare, and had bargained on our behalf in Arabic, and made, after much\ndifficulty, a fair agreement with the boatman as to the price he would\ncharge for his boat.\n\nWe stayed one night in Alexandria at the hotel, but we did not see much\nof the city, for we were too tired and worn out with the voyage to go\nout, and were glad to rest quietly until it was time to go on board\nthe ship which was to take us to Jaffa, and which started early the\nnext day. We left Lady Eldridge in the hotel, and were not sorry to say\ngood-bye to her.\n\nIt was a small old-fashioned vessel which was to take us the rest\nof the way, very dirty and forlorn, and very different from the\ncomfortable steamer of the Peninsular and Oriental Company which we had\njust left; but the sea was calm, so we felt as if we could thankfully\nbear any amount of discomfort.\n\nWe were the only first-class passengers on board, but a large party of\ntravellers were to join us at Port Said, and they had already engaged\ntheir cabins.\n\nWe stayed on deck until quite late that evening, walking up and down,\nlooking at the sun setting over the sea, and talking of all that was\nbefore us. Sir William had numberless questions to ask about Jerusalem,\nand Mr. Stanley was well able to answer them all, for only two years\nbefore he had spent a whole winter in Jerusalem that he might sketch\nsome of the many places of interest in the city and its neighbourhood;\nand he promised, at Sir William's request, to let us see his sketches\nsome day.\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nWAS IT HE?\n\n[Illustration] EARLY on Saturday morning we arrived at Port Said, and\nSir William proposed that we should go on shore and escape from our\nuncomfortable quarters in the dirty little steamer.\n\nWe had no difficulty in obtaining a boat rowed by Arabs, but\nimmediately we touched land, we were marched off to the Custom House,\nthat our passports might be examined. Sir William had been told in\nLondon that passports were now quite unnecessary, so we had not\nprovided ourselves with any, and he was rather at a loss what to do.\nHowever, Mr. Stanley came to the rescue, and after he had harangued\nthe Turkish officers in Arabic, and had given them a proper amount of\n\"baksheesh,\" we were politely bowed out of the office and allowed to\nenter the town, although we had no passports.\n\nHere Mr. Stanley left us, and we found our way to the one hotel of the\nplace, where we had breakfast amidst a crowd of English and American\ntravellers, who we found were to be our companions into Syria.\n\nThe hotel was uncomfortably small and very noisy, so after breakfast we\ntook a walk to see what was to be seen in Port Said.\n\nIt was such a curious town; it looked as if it had sprung up in a\nsingle night like a mushroom. Nearly all the houses were made of wood,\nand looked like large booths put up hastily for a pleasure fair, to be\ntaken down again as soon as the fair was over.\n\nThe streets, or rather the empty spaces between the rows of houses,\nfor they did not deserve the name of streets, were covered with\norange-peel, oyster-shells, dead dogs and cats, decaying vegetables,\nand all manner of filth; and the whole place looked, Sir William\nsaid, like pictures he had seen of the wooden towns set up near the\ngold-diggings in America.\n\nWe met people of almost every nationality in the streets of Port Said.\nMany of them were very unprepossessing in appearance, and we were told\nthat a number of the worst men of all nations find their way there, for\nthey know that there is very little law or order in the town, and that\nthey will therefore be free from observation, and allowed to do as they\nlike.\n\nThe week before we arrived at Port Said there had been a great many\nmurders there, and we saw a notice in the hotel advising Europeans\nnot to go out after dark, as the authorities would not answer for the\nconsequences if they did so.\n\nAn open square in front of the hotel had been turned into a garden.\nThere were not many flowers in it, but there were a few trees and\nshrubs, and a small stone fountain stood in the centre. There was a\nseat in this garden, and Sir William, Evelyn, and I sat here for some\ntime, watching the tourists coming in and out of the hotel, consulting\ntheir guidebooks, asking countless questions of their dragoman, and\napparently very impatient to be once more on the move.\n\nThere were several French shops, in a block of buildings which formed\none side of the square. Evelyn caught sight of these, and asked me if I\nthought she would be able to buy one or two little things which she was\nanxious to get before going to Jerusalem, \"where,\" she said, \"I suppose\nwe shall find no shops at all.\"\n\n\"Go and see, my dear,\" said Sir William, \"and I will wait here till you\ncome back; I shall be close by if you want me for anything, and I can\nsee which shops you are in as I sit here.\"\n\nSo Evelyn and I opened the gate of the hotel garden, and crossed the\nroad to the shops. They were very curious shops, a great variety of\narticles seemed to be sold in them; all kinds of French goods, fancy\narticles of every description, and a few useful things, such as\ntravelling bags, knapsacks, sunshades, and pith helmets.\n\nWe selected the shop which appeared most likely to contain all we\nwished to buy. Evelyn went in first, and I followed her. The shopman\nwas at the other end of the shop, attending to some customers, and\nEvelyn and I examined the articles which were exposed for sale until he\nwas ready to wait upon us. Then he came up to us, and asked in French\nwhat we wanted. Evelyn looked up from the box of ornaments over which\nshe was bending, and was about to answer him, when I saw her suddenly\nstart back in astonishment.\n\nI looked up, to see what had taken her so much by surprise, and I saw\nin a moment what it was.\n\nThe young man in the shop was no French tradesman, as we had taken him\nto be; he was her cousin, Donald Trafford! Evelyn had not looked at him\nwhen we first came into the shop, but as soon as their eyes met she\nrecognised him, in spite of his foreign dress and appearance; and he,\nat the same moment, recognised her.\n\nBefore we had time to recover from our surprise he was gone; he had\ndisappeared through a door into an inner room, and had sent a young\nFrenchwoman to wait upon us.\n\n\"Oh, May,\" whispered Evelyn to me, \"never mind about the things; let us\ngo back to papa!\"\n\nI made some excuse to the French girl, telling her that we could not\nwait longer, and we left the shop at once.\n\nBut when we were outside, Evelyn turned so white and faint that I did\nnot know how to get her back to the garden. I made signs to Sir William\nto come; but he was reading the newspaper, and did not look up, and I\ndid not like to leave Evelyn alone whilst I went to call him.\n\nAt this moment, to my great joy, Mr. Stanley came up, and seeing how\nill Evelyn looked, at once offered her his arm, and walked with her\nback to her father.\n\nAs I followed them into the garden I could not help contrasting Mr.\nStanley's open, manly face with that of Mr. Donald Trafford, who had\nby no means improved in appearance since I saw him last. I wondered\nwhether Evelyn was struck by the difference. I almost thought that she\nwas, for she thanked Mr. Stanley very pleasantly for his kind help, and\nexplained that she had suddenly turned faint when she was in the shop,\nbut said she would be quite better in a few moments.\n\nSir William was very much frightened when he saw his daughter come up\nto him, looking as pale as death, and leaning on Mr. Stanley's arm;\nbut she tried to laugh him out of his fears, and told him that she was\nrather tired, and that it was nothing of consequence. Mr. Stanley,\nhowever, hurried up to the hotel to get a glass of water, and, as soon\nas he was gone, Evelyn burst into tears.\n\n\"What is the matter, my darling?\" said Sir William, in a very\ndistressed voice. \"I am afraid the journey has been too much for you.\nPerhaps I was foolish not to follow Lady Eldridge's advice, and go on\nwith her to Cairo. You are not strong enough to rough it yet; I almost\nthink we had better turn back.\"\n\n\"Oh no, papa, it is not that,\" said Evelyn; \"it is not that at all.\nTell him, May, what it was.\"\n\n\"Evelyn had a great surprise when she went into that shop, Sir\nWilliam,\" I said, \"for there, dressed like a foreigner, and selling\nbehind the counter, was her cousin, Mr. Trafford!\"\n\n\"Donald!\" said Sir William, starting from his seat. \"Donald in that\nshop! Surely not! Surely you must have been mistaken! I cannot think\nthat he would dare to come to a place like Port Said, where so many\nEnglish people are continually passing through. Oh no, Evelyn, child,\nyou must be wrong.\"\n\n\"No, Sir William,\" I said, \"we certainly saw Mr. Trafford; I am quite\nsure we were not mistaken.\"\n\nAt this moment Mr. Stanley returned, and we could not talk any more\nabout it. But Sir William seemed lost in thought, and did not enter\ninto the conversation, which Evelyn and I tried to keep up.\n\n\"Miss Lindsay,\" he said, at last, \"would you show me in which of those\nshops you made your purchases just now? Evelyn dear, you sit still here\ntill we come back. Mr. Stanley, may I leave my daughter in your care\nfor a few minutes?\"\n\nI thought Mr. Stanley was not sorry to be left in charge; but Evelyn\nhad turned as pale as she was before, and was trembling from head to\nfoot.\n\nSir William and I left them on the seat near the fountain, and walked\ntowards the row of shops.\n\n\"I really think you must have been mistaken, Miss Lindsay,\" he\nrepeated; but I told him that I was sure that Mr. Trafford had\nrecognised us, for he had strangely and suddenly disappeared, and had\nsent a Frenchwoman to wait upon us.\n\nI waited outside, whilst Sir William went into the shop. He came out in\na few minutes, looking very much relieved.\n\n\"It is quite a mistake, Miss Lindsay,\" he said; \"Donald Trafford is not\nhere; I have made full inquiries.\"\n\nThen he told me that there was no one but the Frenchwoman in the shop\nwhen he went in, but that he had asked to see the young Englishman\nwho was waiting in the shop about a quarter of an hour before. The\nFrenchwoman, however, had assured him that there was no Englishman\nthere, nor was there any one who could speak English. It must have been\nher husband whom the ladies had seen; he was in the shop a few minutes\nago, but he was an Italian\u2014his name was Signor Rialti. Sir William had\nasked to speak to her husband, but she told him he had been suddenly\ncalled away on business; he was away now, and would not return till\nMonday.\n\n\"Then Signor Rialti is evidently the name Mr. Trafford has taken,\" I\nsaid.\n\n\"Oh, I think not, Miss Lindsay,\" said Sir William, decidedly; \"you and\nEvelyn have been mistaken. I have no doubt that the young Italian bears\na strong resemblance to Donald Trafford, and that that circumstance has\nled you both to imagine that it must be he.\"\n\nBut, though I was silenced by Sir William's very decided manner, still\nI was far from being convinced; for I was firmly persuaded in my own\nmind that it was indeed Evelyn's cousin whom we had seen that morning.\n\nMr. Stanley seemed to notice, with the ready perception which he always\nshowed, that something had happened to disturb us, and that we should\nlike to be left alone, for in a few minutes he made an excuse about\nhaving to call on some one at the other end of Port Said, and took\nleave of us.\n\n\"Well, Evelyn,\" said Sir William, as soon as we were alone, \"you were\nquite wrong. You need not have been so agitated, dear; it was quite a\nmistake.\" And he told her what he had heard in the shop.\n\n\"It is all a tale, papa,\" she said, when he had finished; \"Donald is\nafraid of being found out, and he has put her up to telling that story,\nin case any inquiries should be made about him. He would not be back\ntill Monday, did she say? Of course not; he knows quite well that the\nsteamer will not start until early on Monday morning.\"\n\nBut Sir William would not be convinced. His wish was, I think, father\nto the thought, for he would have been very much puzzled as to how he\nought to act had he indeed found his nephew, and he was therefore only\ntoo glad to believe that he was still in ignorance of Mr. Trafford's\nhiding-place.\n\nI saw Evelyn glancing several times at the French shop as we sat there\ntalking of other things, and I was glad for her sake when Sir William\nproposed that we should return to the ship.\n\n\nWe spent a very comfortless Sunday on board the wretched little\nsteamer. It was impossible to find any quiet place below, for the\nsaloon was filled by the large party which we had seen at the hotel\nat Port Said, and most of them spent the day in playing at cards and\nchess, and in talking over their journey in loud voices; and they made\nso much noise that we found it was utterly useless to attempt to read\nor to be quiet there. So we went on deck and found a shady corner,\nwhere we were at least in comparative quiet.\n\nBut the lower deck was the scene of great confusion and noise, for a\nnumber of pilgrims, who were on their way to Jerusalem, were coming on\nboard. There were Greek pilgrims, Latin pilgrims, and Moslem pilgrims,\nall of them dressed in what seemed to us the most fantastic manner.\nThey were regular Eastern and dreadfully filthy, and they were all\njabbering their various languages at the top of their voices. Mr.\nStanley told us that as Easter draws near, the steamers are crammed\nwith these pilgrims, on their way to the different shrines and holy\nplaces. They come from great distances, and go through wonderful\nfatigue, and spend large sums of money to obtain, as they vainly hope,\nforgiveness of sin.\n\n\"I often think,\" Mr. Stanley said, \"that their earnestness puts us to\nshame.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Evelyn, as she watched a fresh detachment come on board,\n\"and do you not long to tell them how sin can really be forgiven?\"\n\n\"I do indeed,\" said Mr. Stanley; \"but, Miss Trafford, have you any idea\nwhat a difficult matter that would be? How many different languages\ndo you think I should have to learn before I could speak to all these\npilgrims?\"\n\nWe thought perhaps five or six would be necessary, but Mr. Stanley told\nus, to our astonishment, that he had just had a conversation with a\ngentleman who had taken the trouble to go round the vessel in order to\nfind out what were the different nationalities of the people on board,\nand he had made the discovery that there were men from no fewer than\nthirty different nations in that one steamer.\n\n\nWe sailed from Port Said on Sunday evening, and came in sight of Jaffa\nat six o'clock the next morning. We were up very early, for we were\nlonging to get our first view of Palestine. It was a lovely morning;\nthe sea was as smooth as a mill-pond, and the view was exceedingly\nbeautiful, as the sun rose behind the Judean hills.\n\nJaffa looked a very pretty place as we saw it from the deck of the\nsteamer, with its white houses overlooking the blue Mediterranean, a\ngreen circle of orange trees round it, and the quiet hills beyond.\n\nBut we had little time to realise the fact that we were now gazing\nat the very spot from which Jonah took ship for Tarshish, and where\nPeter lodged and saw that wondrous vision, and where Dorcas lived\nand made garments for the poor, in those far-off Bible days. We had\nvery little time for thought of any kind, for, as soon as we came in\nsight of Joppa, numberless boats came out to meet us, as they had done\nat Alexandria, and after the usual tumult we secured one, and were\nrowed to the shore, which was a mile and a half away. This is not at\nall a safe undertaking in stormy weather, for the only entrance to\nthe harbour is a very narrow opening between most dangerous rocks.\nThe harbour of Joppa is a natural one, and has never been improved\nsince the time of Solomon, when the timber, which Hiram out down in\nthe Lebanon, must have been brought to land through this very passage\nbetween the rocks.\n\nWhen we drew near the shore we saw crowds of Arabs waiting for us,\nscreaming and fighting and wrestling in savage earnestness. They seemed\nready to tear us in pieces rather than lose the chance of carrying\nour luggage to the hotel. It really was a terrible sight to those\nunaccustomed to Eastern vehemence. Evelyn was very much frightened and\nclung to her father, and even Sir William seemed agitated and alarmed.\nBut Mr. Stanley's quiet voice reassured us.\n\n\"Oh, it is nothing,\" he said; \"you don't know what Arabs are yet;\nthey always make a noise like this. It is nothing unusual, I assure\nyou,\" he added, laughing, as he fought a passage for us through the\nhowling crowd, and led the way to the little Custom House, which was\nalready crowded with the travellers who had arrived before us. We had,\ntherefore, to wait outside for some time; but Mr. Stanley kept the\nArabs who had followed us at bay, and gave Evelyn a camp-stool to sit\nupon, for she was looking faint and tired, and the heat, even at that\nearly hour, seemed to us to be very great.\n\nAt last the Turkish officer was at liberty to receive the \"baksheesh,\"\nwhich Mr. Stanley had ready for him. He passed our boxes without\nopening them, and we were allowed to proceed to the hotel.\n\nIt was a tiring walk, for the streets of Jaffa are covered with hot,\nburning sand, in which your feet sink every step you take. They are\nvery narrow, and every now and then we looked round to find ourselves\nnearly knocked down by a huge camel, with boxes on its back, which had\ncome noiselessly behind us over the soft sand; or a mule, laden with\nluggage, and rushing frantically along, was determined to pass us, and\npushed its way through our midst in the most resolute manner.\n\nMr. Stanley had advised us to go as far as Ramleh that day, as it is\nforty miles' ride from Jaffa to Jerusalem, and he thought we should be\ntoo tired if we went so far in one day. Accordingly that afternoon, he\nhired horses for us, and we mounted for our first ride in Palestine.\n\nIt was no easy matter guiding our horses through the crowds of Arabs,\nthe strings of camels and mules, and the heaps of filth, in the streets\nof Jaffa. We were glad to leave the town and get into the road, which\ntook us through one of the orange groves by which Jaffa is surrounded.\nEverything looked so strange and Eastern, and the scent of the oranges\nwas delicious. We passed through the Plain of Sharon, and at about five\no'clock in the evening we reached Ramleh, after rather more than four\nhours' ride.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nJERUSALEM.\n\n[Illustration] THERE are some moments in our lives which it is\nimpossible for us to describe. We never forget them, and the impression\nwhich they leave behind never fades from our memories; but still when\nwe try to speak of them to others, even to those whom we love best,\nwords fail us, and seem too weak to express what we mean.\n\nI will not, therefore, attempt to describe what was the rush of feeling\nwhich passed through my heart when, for the first time, I came in sight\nof Jerusalem. Others who have had a like privilege will understand what\nI felt, as Mr. Stanley made us pull up our horses on the top of a hill,\nabout half a mile from the city gate, and said to us, \"Well, what do\nyou think of Jerusalem?\"\n\nNeither Evelyn nor I could answer him. Sir William had many questions\nto ask about the houses and buildings on the road leading to the Jaffa\nGate, but we scarcely heard what they were saying. At that moment, it\nseemed to us a matter of very small importance which was the Austrian\nconsul's house; which was the Pacha's country residence; which was\nthe German deaconesses' school; and which were the Russian church and\nconvent. All these details interested us afterwards, when we were more\nfamiliar with Jerusalem; but at that moment, when we were able, for the\nfirst time in our lives, to say \"This is Jerusalem!\" we had neither\ntime nor thought to spare for any interest in the modern buildings of\nthe city.\n\nWe rode on in silence, seeing, as if in a dream, the crowds of people\ntaking their evening walk on the Jaffa road\u2014people of numerous nations,\nand from every quarter of the globe, dressed in costumes as varied as\nthe colours of the rainbow.\n\nMr. Stanley rode up close beside me as we went through the Jaffa Gate,\nand said, in a low voice, \"I know just how you are feeling, Miss\nLindsay; it is, indeed, a wonderful moment in one's life!\"\n\nWe had some difficulty in getting through the gate, for a number of\ncamels and mules were coming out of the city at the time, heavily laden\nwith baggage. Then we passed the Tower of David, and turned down a\nquiet street, where stood the hotel in which Mr. Stanley had secured\nrooms for us. He took leave of us here, as he was going to lodge at the\nLatin Convent, which was in another part of the city, and where he had\nstayed when he was last in Jerusalem.\n\nThe landlady of the hotel was a Scotch woman, and was very kind and\nattentive. Our rooms were beautifully clean, with white stone floors,\nwhite walls, white curtains before the windows, and white coverings on\nthe beds.\n\nWe did not sleep much that night. The fatigue and excitement which we\nhad gone through the day before would have been sufficient to keep\nus awake; but even had we felt disposed to sleep, I do not think we\nshould have been able to do so, for the noises in the city, during the\nnight, were so many and so varied, that it seemed to us that, under any\ncircumstances, sleep would be very difficult to obtain. Our landlady\nhad told us that she hoped we should not be alarmed at any sound we\nmight hear in the night, for a wedding was going on in a house close\nby, and the festivities would be kept up until the morning.\n\nAccordingly, for many hours we were kept awake by the noise of music\nand singing, by the beating of little drums, and by the shouts and\nlaughter of the wedding party. But as morning dawned the wedding\nguests grew quieter, and we hoped to be able to sleep. Now, however,\nwe were disturbed by the howling and barking of the street dogs, which\nat times was quite deafening. These dogs have no owners, but act as\nthe scavengers of the city, eating anything they can find amongst the\nrefuse and dirt of the streets. Each dog has his appointed place in\nthe city, and there seems to be a code of honour amongst them, that no\ndog is to go into any other quarter of the city except that in which\nhe was born and bred, and in which he ordinarily gets his livelihood.\nImmediately a strange dog from another part of Jerusalem makes his\nappearance he is driven away by the united efforts of all the dogs in\nthe street which he has invaded, with enough noise to awaken the whole\ncity.\n\nPoor Evelyn tossed about very wearily through the night, and I was\nreally afraid that she would be ill again. But her merry spirits seemed\nto keep her up, for she found amusement in all our little discomforts,\nand made me laugh in spite of myself many times during that long,\ntiring night.\n\nAt length a lull came in the barking of the dogs; but now several bells\nbegan to ring in the Greek and Latin convents of the city, and then we\nheard the shouts of muleteers and camel-drivers, and the tinkling of\nthe mule-bells, as different parties of people set off in the cool of\nthe morning for Joppa, or some of the distant villages.\n\nWe got up at eight o'clock tired and unrefreshed. Sir William had slept\nmuch better, and was in good spirits, and very anxious to go out and\nexplore Jerusalem. We needed no dragoman to take us to the various\nplaces of interest, for Mr. Stanley, who knew his way about the city as\nwell as any of the inhabitants did, was very kind, and anxious to help\nus.\n\nI fancied that it was something more than ordinary kindness which\nmade him always so willing to make one of our party. I could not help\nthinking that he was attracted by my dear Evelyn's sweet face and\nwinning ways. Who could help loving her? I said to myself, as I thought\nthe matter over a hundred times during our first day in Jerusalem. I\nnoticed, I could not help noticing, how diligently he kept near us, and\nhow pleased he seemed that Sir William thankfully accepted his offer to\nbe our guide whilst we stayed in the Holy City.\n\nI shall never forget my first walk through the streets of Jerusalem. We\ngrew so familiar, in a few weeks' time, with all the Eastern sights and\nsounds that we scarcely noticed them, but that morning everything was\nstrange and fresh and full of interest.\n\nWe went first across an open square in front of the Tower of David,\nwhere a vegetable market was being held; and chickens and eggs, oranges\nand lemons, were being exhibited for sale by the women from the\nvillages round Jerusalem, and were being bargained for and bought by\nthe townspeople.\n\nMr. Stanley called our attention to the enormous cauliflowers, so large\nthat one of them was sufficient to form the load of a small donkey, and\nso heavy that neither Evelyn nor I could lift them from the ground. We\nwere curious to know how large the pans were in which they were boiled,\nbut Mr. Stanley told us they are always cut in pieces before boiling,\nand that one cauliflower is sufficient to feed a family for a whole day.\n\nThere was so much noise and confusion in this market-place that it was\ndifficult to keep up conversation. No business transaction is done in\nJerusalem without a dispute, so fierce that, if it occurred in England,\nwe should expect it to end in blows. The salesman asks three times as\nmuch for his goods as he expects to receive; and the buyer offers a\nthird of what he knows he will eventually have to give; and then they\nbegin to dispute, and wrangle, and scream, and shout, and swear, and\nstamp their feet, and shake their fists, as if the affairs of a whole\nnation depended upon it. We saw one such business transaction going on\nin a street through which we passed.\n\n[Illustration: IN JERUSALEM.]\n\n\"What is the matter here?\" said Sir William, as he tried to make\nhis way through an angry, excited crowd, who were screaming and\ngesticulating in the most alarming manner, as they clustered round a\ncamel and a camel driver.\n\n\"Oh, nothing at all!\" said Mr. Stanley, laughing, as he listened to\nwhat they were saying. \"That man in the centre of the crowd is buying\na load of charcoal, and he and the owner of the charcoal are disputing\nabout a piastre, more or less, which in English money is about equal to\ntwopence.\"\n\n\"But who are all these other people?\" said Sir William. \"They cannot\nall have an interest in this one load of charcoal.\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" said Mr. Stanley; \"but they happened to be passing at the\ntime, and they have stopped to give their opinion, some taking the part\nof the buyer and some of the seller, and all of them adding to the\ngeneral confusion by shouting and swearing and yelling at the highest\npitch of their voices.\"\n\nWe were glad to get out of the noisy crowd, and to descend a flight of\nsteps in the narrow street.\n\n\"Do you mind coming in here for a minute?\" said Mr. Stanley, as he\nstopped before a clean-looking building, and opened a small door in the\nwall.\n\nWe followed him into a large room, and there we saw a very interesting\nsight. All round the room were Jewesses, in their picturesque dresses,\nsitting on mats on the floor. They were busily engaged with various\nkinds of needlework; and an English lady was going about amongst them,\nsuperintending their work, and teaching them anything which they did\nnot know. We were much interested in all she told us of these poor\nwomen\u2014they are learning by degrees to make their wretched homes bright\nand comfortable, and to make garments for their husbands and children.\nAbove all, they are learning to love the Word of God, which is read\naloud to them as they work, and which is quite a new book to them, for\nthese poor Jerusalem Jewesses know as little of their Old Testament\nScriptures as they do of the New Testament. We gave them several orders\nfor various kinds of lace, which they make most beautifully; and Sir\nWilliam left a donation towards their savings bank, which is doing much\ngood amongst these poor mothers, encouraging them to lay by part of the\nmoney which they earn, as a fund from which they can draw in times of\nsickness or distress.\n\nThen we passed from that room into another part of the building, which\nis used as a girls' school for Jewish children; and it was indeed\npleasant to see their bright happy faces, and to hear their intelligent\nanswers to the questions put to them. Mr. Stanley told us afterwards\nthat there is a good work being done in this mission school\u2014for the\nchildren are carefully and prayerfully taught, and, as the mothers\nof the next generation, will undoubtedly pave the way for missionary\neffort among their nation. The lady who manages the school very kindly\ntook us to see all the different classes, and we were especially\ninterested in a large class of little Spanish Jewesses, natives of\nJerusalem, who are being taught in their own language, and who are\nlearning, little by little and step by step, to know and to love that\nSaviour whom their nation have rejected.\n\nWe left the school, hoping to visit it again another day, and were\nturning round a corner, when Mr. Stanley stopped us, and showed us some\ncurious old stones in the wall of the street. The stones evidently\nformed part of an old archway; and Mr. Stanley told us that it was now\nthought to be the most ancient place in all Jerusalem, being supposed,\nby those who have studied the matter, to have been part of the old city\nof Jebus, where the Jebusites lived before David conquered them, and\nturned their old fortress of Jebus into Jerusalem, the City of David.\n\nAs we turned into the large bazaar in one of the principal streets in\nJerusalem we had great difficulty in getting on, so narrow was the\nstreet, and so crowded with camels, donkeys, mules, and people standing\nbefore each of the curious little shops, bargaining with the shopman\ninside. We were making our way slowly down the street, when I heard a\nwell-known voice behind us, saying:\n\n\"Miss Trafford! This is a surprise!\"\n\nEvelyn and I turned round, and I said involuntarily: \"Claude! Where\nhave you come from?\"\n\nHe told us that he and Alice had been spending a month in Cairo, and\nhad now come to see Palestine. \"But there does not seem to be much to\nsee here,\" he said; \"it is a wretched place after Cairo!\"\n\n\"How long have you been here, may I ask?\" said Mr. Stanley.\n\n\"Just two days now,\" said Claude; \"we think of moving on again\nto-morrow.\"\n\n\"Then you will excuse my saying that you have not begun to see\nJerusalem yet,\" said Mr. Stanley, with the least possible touch of\nsarcasm in his voice.\n\n\"Oh, I don't know!\" said Claude. \"It seems a stupid place. I can't\nthink why so many people come here. But won't you come and see Alice?\"\nhe said, turning to Evelyn. \"She will be delighted to see you.\"\n\n\"By the by, I met a friend of yours in Cairo, Miss Trafford,\" said\nClaude, as we walked in the direction of the Damascus Gate, near which\ntheir tents were pitched.\n\n\"A friend of mine!\" said Evelyn, colouring. \"Whom do you mean?\"\n\nShe thought, and I thought too, that he must have met Donald Trafford;\nand Evelyn was considerably relieved by his answer.\n\n\"It was Lord Moreton; he was there with a party of his friends, staying\nin the same hotel that we were. They were going up the Nile. He told me\nthat you were travelling in the East, but the East is a wide term, and\nI did not expect that we should meet.\"\n\n\"But why do you call Lord Moreton a friend of mine?\" said Evelyn,\nlaughing, though her father looked at her reprovingly.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, Miss Trafford,\" said Claude; \"I thought he was a\ngreat friend of yours. I assure you, he talked so much of you and Sir\nWilliam in the short time that we were together, that I thought\u2014\"\n\nBut Claude did not tell us what he thought, for we had to separate\nat that moment to let a string of laden camels pass by, and the\nconversation took another turn when we were able to walk together again.\n\nClaude and his wife were travelling with a small party under the\nescort of a dragoman, and their tents were pitched in the olive grove\njust outside the northern gate of the city. Alice was very glad to\nsee us, and she, Evelyn, and I had a long talk together as we sat in\npatriarchal fashion at our tent door, whilst the gentlemen paced about\namongst the olive trees, talking to the dragoman, and referring to\ntheir guidebooks.\n\n\"Is it not strange to be in Jerusalem, Alice?\" said Evelyn. \"I feel as\nif I were dreaming.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know,\" said Alice, laughing. \"I have not been much\nimpressed by it. You see, we have become quite accustomed now to\nEastern manners and customs\u2014we saw plenty of them in Cairo; and as for\nthe old ruins and buildings here, they are not nearly so ancient as the\nPyramids. And there is really very little to be seen, after all, except\nby those people who believe the lies that are told them about the holy\nsepulchre, and the tomb of the Virgin, and the manger at Bethlehem. Why\nactually, in one street, in quite a new wall, our dragoman pointed out\nto us a stone which is believed to be the stone that 'would have cried\nout' if the children had held their peace! Such nonsense! I have no\npatience with it!\" said Alice, scornfully.\n\n\"Oh yes,\" said Evelyn, \"I quite agree with you about all those absurd\ntales. I would not walk a hundred yards to see one of those wonderful\nshrines; but, after all, this is Jerusalem, and it was here,\" she added\nin a lower voice, \"that our Lord walked, and preached, and died, and\nwas buried, and rose again!\"\n\n\"Oh yes, of course,\" said Alice, carelessly, as if that fact was but of\nsmall importance to her.\n\n\"And if we really love Him,\" said Evelyn, \"if He is dearer to us than\nany one else, don't you think we must look upon Jerusalem, and those\nplaces He lived in, with a very strange and wonderful feeling?\"\n\nAlice looked at Evelyn in astonishment; she had never heard her speak\nin that way before, and had no idea how much Evelyn was changed since\nshe had seen her last. She made no answer, and I think would have\nturned the conversation to some other subject if Evelyn had not spoken\nfirst.\n\n\"You look surprised, Alice,\" she said; \"you did not expect me to say\nthat, did you?\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" said Alice, laughing; \"I thought that both you and I were\nquite free from all sentimental nonsense. I am afraid Miss Lindsay has\nbeen talking you over to her way of thinking.\"\n\n\"Is it nonsense?\" said Evelyn, gravely, passing over Alice's last\nwords. \"Because if it is not nonsense, surely it is a great reality!\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know,\" said Alice, lightly; \"Claude says the greater part\nof religion is nonsense, and I suppose he ought to know; he has studied\nthe matter, and I have not.\"\n\n\"Oh, Alice,\" said Evelyn, with tears in her eyes, \"if you only knew how\nvery, very happy I have been lately! I never knew before that it was\npossible to be as happy as I am now!\"\n\n\"That may be,\" said Alice, \"and I am not happy. Sometimes I am\nmiserable,\" she said, bitterly, with that grave, sad expression that\nI had seen on her face once before; \"but still I cannot help agreeing\nwith Claude, that it is better not to be comforted at all, than to get\ncomfort out of a lie.\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" I said, \"Mr. Ellis is quite right in that; but the whole\nquestion turns on this: Is the Bible Satan's lie, or God's truth? It\nmust surely be either the one or the other.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Alice, lightly, \"it is too hot to enter into a theological\ndiscussion. I will call the dragoman and get him to send us some\nlemonade: our cook makes it splendidly.\"\n\n\"Poor Alice!\" said Evelyn, when we were left alone in the tent.\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"she is very much to be pitied, for she is not\ncomfortable in her unbelief; she has doubts even about her own\ndoubting.\"\n\nAlice came back to tell us that the gentlemen had planned a ride to the\nMount of Olives, and the dragoman had gone to hire horses for the whole\nparty, so that we might start together from the Damascus Gate as soon\nas it began to be a little cooler.\n\nMeanwhile Mr. Stanley guided us to our hotel. We went back a different\nway, keeping outside the city, till we reached the Jaffa Gate. Sir\nWilliam and I walked first, and Mr. Stanley and Evelyn followed; but as\nSir William was reading his guidebook, which he kept open in his hand\nand consulted as he walked along, I had much time for thought, and once\nor twice I could not help overhearing the conversation which was going\non behind me.\n\n\"So you know Lord Moreton, Miss Trafford?\" I heard Mr. Stanley say.\n\n\"Yes; papa knows him very well, and he likes him very much,\" said\nEvelyn, laughing.\n\n\"And you do not?\" said Mr. Stanley, gravely.\n\n\"Oh, I don't dislike him,\" said Evelyn; \"only I think him very stupid\nand uninteresting.\"\n\nI thought Sir William must have heard this remark; but if he heard it\nhe took no notice of it, but appeared to be deep in his book.\n\n\"Lord Moreton stupid! Lord Moreton uninteresting!\" repeated Mr.\nStanley. \"Then excuse my saying, Miss Trafford, that if that is your\nopinion, I am sure you do not know Lord Moreton: no one who really knew\nhim would ever come to such a conclusion.\"\n\nMr. Stanley had spoken rather warmly, and Evelyn said in an apologetic\ntone: \"I am very sorry, Mr. Stanley. I see Lord Moreton is a friend of\nyours; I did not know you knew him at all.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, smiling, \"we were college friends, and have been like\nbrothers ever since. I think I may say that I know Lord Moreton better\nthan any one else knows him, and the more I know him, so much the more\nI respect him and love him.\"\n\n\"He always seems to me to be so shy and awkward,\" said Evelyn.\n\n\"Yes, so he is with strangers,\" said Mr. Stanley; \"he is a highly\nnervous man; it is his infirmity, and he knows it; but if he can only\nshake off his nervousness, he is quite another man. I wish you could\nhave heard him address a meeting of undergraduates the other day, you\nwould not have believed it was the same man.\"\n\n\"Addressing them! On what subject?\" asked Evelyn, now more astonished\nthan ever.\n\n\"Oh, about personal religion. Lord Moreton has a wonderful power with\nyoung men. He is not at all nervous when speaking to them. It is you\nladies that make him so shy,\" said Mr. Stanley, laughing; \"you are such\nformidable beings!\"\n\n\"Well, I am surprised!\" said Evelyn. \"I could not have believed it, if\nyou had not told me. And he is a real Christian? I am very glad to hear\nit.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"he is a man who lives very near to his God;\nand his one desire and aim is to bring all under his influence to the\nSaviour. Indeed,\" he added, in a lower voice, \"if it had not been for\nLord Moreton, Miss Trafford, I should have been to this day a man of\nthe world; it was his words and his example which first made me decide\nfor Christ.\"\n\nI could hear no more, for we had reached the Jaffa Gate, and had passed\ninto the noisy square in front of the Tower of David.\n\nWhether Sir William had overheard the conversation I did not know. He\nlooked very pleased and half amused as it was going on; but perhaps he\nmay have been reading some interesting anecdote in his guidebook.\n\nMr. Stanley left us at the Tower of David, and we went to the hotel to\nrest until the evening.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nMY OLIVE-LEAVES.\n\n[Illustration] IT was still very hot when we started from the Damascus\nGate and rode in the direction of the Mount of Olives.\n\n\"What a wretched little hillock it is!\" said Claude, as we drew near to\nit. \"It does not deserve the name of hill, much less of mountain.\"\n\nBut to most of us, this \"wretched little hillock\" was the most sacred\nspot on earth. There was no doubt about its identity; \"the mountain\non the east side of the city\" could not be mistaken for any other. No\nvain superstition, no improbable legend had fixed upon this hill as the\nplace where our Lord's feet had so often trod. The hand of time, and\nthe cruel devastations of war, which had laid low the beautiful Temple,\nand made Jerusalem a heap of ruins, had not been able to obliterate\nthis spot, nor to make us doubtful as to whether it were indeed the\nsame Mount of Olives of which we had read so often in the Gospels.\n\nWe crossed the Valley of Jehoshaphat, passed the wall of the so-called\nGethsemane, and began to ascend one of the steep stony paths which led\nacross the mountain to Bethany.\n\n\"Do you know, Miss Lindsay,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"that these paths, on\nthe hillsides, are probably less changed than anything in the whole\ncountry? They must have gone in the same direction years ago, and this\nis, without doubt, the very road our Lord's feet so often trod to and\nfrom the city on His way to Martha's house.\"\n\nI felt as if it were almost too sacred ground. I did not answer him,\nfor I could not have done so without tears. So we rode on in silence, a\nlittle way behind the others, and Evelyn told me afterwards she would\nhave been very thankful to have been with us, for Claude and Alice were\nlaughing and talking the whole way, telling amusing stories of things\nand people in England, and taking little or no notice of the scenes and\nplaces around them. The Mount of Olives was nothing to them!\n\nMr. Stanley rode forward as we came to a turn in the road on the\nshoulder of the hill, and made them all stop and look round at the\ncity: for it is at this place that, when coming from Bethany, Jerusalem\nfirst comes in sight, and there, he said, must have been the very spot\non which our Lord stood when \"He beheld the city and wept over it.\"\n\nEvelyn came close to me and whispered, \"Oh, May, I cannot help it, the\ntears will come; let us go a little way off by ourselves; Claude and\nAlice will chatter so.\"\n\nWe got off our horses, and left them with the dragoman, and went a\nshort distance from the road to a clump of olive trees; and here we\nstood, looking down upon the city. If our Lord wept as He gazed on it\nin its glory, because He saw, in the far distance, the shadow of ruin\nand desolation creeping towards it, how much more should we weep, who\nsaw the once beloved city, the joy of the whole earth, made a very\ncurse amongst men!\n\n\"Look forward as well as backward,\" said Mr. Stanley's voice behind us.\n\n\"Forward to what?\" Evelyn asked.\n\n\"Forward to that day when the Lord will no longer weep over Jerusalem,\nbut will rejoice over her. Do you remember that passage in Isaiah lxv.:\n\n   \"'Be ye glad and rejoice for ever in that which I create: for, behold,\nI create Jerusalem a rejoicing, and her people a joy. And I will\nrejoice in Jerusalem, and joy in My people: and the voice of weeping\nshall be no more heard in her, nor the voice of crying.'\n\n\"You see the Lord will rejoice in Jerusalem Himself, and call upon us\nto rejoice with Him; and surely those who have been one with Him in His\nsorrow will be the ones whom He will call to rejoice with Him in His\njoy.\"\n\n\"Doesn't it remind you of the shepherd's joy,\" I said, \"as he brought\nback his lost sheep, rejoicing himself, and calling together his\nfriends, saying to them,\u2014\n\n   \"'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost'?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" said Mr. Stanley; \"I never thought of that; the two\npassages are wonderfully alike.\"\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Stanley,\" said Evelyn, as he turned round, \"must we go? It is\nso delightful to be here.\"\n\n\"I think we must come again another day, by ourselves,\" said Mr.\nStanley, in a whisper, \"your friends are rather impatient to be moving;\nthey find very little to interest them on the Mount of Olives.\"\n\n\"I am not surprised,\" said Evelyn; \"half the Bible they do not believe\nin, and the other half they do not care for; but, oh dear, I do wish\nthey had not come with us; I did not think we should feel it so much.\"\n\nEvelyn went on, reluctantly, to join her father. Mr. Stanley stayed\nbehind a moment, and gathered a spray of olive-leaves, which he gave to\nme, and asked me to keep it, \"as a remembrance of the place, and of our\ncoming here together.\" I have that spray of olive-leaves now, and shall\nkeep it as long as I live.\n\nSo we went on to Bethany. The road must have taken the same course in\nour Lord's time, for there is a deep valley, and the road runs at its\nhead. And it must have looked just the same then, with the same wild\nflowers growing by the wayside, the same blue mountains of Moab in\nfront, and the same green valley beneath. Mr. Stanley pointed out to me\nsome fig trees, growing close to the road, just as they did when the\nSaviour, hungry with His long walk from Bethany, searched amongst the\nloaves for fruit to refresh him on the way. I had had no idea before\nthat it was so far from Jerusalem to Bethany; He must have been very\nweary as He went backwards and forwards every day of that last, sad\nweek of His life on earth. Only once do we read of Him riding; it was\nall on foot, in the weariness and heat of the day, with the same sun\nbeating on His head as was shining on us at that very moment.\n\nAnd then, as I rode at Mr. Stanley's side, he reminded me of that last\nwalk, when Jesus led His disciples out as far as to Bethany, and we\nwondered if, as they trod this road, they knew that He was so soon to\nleave them, and that it was the last walk that they would take with\nHim. If so, surely they must have been very sorrowful, surely their\nhearts must have been so full of the parting with Him that they must\nhave lost sight, for a little time, of the blessing that parting was to\nbring to them, and the realisation of which was so soon to make them\nreturn, by that very road, to Jerusalem, \"with great joy, praising and\nblessing God.\"\n\nI never enjoyed anything so much as that ride to Bethany; it was very\nquiet and peaceful, for Sir William and Claude were some way in front\nwith the dragoman, and Evelyn, who rode next with Alice, was not much\ninclined for conversation, and kept her laughing companion tolerably\nstill, so that we were not interrupted in our quiet talk together.\n\nThen we came to Bethany, a miserable, wretched, dirty village, and here\na troop of squalid Arabs came out of their houses to look at us, and to\nbeg of us, and a number of noisy dogs barked, and howled, and jumped\nup at our horses' heads, and we were very glad to get as quickly as\npossible out of the narrow, filthy street, and gradually to ascend the\neastern side of the Mount of Olives.\n\n\"I think the Ascension must have taken place somewhere here,\" said\nMr. Stanley; \"it would be just far enough away from the noise of the\nvillage, and such a likely place for them to come to.\"\n\nA lovely view was spread out before us; the village of Bethany lay at\nour feet, and then there stretched far away the great wilderness of\nJudea, and, beyond it, in the far distance, the fertile plain of the\nJordan, like a line of silver running into the deep blue Dead Sea. Then\nthe view was shut in by the grand Moab mountains, standing out like a\nwall against the sky.\n\n\"This is very fine!\" said Claude, as we stood looking at it. \"This is\nwell worth coming to see!\"\n\nIt was the same view that Lot had gazed on; yet where were the cities\nof the plain which he had seen in their glory?\n\nThen we crossed over the top of the mountain, and began to descend\nthe western side, by the very path which David took when fleeing from\nAbsalom, when we read, he climbed up the ascent barefoot, and with his\nhead covered, weeping, as he went, at the ingratitude and cruelty of\nhis son.\n\nWe had a different view now, and yet a very beautiful one. The city of\nJerusalem was lying at our feet, nestling amongst the hills.\n\n\"'As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round\nabout His people from henceforth even for ever,'\" said Mr. Stanley to\nEvelyn and to me, as he rode between us.\n\n\"If we could only remember that,\" said Evelyn, \"how happy it would make\nus!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"it would indeed; but is it not a comfort to\nknow that He is round us, whether we remember it or not? The mountains\ndo not remove, even though the clouds hide them from our sight.\"\n\n\"I shall never forget this ride,\" said Evelyn, after a pause.\n\n\"I am sure I shall never forget it!\" said Mr. Stanley.\n\n\"But I thought\u2014\" said Evelyn.\n\n\"What did you think, Miss Trafford?\"\n\n\"I thought that it would not seem quite the same to you as it does to\nus. I thought you would have become so accustomed to it that you would\nnot enjoy it so much.\"\n\n\"Oh, I never feel 'that' about the Mount of Olives,\" said Mr. Stanley;\n\"other places in Jerusalem, I grant, have somewhat lost their\nsacredness in my eyes, but the Mount of Olives always seems holy\nground. I think we can never forget that this was the last place our\nLord's feet touched before He left us, and that it will be the very\nfirst place they will touch when He comes again; for 'His feet shall\nstand in that day upon the Mount of Olives, which is before Jerusalem\non the east.'\n\n\"And then,\" he added, after a pause, \"I have enjoyed it specially\nto-day.\"\n\n\nClaude and Alice left Jerusalem the next morning, to continue their\njourney through Samaria and Galilee; and we were not sorry to be\nalone when we visited the other deeply interesting places in and near\nJerusalem.\n\nSight-seeing in Palestine is, in this respect, perfectly different from\nsight-seeing in other places; unless there is some communion of heart\nbetween you and those who are with you, unless they love the Book and\nthe Name which make every place around you so sacred, their remarks,\nand indeed the whole tone of their conversation, cannot fail to jar\nupon you, and to be somewhat trying and irksome to you.\n\nAlter they were gone, we thoroughly enjoyed our daily excursions in the\ncity and its neighbourhood. Although Mr. Stanley was comparatively a\nstranger, still we had learnt to know him so well in those few weeks\nthat he seemed more like an old and tried friend! He was a wonderful\nhelp to us in our exploration of the city, for not only did he know\nJerusalem well himself, but he had, during his long stay there, made\nmany friends among the residents in the city, who obtained for us\nadmittance into several places which are closed to ordinary travellers.\n\nOne of these, a German gentleman, was most kind in guiding us to\nseveral very interesting spots, and, amongst others, to Solomon's\nQuarry.\n\n\"Would you like to see Solomon's Quarry?\" said Mr. Stanley to Sir\nWilliam, one day.\n\n\"Solomon's Quarry!\" repeated Sir William. \"Where may that be, pray?\"\n\n\"It is underneath the city,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"and is a most curious\nand interesting place. My friend, who will guide us through it, has\nbeen very active in its exploration, and he has made a splendid plan of\nthe whole place; so that he knows every inch of the way.\"\n\n\"But is it really Solomon's Quarry?\" said Sir William, incredulously.\n\n\"Probably so; for it is evident that stone has been taken out of it for\nsome very great building, and then you remember what is told us of the\nbuilding of Solomon's Temple:\n\n   \"'The House, when it was in building, was built of stone made ready\nbefore it was brought thither: so that there was neither hammer nor axe\nnor any tool of iron heard in the house, while it was in building.'\n\n\"Now we have only to look at the stones which still remain of the wall\nwhich Solomon built round the Temple platform, to see that the stones\nhe used were so enormous, that they could not have been brought from\nany great distance. In order to move them at all, the labour must have\nbeen immense, and it has always been a mystery how such huge blocks\ncould be hewn from any rock within a short distance of the building, so\nthat they could be easily moved to it, and yet be so far away that no\nsound of axe or hammer should be heard in the Temple itself.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Sir William; \"and the discovery of this quarry explains\nthe mystery, for the stones could be hewn and finished underground, and\nthen brought to the surface, and put at once in their proper positions.\nHow very interesting!\"\n\n\"But we have a still stronger reason,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"for feeling\nsure that this is Solomon's Quarry, for there is no other place, in the\nwhole country round, which shows signs of having been used as a quarry,\nfrom which stone could have been taken for any large building; and the\nstone in these underground quarries is, moreover, the very same kind of\nstone as we find in the Temple buildings.\"\n\n\"How very, very interesting!\" said Sir William. \"When can we go there?\"\n\n\"I have arranged with my friend to meet us at the Damascus Gate\nto-morrow morning, if that will suit you,\" he added, turning to Evelyn.\n\nWe had no engagement for the next day, so it was settled that Mr.\nStanley should call for us at eleven o'clock.\n\nBut when the morning came, poor Evelyn was not well enough to go. She\nhad a slight attack of the ague fever, which is so common in Jerusalem,\nand the doctor advised her to keep quiet for a day or two, lest she\nshould have it more severely. I wanted to stay with her, but she would\nnot hear of it, and insisted on my leaving her in Clemence's care.\n\n\"If you don't go, May,\" she said, \"I shall never hear anything\nabout it. Papa never can describe places; now don't be unkind and\ndisobedient, but put on your hat and get ready.\" So, rather against my\nwill, I set forth with the others.\n\nThe gentleman who was our guide was most kind in explaining everything\nto us, and in giving us most varied and interesting information.\n\n\"How were these quarries discovered?\" Sir William asked.\n\n\"In a very curious way,\" he said. \"Not many years ago there was a lad\nshooting rock-pigeons outside the northern wall. He had a dog with him,\nand the dog suddenly disappeared. He had seen it last going behind an\nolive tree which grew at the bottom of the rock on which you see the\nwall is built. He went to look for the dog, and found on the face of\nthe rock quite a small hole, so small that he could not get through\nit himself, though he heard his dog barking inside. So he came back\ninto the city for help, and then the hole was made bigger, and they\ndiscovered this place.\"\n\n\"How very curious!\" said Sir William.\n\n\"Here we are,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"here is the hole; now, Miss Lindsay,\nare you ready to leave the sunshine behind?\"\n\nWe had brought candles with us, and we lighted them and began slowly to\ndescend, crouching for some distance almost on our hands and knees, for\nthere was not room to stand upright. But after we had gone thus for a\nfew yards, we found ourselves in a large, rock-hewn cave, as spacious\nas an immense church, and from this point, passage after passage went\nin different directions.\n\nOur guide led the way and we followed; hall after hall, passage after\npassage, we explored; we went for nearly a mile underneath the streets\nof Jerusalem.\n\n\"Can you picture the scene, 3,000 years ago,\" said Mr. Stanley to me,\n\"when the place was full of Solomon's workmen? Look! Here are the marks\nof their tools in the stone, as fresh as ever. And do you see this?\"\nhe said, as he pointed to a little niche in the wall. \"This is where\nthe workman put his lamp whilst he was at work; you see even the black\nsmoke which the flame left on the stone above is still here.\"\n\n\"How very wonderful!\" I said. \"Oh, Mr. Stanley, it is an interesting\nplace!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, smiling, \"I knew you would like it, that is why I\nwanted so much to come here; it is one of my favourite places, and I\nwanted you to see it. It is a great comfort to me, oftentimes, this\ndeserted quarry.\"\n\n\"How can it be a comfort to you?\" I asked.\n\n\"It is such a wonderful picture,\" he said.\n\n\"A picture of what?\"\n\n\"Is not there a temple being built now?\" he said, gently. \"A far\ngrander and more beautiful one than Solomon's\u2014the temple in the\nHeavenly Jerusalem; you see now?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I answered, \"I think I do; but please tell me; I like to hear\nyour thoughts about it, and why it comforts you.\"\n\n\"Don't you think the dark, dismal quarry is like this world; it is not\na very bright place, is it? And you and I both know what trouble is.\"\n\n\"How did you know that I did, Mr. Stanley?\"\n\n\"I knew it by your face; I can read faces very well,\" he said, smiling;\n\"but though we are both in the dark quarry now, we shall not always\nhave to stay here\u2014for God, the Master Builder, has hewn us from the\nrock, cut us away from old surroundings, and from the old nature. We\nare no longer a part of the old rock, but by God's grace have been\ntaken out of it; do you see?\"\n\n\"You mean when we were converted?\"\n\n\"Yes, and it was a hard wrench at the time, was it not? But we can be\nthankful for the work of the crowbar now.\"\n\n\"But we are still in the quarry,\" I said.\n\n\"Yes, and why? Because the work is not done, we are not yet fit for\nthe Temple\u2014a rough stone would be a disfigurement to God's beautiful\nbuilding\u2014each stone must be cut, and chipped, and faced, and squared\nafter it is hewn out of the rock. Our bad tempers, and habits, and\nunholy thoughts must all, by degrees, be done away with. It is a work\nof time and patience; and it is not always pleasant to feel the pick\nand the chisel at work on us, but it is such a comfort to know in whose\nHand the tool is, and that He can make no mistakes.\"\n\n\"What are the tools?\" I asked.\n\n\"Don't you think there are different tools for different kinds of\nwork?\" he said. \"Look how many tools have been used here. There is the\nmark of a heavy crowbar, which has severed the block from the side\nof the rock. And look here at this stone which has been left on the\nground, you can see the mark of the pick, with which the block was\nbrought a little into shape. And here you can see the marks of the\nfiner tools, the chisels, which were used to give the necessary finish\nto the stones.\"\n\n\"And God's tools?\" I said.\n\n\"Are just as varied, are they not? A great trouble comes\u2014a heavy\nblow like the great crowbar, and separates us from the world. But,\nafter that, day by day, and hour by hour, God must work upon us with\nHis finer tools\u2014small vexations, little crosses, little losses, home\ntroubles; all these, I think, are God's tools, making us ready for a\nplace in the Temple. Don't you think it is a wonderful comfort to look\nupon worries and cares as God's tools?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"that is a nice thought.\"\n\n\"And soon,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"the work will be finished, and then we\nshall leave the dark quarry behind for ever, and be carried to our\nplace in the sunshine and light of the glorious Temple above. So,\nyou see, I was not wrong in saying that this deserted quarry was a\ncomforting place; you will think of it sometimes, will you not?\"\n\n\"Indeed I shall,\" I said.\n\n\"And next time a trouble comes which you cannot understand, and which\nseems so very hard to bear, just say to yourself, 'It is God's chisel\nat work upon me.'\"\n\nI had much to tell Evelyn when I came back to the hotel, and much, very\nmuch, to treasure up in my own heart for use in days to come.\n\nMr. Stanley got for me a piece of stone from the walls of the quarry,\nwith the marks of the chisel upon it, and I put it carefully away, with\nmy spray of olive-leaves.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nA MYSTERY.\n\n[Illustration] THE next morning Evelyn was much better. The fever had\npassed away, but she felt tired and exhausted, so she decided to keep\nquietly in her room until lunch time, as she was very anxious to join\nus in an expedition which Mr. Stanley had planned for that evening. We\nwere to visit an old tomb, which had just been discovered on the road\nto Bethlehem, and in which Mr. Stanley's German friend, Mr. Schwarz,\ntook a great interest. Mr. Schwarz would not be able to guide us\nthere himself, as he was going away from Jerusalem for some weeks on\nbusiness; but he very kindly promised that his daughter would show us\nthe way to the tomb, as Mr. Stanley had never been there before.\n\nEvelyn was most anxious to go with us, so we arranged to start when the\nday began to grow cooler, for Mr. Schwarz said that, as it was not a\nlong ride, we could easily be back before sunset.\n\nI was up very early that morning, and leaving Evelyn in bed, I went\ndownstairs to write an account of our visit to Solomon's Quarry in a\nletter to my sister Maggie. Her aunts took great interest in hearing\nof all the places I was visiting, although they still predicted that I\nshould not come back alive.\n\nI was busy with my letter, sitting at a little table in the window of\nour sitting-room, waiting till Sir William should come downstairs for\nbreakfast, when the door opened and Mr. Stanley came in.\n\n\"Oh, how lovely!\" I exclaimed, as soon as I turned round.\n\nHe had a pretty little basket in his hand, filled with maiden-hair\nferns, scarlet anemones, and cyclamen.\n\n\"Oh, how very beautiful, Mr. Stanley; where did you get them?\"\n\n\"I have been for an early walk in the Valley of Hinnom, and climbing\nabout on the hills on either side. I am so glad you like them; I\nthought you would.\"\n\n\"They are very lovely!\" I said. \"Evelyn will be charmed, she is so fond\nof flowers; I will put them in water, and take them upstairs to her.\nShe is better to-day, Mr. Stanley.\"\n\n\"I am glad of that,\" he said; \"the fever soon passes away if care is\ntaken. But I gathered these flowers for you\u2014if you will have them.\"\n\n\"Thank you, very much indeed,\" I said; \"I did not know they were for\nme; it was very good of you.\"\n\n\"I am so glad you like them,\" he said; \"I could see you were fond of\nflowers the other day on the Mount of Olives. I must be going now;\nwill you tell Sir William I will meet you at the Jaffa Gate, at four\no'clock? There are several people I must see to-day about various\nthings, so I am afraid I must leave you all to your own devices until\nevening. Good-bye, take care of yourself; I don't want you to have\nfever.\"\n\nHe was half-way to the door when he turned back again.\n\n\"There is a little piece of paper here, in the middle of the flowers,\"\nhe said; \"that is for you, for no one else, remember. The verses are\nonly written in pencil; I don't know whether you will be able to make\nthem out. They are only about the flowers,\" he added, smiling; \"you\nwill not be angry, will you?\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" I said; and he was gone.\n\nI put the paper, which I found among the ferns, in my pocket, for\na minute afterwards Sir William entered the room. I gave him Mr.\nStanley's message, and he admired the flowers, and rang the bell for\nwater that I might arrange them before they withered. I did not tell\nhim that they were for me.\n\nAfter breakfast Sir William asked me to read aloud to him the leading\narticles in a copy of the \"Times\" which had arrived by the mail that\nmorning, and so it was some time before I could find an opportunity to\nlook at my paper.\n\nI opened it at last, as soon as I was alone, and read it more than once:\n\n          THE FLOWERS' MESSAGE.\n\n      We grew upon the very hills\n        Where Jesus used to stand;\n      We blossomed on the lonely paths\n        Of God's once Holy Land.\n\n      There is a city near our home\u2014\n        A sad and ruined place\u2014\n      For those who lived within her walls\n        Let slip the day of grace!\n\n      Yet beautiful in all the earth\n        Mount Zion used to be\u2014\n      The city of the Heavenly King,\n        And Israel's glory she!\n\n      Now, filled with misery and sin,\n        Defiled by guilt and shame,\n      And trampled under foot by those\n        Of every creed and name.\n\n      Oh pray, then, for Jerusalem,\n        The city of our birth;\n      Oh shed a tear for her who was\n        The joy of all the earth.\n\n      The ancient promise holdeth good,\n        It hath not been reversed\u2014\n     \"Blessed is he who blesseth thee,\n        And he who hates is cursed.\"\n\n      So we from the Judean hills,\n        This simple message bring\u2014\n     \"Oh pray for poor Jerusalem,\n        The city of the King.\"\n\n   For M. L., from her friend HOWARD STANLEY.\n\nI looked forward very much to that evening ride, and four o'clock\nseemed as if it would never come.\n\nAt last the horses arrived, and Sir William, Evelyn, and I mounted and\nrode to the Jaffa Gate.\n\nMr. Stanley had not come, but Miss Schwarz was there waiting for us.\nWe had been introduced to her the day before, so she came at once and\nspoke to us, and we rode up and down together, looking from time to\ntime at the gate to see if Mr. Stanley were coming.\n\n\"It is very extraordinary,\" said Sir William, \"that he should be late!\nWe have always found him such a very punctual man. Are you sure he said\nfour o'clock, Miss Lindsay?\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" I said, \"quite sure. 'Four o'clock at the Jaffa Gate,' that\nwas what he said.\"\n\n\"Yes, he told me to be here at four o'clock,\" said Miss Schwarz; \"he\nwill come in a few minutes, I should think; shall we ride towards 'the\nbig tree,' as we always call it? It is not really a very large tree;\nbut you see we have no trees that deserve the name in Jerusalem, so it\nlooks very big to us. It is only a little way, and Mr. Stanley will see\nus there, and we shall get some shade.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Sir William; \"you had better go there; I want you to\nkeep out of the sun as much as possible, Evelyn, and I will wait at\nthis corner and catch Mr. Stanley as he comes through the gate.\"\n\nSo we rode down to the big tree, and Miss Schwarz told us how she\nused to come and play there with her little friends when she was a\nchild, and how beautiful and green she thought it till she had been to\nGermany, and had seen the trees in Europe.\n\nWe found Miss Schwarz a very pleasant companion, and the first few\nminutes passed away quite happily; but, as time went on, we began to\nwonder very much why Mr. Stanley did not appear.\n\nAfter about half an hour Sir William came slowly down the road to meet\nus.\n\n\"I cannot see him,\" he said; \"it is very strange! He must have\nforgotten it! I think I will go as far as the Latin Convent, and\ninquire for him.\"\n\n\"I do not think he would forget it,\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, I don't know,\" said Sir William, \"young men often have short\nmemories, and you said he was going to visit various friends this\nmorning. I will just go and inquire for him. Will you ride up and down\ntill I come back? I shall not be long.\"\n\nIt was, however, some time before Sir William reappeared at the Jaffa\nGate, and then he was alone; Mr. Stanley was not with him.\n\n\"Well, papa,\" said. Evelyn, \"did you find our runaway dragoman?\"\n\nSir William looked grave and perplexed.\n\nMy heart beat very fast, for I felt sure that something was the matter.\n\n\"I can't make it out,\" he said; \"he has gone to Jaffa!\"\n\n\"Gone to Jaffa!\" we all exclaimed together.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"the porter tells me, he took a horse early this\nmorning; it must have been soon after you saw him, Miss Lindsay,\nabout ten o'clock the man said, and he went down to Jaffa. The porter\nthinks he was going back to England. I can't understand it; it is very\nstrange!\"\n\n\"What can be the matter?\" Evelyn said.\n\n\"I cannot imagine,\" said Sir William; \"I think he might have let us\nknow. The porter said he did not even take his luggage, but left it to\nbe sent after him by the next steamer. It seems there is a steamer that\nleaves Jaffa for Alexandria to-night, and I suppose he wanted to catch\nthat.\"\n\n\"Did not the man know why he left in such a hurry?\" Evelyn asked.\n\n\"No, he did not seem to know. I asked him if a telegram had arrived\nfor Mr. Stanley, and he said he did not think so, he had not taken\none in; but the man talked such extraordinary French that I could not\nunderstand him very well. I wonder Stanley did not let us know he was\ngoing; it was very thoughtless of him.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he will write from Jaffa,\" Evelyn suggested.\n\n\"Well, I hope so,\" said Sir William; \"but I think he might have let us\nknown before this afternoon, and not have kept us waiting here in the\nsun. I gave him credit for more thoughtfulness. It is a very strange\nthing; I do not like it at all. Well, what are we to do? Miss Schwarz,\nwe ought not to keep you standing here; will it be too late to go to\nthe tomb?\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" she said, \"not at all; it is quite a short ride, we shall be\nback long before sunset. Shall we go at once?\"\n\n\"Yes, I think, perhaps, we had better go,\" said Sir William, with some\nhesitation.\n\n\"You can talk Arabic, I suppose, Miss Schwarz, in case we need an\ninterpreter?\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" she said, laughing, \"as well as an Arab. I could talk Arabic\nbefore I could talk German.\"\n\nSo we set off for the tomb. But we were none of us in very good\nspirits. Sir William was complaining all the way of Mr. Stanley's bad\nbehaviour to us, and Evelyn was defending him to the best of her power,\nand assuring her father that there was certain to be a letter from\nJaffa.\n\nI am afraid that Miss Schwarz must have thought us very dull and\nuninteresting people. She was an exceedingly nice girl, just my own\nage, and, at any other time, I should so much have enjoyed my ride\nwith her. But that afternoon I could not tell what was the matter with\nme, but it was an effort to talk. I roused myself, once or twice, to\ntake an interest in the places and the people that we were passing on\nthe green Bethlehem plain; but I found it very difficult, my thoughts\nseemed to be far away. I was ashamed of myself, and struggled against\nit, and asked Miss Schwarz many questions about the place to which we\nwere going, and she took great pains to explain everything to us, and\nto make our ride pleasant and interesting to us. I hope she did not\nthink us ungrateful.\n\nWe went for some distance along the road to Bethlehem, and then we\nturned up amongst the mountains. It was a very wild, rough road, indeed\nafter a time we had no road at all, but had to cross over ploughed\nfields and the shingle-covered hillsides. The view was splendid; a\nvalley was beneath us, quite surrounded by hills, on the sides of which\nwe could see the remains of many of the ancient terraces. It must,\nindeed, have been a lovely place when it was planted with trees; but\nthe bare, sandy heights were very tiring to the eye, and had it not\nbeen for a few patches of green, and the scarlet anemones and yellow\nBethlehem stars which were peeping up between the stones, the hillsides\nwould have been very uninteresting and monotonous. In the distance we\ncould see the blue waters of the Dead Sea, and the white limestone\nmountains of Quarantania.\n\nAt last we reached a place where there were many ruins, the remains\nof an ancient village; there were several old wells, and stones with\ncrosses carved upon them, which showed that they dated back to the\ntimes of the Crusaders. We passed through these ruins, and Miss Schwarz\ntook us to the side of the hill, where the newly-discovered tomb was to\nbe found.\n\nIt seems that the Arabs, living in a village near, were ploughing on\nthe hillside, and one of them moved a large stone out of the way of\nhis plough. To his astonishment he saw that the stone had covered a\ndeep, dark hole; he went down into this hole and found himself in a\nstone chamber, the masonry of which was quite perfect. Another entrance\nhad been afterwards made into the tomb, and through this Miss Schwarz\nled us. She told us that her father thinks it was a burying-place\nfor Christians in the fifth or sixth century, so it is not very old\ncompared with most of the places in Jerusalem, but it is most curious\nand interesting. There are five stone steps leading down to the door\nof the tomb, and the door itself is made of one block of stone, and is\nstill on its hinges, and moves backwards and forwards most easily.\n\nAll round the chamber were places cut out of the stone for the coffins\nto lie in\u2014there were twelve of these in the principal room, but two\nother smaller chambers, leading out of the first one, contained more\ngraves; these, however, had not been fully opened out when we were\nthere. A large stone was at the mouth of each grave when it was\ndiscovered, and the Arabs had torn these away with the greatest haste,\nhoping to find some treasure buried with the dead. But though they\nopened every grave, they found inside nothing but dust.\n\nWe were just peeping into one of the further chambers, and trying\nto count the number of graves in it, when we heard a great noise\noutside\u2014shouting, and yelling, and jabbering, and, to our great alarm\nand dismay, a number of Arabs rushed into the tomb, shaking their fists\nat us, and screaming at the top of their voices. Sir William was very\nmuch agitated and frightened, for it was a wild and lonely place, far\nout of the reach of any European building or any public road.\n\nWe scrambled out as quickly as we could, followed closely by the\nArabs. Miss Schwarz was haranguing them in Arabic, but as we could\nnot understand either what they were saying to her or she was saying\nto them, we were very much alarmed indeed, and felt sure that they\nintended to rob us, or even to murder us.\n\nWhen we came out of the tomb we were still more terrified, for we saw\nthat some of the Arabs had seized our horses, which we had tied to a\ntree near, and were preparing to lead them away.\n\n\"Oh dear, I wish we had never come!\" said Sir William. \"What shall we\ndo? If I could only talk to these fellows! Don't be frightened, Evelyn\ndarling. What do they want, Miss Schwarz? What do you think had better\nbe done?\"\n\n\"I think they only want money,\" she said, turning away from the Arabs,\nwho were shaking their fists at her most fiercely. \"I will see what\ncan be done. They say we have insulted the sheik of the village by\nentering the tomb without leave, and of course they threaten all sorts\nof dreadful things. But I will manage them; don't be alarmed! Have you\nany money with you, Sir William?\"\n\n\"Yes, a little,\" he said, \"not very much. How much will they want?\"\n\n\"Oh, they shall not have very much,\" she said. \"Have you a mejedie? It\nis a large Turkish coin\u2014larger than half a crown; it is worth about\nthree and sixpence.\"\n\n\"Yes, I think I have,\" he said; \"I will look.\"\n\n\"No, not now, please,\" she said; \"wait a minute or two.\"\n\nSo she had another long conversation with the Arabs, and then, to our\nastonishment, they brought up our horses, and helped us to mount in\nthe most gallant manner. Then, when we were quite ready to start, Miss\nSchwarz turned to Sir William.\n\n\"They may have the mejedie now,\" she said; \"if you will give it to me,\nI will hand it to the sheik, and he will divide it amongst them.\"\n\nFor they were all holding out their hands greedily to Sir William to\nreceive the coin.\n\n\"Now it is all right,\" she said; \"let us ride on quickly.\"\n\n\"You are a splendid dragoman, Miss Schwarz!\" said Sir William. \"How did\nyou manage them so well?\"\n\n\"Oh, I threatened them with the English consul, and the German consul,\nand with the Pacha, and with all sorts of other authorities,\" she said,\nlaughing. \"I knew they would not dare to hurt us; they would never hear\nthe last of it if they did. And, besides, the sheik knows my father\nwell, and as soon as I mentioned his name they became very civil. I\nhope you did not mind giving them the mejedie, Sir William; but I\npromised them a little reward if they were good.\"\n\n\"Oh, not at all,\" he said, laughing; \"it was a cheap way of getting\noff! They would not get much each, poor fellows!\"\n\n\"Oh, quite plenty,\" said Miss Schwarz; \"if they had been more civil\nwe might have given them a little more. I hope you were not very much\nfrightened, Miss Trafford.\"\n\n\"Oh, only a little,\" said Evelyn; but she looked pale and tired, and we\nwere all very glad to get safely back to the hotel.\n\nEvelyn lay on the sofa in the sitting-room all the evening, and I sat\nbeside her, whilst Sir William went into the coffee-room and discussed\nthe adventures of the day with a party of English travellers who had\narrived that evening from Jaffa.\n\nMy beautiful ferns and flowers looked withered after the heat of\nthe day, so I gave them fresh water, and pressed one or two of the\nprettiest in blotting-paper. Then I sat down beside Evelyn, with my\nwork in my hand, but I did not feel inclined to sew. I felt very\ndull and depressed, and Evelyn seemed so likewise. I said to myself\nthat it was only the reaction after the excitement and fright we had\nexperienced that afternoon, and yet I felt that, after all, that was\nnot the real reason.\n\nWas it because\u2014could it be because\u2014Mr. Stanley had gone away?\nFor, after all, he was only a stranger; a pleasant\u2014yes, a very\npleasant\u2014travelling companion, who had been very kind and useful to\nus when we were in his company, but who would think no more of us now\nthat he had gone away. Like ships meeting on the sea, we had gone side\nby side for a little time, but now we had parted\u2014probably near to meet\nagain. That was all; it was nothing to be dull or miserable about. And\nI was quite angry with myself for having given way to the feeling of\ndepression which had crept over me. I tried to think of my work, of\nMaggie, of our encounter with the Arabs in the tomb, of anything but of\nMr. Stanley's mysterious disappearance!\n\nBut, somehow or other, I could not tell why, my thoughts would come\nback to it, in spite of all my efforts to turn them to other subjects.\nI could not help wondering whether Evelyn was thinking of the same\nthing. Why was she so quiet this evening? Could it be that she missed\nMr. Stanley? Was I right in fancying that was the reason? Did she\nreally care for him more than for an ordinary acquaintance?\n\nI looked up at her, and found she was watching me, with a curious\nexpression on her face\u2014half amused, half inquiring. I rather resented\nit, I am afraid, and looked down again quickly, and went on steadily\nwith my work.\n\n\"It will all come right, May, dear,\" she said, after a pause.\n\n\"What will come right, Evelyn?\" I asked. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I mean about Mr. Stanley's mysterious disappearance,\" she said,\nsmiling; \"I am sure we shall get a solution of the mystery in a day or\ntwo.\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" I said, carelessly; \"we shall have to find another dragoman;\nthat is the only drawback.\"\n\n\"The only drawback!\" she repeated.\n\n\"You don't think so,\" I said.\n\n\"You don't think so either, May,\" she said; \"I know you don't.\"\n\n\"Well, perhaps not,\" I said. \"How close it is to-night, Evelyn! Would\nyou mind me taking a little walk on the verandah outside the window\u2014to\nget cool before bed-time?\"\n\n\"Oh, not at all,\" she said, smiling; \"go, May, dear, it will do you\ngood.\"\n\nSo I left my work and went outside the window.\n\nIt was a quiet, starlight night, and the stars in the East are\nwonderfully brilliant and beautiful. I walked up and down for some\ntime, not exactly thinking, not exactly praying, but with my heart\nlifted upwards, above this changing world, to the unchanging Friend\nabove. And an answer came to that upward appeal. It came in the\nrecollection of some words I had heard a few days before:\n\n\"'Next time a trouble comes which you cannot understand, and which seems\nso very hard to bear, just say to yourself it is God's chisel at work\nupon me\u2014you will find it such a help.'\"\n\nAnd it was a help to me; the very help that I needed\u2014God's chisel at\nwork upon me, then I must not complain; I must not murmur; I must not\neven wonder; I must just trust and wait.\n\nLooking up at the bright starry sky, I said, in the words of a\nfavourite verse:\n\n     \"He doeth all things well,\n      We say it now with tears;\n    But we shall sing it with those we love,\n      Through bright eternal years.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nSUNDAY ON MOUNT ZION.\n\n[Illustration] THE next day was Sunday, and I think we were all glad of\nthis. Sir William felt unable to make any plans without Mr. Stanley's\nadvice, but as we had already been several times to the pretty little\nEnglish church, we had no difficulty in knowing how to spend our time\non Sunday.\n\nThe service began at ten o'clock, so we were up early and started for\nchurch directly after breakfast. I felt comforted and rested during the\nservice, and hoped to got just the message I needed from the sermon. I\nmust confess I was somewhat disappointed when the text was given out,\nfor it seemed to me that no comfort or help could be found in it. It\nwas a singular text, and one I had never noticed before. The preacher\nwas a German by birth, but he spoke English as if it had been his\nnative language. We were told afterwards that he was a converted Jew,\nand the missionary to the Jews in Jerusalem.\n\nThe text was from Leviticus xxiii.40:\n\n   \"Ye shall take you the boughs of goodly trees, branches of palm trees,\nand the boughs of thick trees, and willows of the brook; and ye shall\nrejoice before the Lord your God seven days.\"\n\nThe clergyman first answered the thought which I had had in my heart,\nthat there was no lesson for me in the text, by showing that all God's\nword was written for our learning, and that these Jewish feasts and\nceremonies were wonderfully suggestive and helpful, if we looked into\ntheir real meaning and significance.\n\nThe text contained directions for the Feast of Tabernacles, the feast\nof joy. It came after the Day of Atonement, after pardon had been\nobtained, after sin had been put away. First must coma forgiveness,\nthen follows joy; pardon first, rejoicing afterwards.\n\n\"And in the text,\" he said, \"we are given four conditions under which\nalone the joy of the Lord can be ours; four characteristics of the true\nChristian, who can alone rejoice before his God.\"\n\nI felt in my own heart, as he was speaking, how little I knew of the\ntrue joy of the Lord. I was so easily cast down by little earthly\ntroubles and worries, and I so soon lost the happiness and peace of\nfeeling the Lord's presence with me, and the Lord's smile upon me. The\nlast two days, for instance; oh, how depressed and miserable I had\nfelt! Could it be that I was overlooking and neglecting one of the four\nthings pictured in the text?\n\nThen the sermon went on to show that although these four kinds of trees\nmeant nothing to our English ears, they meant a very great deal to the\nmen to whom the direction was given, for, to them, each kind of tree\nwas a word-picture of some particular grace. Just as we speak of the\ninnocent daisy, the humble lily of the valley, the modest violet; and\njust as we take these flowers as emblems to us of innocence, humility,\nand modesty; and just as we talk of \"a butterfly life,\" and every one\nknows at once what we mean,\u2014so in the same way, the Jews had emblematic\nmeanings for different trees, and flowers, and other things in nature,\nand they understood perfectly well what was symbolized when these trees\nor flowers were mentioned.\n\nThe four kinds of trees in the text had a very deep and beautiful\nmeaning for them. The goodly trees, or citron trees, were their emblem\nfor a pure and true heart; the palm trees were a picture to them of\nuprightness and bold straightforwardness. The thick trees, or myrtle\ntrees, were their symbol of contentment. The myrtle leaf was supposed\nto be in the shape of an eye, and was always used by them as the emblem\nof a modest and contented eye. The willows of the brook were to them a\npicture of a mouth filled with words of kindness and truth. The leaves\nof the willow were thought to be in the shape of a mouth, and they were\nmost particular that only those willow trees should be used in the\nFeast of Tabernacles as had smooth, soft leaves. Those of a sharp and\nprickly nature, and the edge of the leaves of which is rough like a\nsaw, were never allowed to be gathered or used in this ceremony, that\nthey might understand thereby, that in order to have true joy they must\nset a watch before their mouth, and only suffer words of truth and\nkindness to come out of it.\n\nFour characteristics then were at once brought to their minds, when the\ndirection in the text was given. The Israelites understood at once,\nthat to be able really to rejoice in the Lord they must have a heart\npure towards God, they must be upright as the palm-tree, they must be\ncontented as the myrtle, and they must have mouths ever speaking words\nof kindness and truth.\n\nAnd then he asked us to examine ourselves by these four tests. Were we\nkeeping the door of our hearts, guarding it against all evil thoughts,\nevil motives, evil desires? Were we also upright before God and man,\ngrowing ever heavenward, Godward?\n\nWere we contented and happy to be just where God placed us, and to\ndo just the work that God had chosen for us to do? And how about our\nwords; were we careful to be strictly truthful in every little matter?\nAnd did we guard against ever letting unkind or hasty words come out\nof our mouth? \"If not,\" he said, \"how could we expect to be able to\nrejoice before the Lord?\"\n\nI have not time to write down more of the sermon now, but I felt it\nvery much; it went straight to my heart, and made me feel that it was\nmy own fault that I was so seldom in a rejoicing frame of mind. Oh, how\nearnestly I prayed that I might be more careful over my heart, that\nI might be upright as the palm, contented as the myrtle, and that my\nwords might ever be acceptable in the sight of my Lord.\n\nA few days afterwards, as we were sitting at breakfast, the waiter came\ninto the room with a letter. Sir William looked at the postmark.\n\n\"Alexandria!\" he said. \"Well, I am glad he has written at last!\"\n\n\"Is it from Mr. Stanley, papa?\" asked Evelyn.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"I should think so; I do not know any one else who is\nlikely to be in Alexandria!\"\n\nHe opened the letter, and glanced hastily at its contents. Then he took\nup the envelope, and looked at it again; then he turned once more to\nthe first page of the letter and began to read it through.\n\nEvelyn and I sat watching him. I tried to go on with my breakfast, but\nI felt as if the food would choke me, for Sir William looked more and\nmore impatient and annoyed as he went on reading.\n\nWhen he had finished, he tossed the letter on the table, saying\nangrily, \"He is a good-for-nothing rascal!\"\n\nI looked up quickly, and Evelyn asked in a trembling voice:\n\n\"Who is, papa\u2014not Mr. Stanley?\"\n\n\"No, not Mr. Stanley,\" he said; \"at least he may be; I do not know that\nhe is; but that cousin of yours, Donald Trafford\u2014the letter is from\nhim. An idle good-for-nothing rascal, that is what he is! And I shall\ntell his father so when I see him!\"\n\n\"Let me have the letter, papa,\" said Evelyn. She was as white as a\nsheet, and trembling with agitation.\n\n\"Well, don't trouble about it, darling,\" said Sir William, in quite\na different tone from that in which he had spoken before; \"he is not\nworth troubling about; he really is not. If I could only get you to see\nthat. Here, take the letter, I suppose I shall have to let you see it;\nbut don't make yourself ill again, for my sake!\"\n\nEvelyn took the letter and read it slowly through. As she read it a\ndeep crimson flush came into her pale face; but this faded away and\nleft her as white as death when she had finished reading. Then she rose\nfrom the table, without speaking a word, left the letter lying beside\nher plate, and went out of the room.\n\nI was rising to follow her when Sir William said:\n\n\"Wait a little, Miss Lindsay, perhaps she will get over it better\nalone; if she has a good cry, it will do her good. Poor child, what a\npity she ever took a fancy to that worthless fellow! Read his letter,\nMiss Lindsay, and tell me what you think of it.\"\n\nI took it up, and read as follows:\n\n   \"My DEAR UNCLE,\n\n   \"I have no doubt you think that I am in Port Said, though I did\ncontrive to keep out of your way during your short stay in that\ndelightful place.\n\n   \"But I am not there now, but have removed to a town many miles distant,\nwhich I will not name, lest you should feel it your duty to report me\nin England.\n\n   \"I should not have troubled you with a letter, but that I wanted to\nask you to lend me a trifling sum to start me in business in the\ntown in which I am now living. I have had the offer of a first-rate\npartnership, which will enable me soon to become a rich man, but it is\nnecessary that I should advance something in the shape of capital. My\npartner asks for \u00a3100, but I think he will be content with \u00a350, if you\nare not inclined to forward me the larger sum.\n\n   \"I am sure, dear uncle, you will not refuse to grant this trifling\nrequest, when I tell you that I have a wife depending on me, and that\nunless I can avail myself of this opening (which is really a splendid\none), there is nothing but starvation before us both.\n\n   \"As I am now a married man, there is no chance of my again being an\nannoyance to you, so I feel sure you will not deny me this small and\nlast favour.\n\n   \"Please address to 'Monsieur Jun\u00f4t, Post Office, Alexandria.' M. Jun\u00f4t\nis my wife's brother; she is a French girl, and he will call for the\nletter, and forward the remittance to me.\n\n   \"With love to Evelyn and yourself,\n\n       \"Believe me, dear uncle,\n\n              \"Your affectionate nephew,\n\n                                \"DONALD TRAFFORD.\"\n\n   \"P.S.\u2014You will wonder how I knew you were in Jerusalem. I met a\ndragoman the other day who was on board the same steamer with you, and\nhe heard that you were to spend a long time in Jerusalem.\"\n\n\"Did you ever hear anything like that?\" said Sir William, as I folded\nup the letter. \"Is not that a piece of cool impertinence?\"\n\n\"He does not seem much ashamed of himself,\" I could not help saying.\n\n\"Ashamed of himself! No, indeed! There is not a word about his running\noff with that money. He is an idle, selfish, good-for-nothing fellow!\nAnd he was always the same; it was always a mystery to me what Evelyn\ncould see to like in him. Poor child, I hope it will not make her ill\nagain!\"\n\n\"Oh no, I think not,\" I said; \"I think she sees now what his real\ncharacter is.\"\n\n\"I hope so,\" he said, anxiously; \"perhaps if you went upstairs you\ncould say a word or two to comfort her. You know best\u2014do you think we\nshould leave her alone or not?\"\n\n\"I think I will just go upstairs and see,\" I said.\n\nTo my astonishment I found Evelyn sitting in her room busily at work,\nand looking quite calm and cheerful. I fancied she had been crying\na little, but she welcomed me with a smile, and asked me if I had\nread Donald's letter. I told her that Sir William had wished me to do\nso, and then she asked me what I thought of it. I did not answer her\ndirectly, for I did not like to say what I really thought.\n\n\"I will tell you what I think of it,\" she said, \"and I shall tell papa\nwhen I go downstairs. I think it is a shocking letter. I cannot think\nhow Donald could ever write it! But May,\" she said, \"please don't think\nI am troubling about it. I had given up loving Donald some time ago,\never since I found out that he was so very different to what I always\nthought he was; but I pitied him dreadfully. I thought he would be so\nmiserable and wretched, and feel so guilty and ashamed when he thought\nabout his having taken that money. I always pictured him wishing, oh,\nso much, that he had never done it, and trying very hard to save his\nmoney so that he might be able to pay it back again. But now, May,\nI can do neither; I can neither love him nor pity him; he does not\ndeserve either love or pity, does he?\"\n\n\"No, he does not,\" I said; \"the only thing for which we can pity him is\nfor his wickedness.\"\n\n\"Just think of his marrying a French girl,\" she said. \"I wonder if\nit is the one who waited on us in the shop in Port Said. Well, I am\nglad he wrote that letter; it is far better to know what he really is.\nI can't think how I could be so much deceived in him. I am afraid I\ncannot read people's characters very well. But do not let us talk about\nhim any more to-day, May; the trouble has quite gone, it has indeed,\nbut I do not like to talk about it; let us speak of something else.\"\n\nSir William was very much relieved to find that Evelyn was in good\nspirits, and that she took his view of Donald Trafford's conduct. He\nwas still very much ruffled and annoyed by the letter, and was, in\nconsequence, fidgety and impatient with the world in general all day.\nNot liking to speak about his nephew for fear of distressing Evelyn, he\ngave vent, instead, to his feelings about Mr. Stanley's disappearance.\n\n\"Mr. Stanley evidently did not intend to write now,\" he said; \"it was\none of the strangest things he knew, his going off in that way. It just\nproved what he had always heard, that it does not do to make friends\nwith people whom you meet whilst travelling. It is impossible to tell\nwhat they are, and you may be imposed upon to any extent.\"\n\n\"Oh, papa,\" said Evelyn, \"what do you mean? Surely you do not mean that\nAir. Stanley imposed upon us?\"\n\n\"Well, I don't say that he did,\" said Six William; \"but I say that\nwe don't know that he did not. You must confess that it was a very\nsuspicious thing his disappearing so suddenly, and never giving us a\nhint as to where he was going. I don't like it at all.\"\n\nI longed to speak, but I felt as if I could hardly trust myself to do\nso, for I might have said more than I intended, if I had opened my\nlips. So I left the defence to Evelyn, and she took it up indignantly.\n\n\"It is really too bad, papa,\" she said, \"to speak of Mr. Stanley in\nthat way! I think he is one of the nicest and best men I have ever\nseen.\"\n\n\"So he seemed to be, I grant,\" said Sir William; \"but how do we know\nwho he is, or what he is? We only know it from what he told us himself;\nand that may be true\u2014I hope it is\u2014or it may be false. That is why it\nis very foolish ever to be too friendly with people you meet when\ntravelling; they may be all they profess to be, or they may not.\"\n\n\"But Mr. Stanley is a great friend of Lord Moreton, papa,\" said Evelyn;\n\"I know he is. He told me he was the day Claude and Alice were here.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know he told you so,\" said Sir William; \"I never heard Lord\nMoreton mention him.\"\n\n\"Will you not write and ask Lord Moreton, papa? It is quite worth\nwhile, and then we shall know one way or the other.\"\n\n\"Yes, perhaps I will,\" said Sir William; \"that will settle the matter\nanyhow; perhaps Lord Moreton may be able to clear up the mystery.\"\n\nThe next day was the mail day, and Sir William gave me his letters\nto take to the man who was going to post them. I looked through the\naddresses as I went downstairs, but there was none to Lord Moreton: he\nhad forgotten it.\n\nWe did not much enjoy our visit to Jerusalem after Mr. Stanley left us.\nWe had very cold and cheerless weather, and the bare stone floors and\ncovered stones were poor substitutes for the richly-carpeted rooms and\nbright blazing fires in Alliston Hall. Then during the cold weather it\nrained incessantly the whole day, and the rain was far heavier than we\never see it in England. We were obliged to keep indoors in the hotel,\nlistening to the sound of the water which was rushing down the spouts\nof the house into the cisterns, in which it was carefully preserved for\nuse during the following summer, and trying to amuse ourselves as best\nwe could with our work, and the few books to be found in the hotel. Sir\nWilliam became very impatient, and a great longing came suddenly over\nhim to go homewards. He was tired of foreign travelling, and foreign\nplaces, and foreign hotels, he said, and Evelyn seemed so well and\nstrong, that he thought there could be no risk in her returning to\nEngland.\n\nEvelyn and I assented cordially to the proposal, so it was decided to\nleave Jaffa by the very next steamer.\n\n\nWe visited many places in Italy and Germany, and spent a long time on\nthe return journey; for Sir William was afraid, for Evelyn's sake, of\narriving, in England till the spring had fairly begun.\n\nI was very much interested in a great deal that we saw, and yet I did\nnot enjoy it nearly so much as I had always imagined I should enjoy a\ntour on the Continent. I felt unsettled and restless, and longed to be\nback in England.\n\nWe stayed for some weeks in London before going to Alliston, for Sir\nWilliam had some business that he was anxious to transact, before\nreturning home. London was bright and gay just then, and we enjoyed our\nvisit to it very much. But what gave me more pleasure than anything\nelse was meeting Miss Irvine again. Her home in London was in the next\nstreet to the one in which we were staying, and we saw her every day.\n\nWe were much interested in hearing of the work for God that Miss Irvine\nwas doing in one of the very poorest and lowest of the London parishes.\nShe spoke very little of it herself, but we found out by degrees that,\nduring the last few months, a most wonderful work, of which she was the\ncentre, had been going on amongst the poor lost people who are crowded\ntogether in the alleys and courts of that part of London.\n\nWhilst we were there, a tea was to be given to the women who attended\nher mothers' meeting. Their husbands were also invited, for she hoped\nby this means to be able to reach many whom it was impossible to see or\nto speak with in any other way.\n\nMiss Irvine asked us, the day before the tea took place, whether we\nshould like to be present. Evelyn accepted her invitation joyfully, but\nSir William demurred a little when he heard of it.\n\n\"I don't like your going into those low parts of the city, my dear,\" he\nsaid to Evelyn; \"in your state of health you ought to be careful. There\nare sure to be people there just recovering from fever or small-pox,\nand it can't be good for you to go through those dirty, filthy, close\nstreets.\"\n\nEvelyn looked very much disappointed.\n\n\"I want so very much to see Lilla's poor people, papa,\" she said.\n\nHe was going to answer her, when Miss Irvine said, \"Perhaps if Evelyn\ndoes not come, you will look in for a few minutes, Sir William? Lord\nMoreton is going to give them a little address after tea, and he would\nlike to meet you.\"\n\nSir William fell into the snare she had laid for him.\n\n\"Lord Moreton!\" he exclaimed. \"How did you get him to come? Why, he is\nnot in town now.\"\n\n\"No, but he is coming up for my tea-party,\" said Miss Irvine, laughing;\n\"he takes a great interest in my little mission work; indeed, if it had\nnot been for Lord Moreton I could not have carried it on. He supplies\nthe means, whilst I try to find the workers. He hires the room for me\nin which I have all my meetings, and in which the tea will be given\nto-morrow night.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" said Sir William. \"I had no idea of that. And you say he is\ngoing to give you an address?\"\n\n\"Yes, he has promised to say a few words to the mothers; he has\nspoken to them before, and they felt it very much. He puts the way of\nsalvation so simply before them that it seems to go straight to their\nhearts.\"\n\n\"Well, I really think we must go and hear him. Evelyn, my dear, I don't\nthink it will hurt you if you do not dress too warmly; those places are\nalways so close. We will drive there and keep the windows closed, so\nthat the foul air of the streets will not come in. What time shall we\nbe ready, Lilla?\"\n\nAll arrangements were made, and Evelyn and I both looked forward with\nmuch pleasure to the following evening.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nTHE MYSTERY SOLVED.\n\n[Illustration] MISS IRVINE'S mission-room was a bright, cheerful place,\nand was very prettily decorated for the festive occasion. Texts cut out\nin red and in white paper, and wreaths of holly and ivy ornamented the\nwalls; and the long tables, covered with white cloths, were spread with\na most beautiful repast, which was arranged as prettily and tastefully\nas if it had been set out for a wedding breakfast.\n\nThe guests had all arrived when we went in, and were sitting at the\ntables, quietly admiring all around them. Poor tired mothers, many of\nthem with babies in their arms; husbands, whose faces bore marks of\ncare and toil, and many of whom showed plainly that drink and sin were\nbearing them down, and ruining their health and their homes; children,\nwith pinched and unchildlike faces, were all gathered round the pretty\ntea-tables, looking forward to a happy evening in their unhappy lives.\nMost of the men were in working clothes, for they possessed no other's\nin which to come; but they had all made themselves as clean and tidy as\nthey could, and seemed shyly and quietly happy.\n\nThey began to feel more at their ease when a blessing was asked, the\ntea was poured out, and we all sat down together. Then the tongues\nbegan to be busy and their poor, careworn faces looked glad and happy.\n\nLord Moreton was there, working busily, looking after the wants of\nevery one of the poor people, and talking pleasantly to them all\nthe time. He was a tall man, with dark hair; and I thought him very\nhandsome indeed, in spite of the slight cast in his eye of which Evelyn\nhad complained so much. But it was so very slight that it was not\nat all unpleasant, and I wondered that she had considered it such a\ndrawback to his face.\n\nHe came up to us as soon as we entered the room, and seemed very\npleased to meet Sir William and Evelyn. But we had little time for\nconversation till the work of the evening was over.\n\nAfter tea came Lord Moreton's address. It was very simple, and very\nmuch to the point, and I could see that the poor people felt it. He\nspoke to them of the love of Jesus, and how He was longing and yearning\nto save them; how He was following them like the shepherd after the\nlost sheep, seeking them by night, seeking them by day, seeking them in\nsickness, seeking them in health, seeking them in their sin and trouble\nand misery, ever seeking them, ever longing for them to turn round and\nlet Him find them.\n\nAnd then Lord Moreton begged them to turn round to Him that very night,\nto leave drink behind, to leave sin behind, to leave shame behind, to\nturn their back on Satan and all his ways, to turn round to the Good\nShepherd, and to say to Him, \"Lord Jesus, save me.\"\n\nThere were very few dry eyes when Lord Moreton had finished. He did\nnot show his nervousness at all when he was speaking. I fancied that\nhis hand trembled a little, but his voice was clear and steady, and he\nspoke so naturally and unaffectedly that you forgot the man altogether,\nand became engrossed only with what he was saying. There was something\nin his quiet, persuasive, pleading manner which it would require a hard\nheart to withstand. I could see that Evelyn felt it very much, though\nshe made no remark upon it afterwards.\n\nWhen the poor people had left, and only the helpers remained in the\nroom, we had more time for conversation. Then, for the first time, I\nsaw that Lord Moreton was indeed a very nervous man. He was so shy and\nreserved when he first came up to us, that I could hardly believe he\nwas the man who had spoken so easily and naturally to the poor people.\n\nBut Sir William soon set him at ease, by telling him of our journey to\nthe East, and of some of our adventures whilst we were there.\n\n\"You met a friend of mine in Jerusalem, I think,\" Lord Moreton said.\n\n\"Oh yes, you mean Mr. Stanley,\" said Sir William, as if he had never\ndoubted, for a moment, Mr. Stanley's friendship with Lord Moreton.\n\"He proved a capital guide to us; we were sorry he had to leave so\nabruptly.\"\n\n\"Yes, poor fellow,\" said Lord Moreton; \"it was a very great shock to\nhim.\"\n\n\"What was a great shock to him?\" asked Sir William. \"We never heard why\nhe left Jerusalem so suddenly.\"\n\n\"Oh, did you not?\" said Lord Moreton. \"He told me that he had written\nto you, and I think he was a little disappointed that he did not get\nan answer. It was on account of his father's illness. I sent him a\ntelegram to tell him how dangerously ill his father was, and he left\nJerusalem immediately he received it. But he was too late; his father\nhad been dead some days when he arrived. Poor fellow, it was a terrible\ntime for him!\"\n\n\"I am really very sorry,\" said Sir William; \"I had no idea that he\nwas in such trouble; it seemed strange to us, as you may imagine, his\ndisappearing so suddenly, and without any reason, so far as we knew.\"\n\n\"Yes, of course it would,\" said Lord Moreton; \"he will be very vexed\nwhen he finds his letter did not reach you. He is such a nice fellow;\nhe is just like a brother to me. The Stanley's place is close to ours,\nso we see a great deal of each other, and of course we shall be more\nthan ever together now that Howard has come into the property; for he\nwill be still more at home now.\"\n\n\"I am very sorry to hear of his father's death,\" said Sir William again.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Lord Moreton; \"and you would have felt it very much if\nyou had seen his grief when he arrived, and I had to tell him that his\nfather was gone; it was very sad. His mother died a few years ago, and\nthere were no other children, so he and his father had been all in all\nto each other. Howard was very unwilling to go abroad this year, for he\nfancied his father was failing a little; but the old man insisted on\nhis going, for Howard had a severe illness just this time last year,\nand the doctors said he would not be strong again until he had had a\ncomplete change. It was very sad, was it not, that it ended as it did?\"\n\n\"Poor fellow!\" said Sir William. \"Can you give me his address? I should\nlike to write to him, and express my sympathy, and explain why I did\nnot write before.\"\n\n\"Yes, I will give it to you at once,\" said Lord Moreton, as he took\na leaf from his pocket-book, wrote the address, and handed it to Sir\nWilliam. \"Stanley is very busy now, of course, settling his affairs,\nbut in a month's time I have persuaded him to go with me for a run in\nthe Highlands; I am sure it will do him good.\"\n\n\"In the Highlands!\" said Sir William. \"Then you will, of course, come\nto us on the way, both of you. And remember, we shall not be content\nwith a three day's visit; you must spare us a week or ten days at\nleast.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you,\" said Lord Moreton; \"that will be very nice!\"\n\n\"I will write to Mr. Stanley about it to-morrow. Just name your own day\nwhen your plans are formed; we are expecting no visitors at present.\"\n\nSo it was all settled, and Lord Moreton said good-bye to us, for he was\nto leave town by the early train the next day.\n\n\"Well, papa,\" said Evelyn, as we drove home, \"Mr. Stanley was not an\nescaped convict after all.\"\n\n\"I never said he was, my dear; I always thought him a remarkably nice\nfellow; only, of course, his sudden disappearance was a little puzzling\nand somewhat mysterious. If we had only got his letter it would have\nbeen all right!\"\n\nThen Sir William changed the subject, by complimenting Miss Irvine on\nthe success of her entertainment, and speaking very highly of Lord\nMoreton's forcible address.\n\n\nWe went back to Alliston the following week, and, to my great joy, Sir\nWilliam proposed that I should go at once to the old Manor House at\nBranston to see Maggie. The aunts were delighted to have me, so I went\nthere the day after I had received their letter. I found everything in\nthe house and around it just the same as when I had left it. The same\nneatness and order and punctuality and regularity reigned everywhere,\nand the same kindly feeling pervaded the whole place.\n\nMy dear little Maggie was on the platform to welcome me, and John\nand the comfortable horses were waiting for me at the entrance to\nthe station. The sisters received me with open arms, and with tears\nin their eyes, and Miss Jane returned thanks at family prayers that\nnight, \"for the marvellous escapes, and wonderful preservation in the\nmidst of many and great dangers, which had been vouchsafed to one of\ntheir number, during her residence in the land of the infidel and the\nheretic.\"\n\nI had much to tell, and they had much to hear, and the fortnight passed\naway all too quickly.\n\nDuring the second week Maggie and I went for a two days' visit to the\nParsonage at Acton. Miss Richards was very anxious to see us again,\nand wrote me a very touching letter, saying, that if we would not mind\nspending a quiet day or two with her she would feel it a real kindness,\nand it would be a great cheer and comfort to her. She did not think her\ntime on earth would be very long, she said; the doctor had told her\nthat she might linger for a few months, but that she was suffering from\na complaint which must end in death.\n\n   \"So he says, my dear,\" wrote the good old lady; \"but I would rather\nsay, it must end in life\u2014life in His presence, where alone is fulness\nof joy.\"\n\nWe found Miss Richards very much altered, weak and ill, and fearfully\nthin; yet still able to go about a little, to look after her\nhousekeeping, and to sit in her easy chair in the garden, with her work\nor her book.\n\nWe had many quiet, happy talks together, and I felt it a great\nprivilege to be speaking to one who was, as it were, close on the\nthreshold of heaven itself.\n\nMr. Ellis was very much aged, and looked careworn and depressed. He was\nexceedingly kind to us; but he seemed as if a heavy weight were resting\non him, which he could not shake off.\n\nWhilst we were at Acton, Maggie and I went and peeped through the\ngate of our old home. It looked just the same; it was not altered at\nall. The rabbits were nibbling the grass on the lawn, the stream was\ntrickling peacefully along, and every bush, and tree, and flower-bed\nlooked just as they had done on that memorable day when I had sat by my\nbedroom window with Claude's unanswered letter in my hand.\n\nBut the home was no longer ours, and even as we looked at it little\nchildren's faces appeared at the window of my old room and reminded me\nof this.\n\nI thought of Miss Irvine's words as I turned away: \"What a comfort that\nthere is one home where there will be no parting, and no going away.\"\n\nThat evening, after Maggie was in bed, Miss Richards called me into her\nroom, and spoke to me about Claude.\n\n\"May, dear, you remember our last talk together before you went away,\"\nshe said; \"you were indeed right, and I was wrong. I would not have you\nClaude's wife now for the world. You had, indeed, a very happy escape.\"\n\n\"I think I told you we met them in Jerusalem, Miss Richards.\"\n\n\"Yes, and they are still abroad, spending what money they have. It will\nall be gone soon, and then they will be obliged to return home, and the\ncrash will come.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, Miss Richards?\" I asked. \"I thought they were very\nrich.\"\n\n\"So we thought, my dear, and so they thought; but Alice's money has\nproved a mere bubble. Her father has speculated a great deal, and the\nwhole of her money has gone now, every penny of it. They did not know\nthat when you saw them in Jerusalem; it has come out since. And Claude,\nyou know, has not very much money of his own. It would have been a nice\nlittle sum yearly if he had been careful. But oh, the bills, any dear!\nScores of them are waiting for him; they send a great many here to be\nforwarded. I believe that is why he does not come home. But he must\ncome, some time or other; and then his father thinks that more than\nthe whole of Claude's capital will be swallowed up in order to pay his\ndebts. And what will they do then, my dear?\"\n\n\"I am very sorry to hear it,\" I said.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Miss Richards, \"and this trouble is just crushing the life\nout of his poor father. I try to comfort him; and I tell him that I\nhope this trial will be the means, by God's blessing, of bringing\nClaude to the Saviour. But, though I tell Mr. Ellis so, my dear, I feel\nvery doubtful about it, for Claude has so hardened his heart against\nall religion, and has so shut his eyes and refused to believe the\ntruth, that I am very much afraid there is not much hope for him. I\ndon't tell his father so; but I have great fears myself that even this\ntrouble will not bring him any nearer to God.\"\n\n\"I was afraid his views were the same,\" I said, \"when I met them in\nJerusalem.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, they are even more pronounced,\" said Miss Richards; \"and he\nhas made his poor little wife almost as great a doubter as himself.\nShe is a nice little thing, very affectionate and good to me; and I\nfeel for her terribly in this trouble. I am afraid it will make great\nunhappiness between them. I quite dread their coming home.\"\n\nThat was the last time I ever saw Miss Richards. She took a loving\nfarewell of me the next morning, and we both of us knew that, when next\nwe met, it would be in the land where partings are unknown.\n\nI heard of her death, or rather of her entrance into life, only a few\nweeks after our visit to Acton.\n\nMaggie's aunts were very anxious that I should spend another week with\nthem, before going back to Alliston Hall; but Evelyn had written to me,\nsaying that Lord Moreton and Mr. Stanley were expected on the very day\nthat I had already fixed to return, and she hoped that I should not\nfail to appear, as she wanted us all to have a good talk together about\nJerusalem and our adventures there. I told Maggie and the aunts that I\ndid not like to disappoint Evelyn, but felt that as she wished it, I\nought to go back at once. I did not say anything of my own feelings in\nthe matter.\n\n\nI arrived at Alliston Hall just as Evelyn was dressing for dinner. She\nwelcomed me with great joy, and told me that the visitors had arrived,\nand that I must get ready with all haste, as the gong would soon sound\nfor dinner.\n\nWhen I was dressed I went into the library, thinking that I was late,\nand that every one would have assembled, but I found no one there\nexcept Mr. Stanley.\n\nI do not know how it was, but I suddenly turned very shy and nervous,\nand, after shaking hands with him, I was on the point of making an\nexcuse about wanting to get my work, and by this means leaving the\nroom, when he began to ask me many questions about Jerusalem, and I was\nobliged to stay.\n\n\"So I was put down as a suspicious character,\" he said, smiling, \"when\nI disappeared so suddenly.\"\n\n\"Sir William thought it very strange,\" I said; \"and he began to doubt a\nlittle if you were what you said you were.\"\n\nMr. Stanley laughed.\n\n\"And you?\" he asked.\n\n\"Oh, I knew it would be all right.\"\n\n\"You did not doubt me then?\"\n\n\"No, not at all,\" I said.\n\n\"Thank you.\"\n\nThere was a pause after this, and then he said gravely, \"The chisel has\nbeen very busy since I saw you last.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"I was very sorry to hear of it.\"\n\n\"We must not be sorry,\" he said, gently; \"for him it is great gain, and\nfor me\u2014\"\n\n\"For you?\" I asked, for he seemed as if he did not like to go on.\n\n\"For me, it is a hard bit of discipline; the Master Builder's tools\nhave cut very deep, but it is all right. I ought not to be sorry, ought\nI?\"\n\n\"I see what you mean,\" I said; \"but are we not told to be 'sorrowful,\nyet always rejoicing?' Don't you think it is a comfort that the two are\nput together?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, thoughtfully, \"I see; He does not blame us for\nbeing sorry, so long as we sorrow not as others which have no hope.\n'Sorrowful, yet always rejoicing;' thank you so much for the thought.\"\n\nI fancied that he had a tear in his eye as he spoke, but I could not be\nsure, for a minute afterwards Sir William entered the room, and then he\nseemed as cheerful and full of spirits as he had always been whilst we\nwere travelling together.\n\n\"So you never got my letter!\" he said, to Sir William. \"I am very\nsorry; but I gave it to a dragoman whom I knew pretty well, and whom I\nmet at the Jaffa Gate. He was not a Jerusalem dragoman, but one who had\ncome with some people from Cairo, and he promised me to deliver it at\nonce. He must either have forgotten it, or, Arab-like, he conveniently\nlost it, but took care not to lose the 'baksheesh' I gave him at the\nsame time. Well, it does not signify now!\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" said Sir William, \"of course not; only that fellow deserves to\nhear of it again! But how was it they knew nothing of your telegram at\nthe Convent?\"\n\n\"I met the man in the street bringing it, just after I left you,\nMiss Lindsay. He knew me by sight, and handed it to me at once, and\nthen I just hurried back to the Convent and told them I must leave\nthat morning; but I had neither time nor inclination to enter into\nparticulars with them.\"\n\nWhen the gentlemen came into the drawing-room after dinner, Mr. Stanley\nbrought out a number of splendid photographs of Jerusalem and its\nneighbourhood which he had bought in London, and had brought with him\nto show us.\n\nSir William was engrossed for some time in an interesting debate which\nhe had just found in the \"Times\" newspaper; but Evelyn explained the\nJerusalem photographs to Lord Moreton, and Mr. Stanley sat by me and\npointed out the different places that we had visited together.\n\nThere was one beautiful view taken from the Mount of Olives, just at\nthe turn of the hill where we had stood to look down upon Jerusalem.\n\nWe looked at this photograph a long time; I thought it more beautiful\nthan any of the others. Jerusalem stood out clear and bright in the\nsunshine, each house, each mosque, each dome was standing out before\nus almost as distinctly as we had seen it on that lovely evening when,\nlike our Lord and Master, we had beheld the city and wept over it.\n\n\"I shall never look at that photograph,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"without\nthinking of those words: 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep\nwhich I had lost.' Do you remember who said them to me there?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said; \"that was a very pleasant ride.\"\n\n\"Are the olive-leaves safe yet?\" he asked, in a low voice.\n\n\"Oh yes,\" I said; \"did you think I would lose them?\"\n\n\"No, I did not think so; but I wanted you to tell me, that was all.\"\n\nHow much there was to talk of during those few days, and how many times\nwe said the words, \"Do you remember?\" I have heard it said that when\nwe use those three words it is a proof that we are talking to friends\nand not to strangers. To strangers we can never say, \"Do you remember?\"\nBut to friends, to those who have gone side by side with us along any\npart of the pathway of life, how often we say to them, \"Do you remember\nthis?\" \"Do you remember that?\" And how pleasant it is to recall first\none thing and then another in the past, and to talk it over together!\n\nI think this will be one of the pleasures of heaven. We shall often\nthere, I think, use those three words, \"Do you remember?\" as we go over\ntogether in memory all the way that the Lord our God has led us, and as\nwe recall the many proofs of His love, His goodness, and His wisdom,\nthat we enjoyed together on earth.\n\nIt was the last evening of Lord Moreton's and Mr. Stanley's visit; the\nnext day they were to leave us for the North.\n\nWe were wandering about the lovely gardens of Alliston Hall, gathering\nfresh flowers for Evelyn's sitting-room, for I would never let any one\nelse arrange the flowers there.\n\nLord Moreton was very anxious to see a new and very rare shrub that Sir\nWilliam had had planted at the other side of the gardens, and Evelyn\nwent to show it to him.\n\nMr. Stanley and I stopped behind, for he complained of feeling tired,\nand I had not finished gathering my flowers.\n\n\"I am so sorry we are going to-morrow,\" he said.\n\nI did not answer him, but bent over the bed to gather a beautiful white\nlily of the valley.\n\n\"But I shall not disappear so suddenly and mysteriously this time,\" he\nsaid.\n\n\"No, that is a comfort,\" I said, involuntarily, and then felt very\nangry with myself for having said it.\n\n\"Why is it a comfort?\" he asked. \"Was my leaving Jerusalem any trouble\nto you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said; \"of course I was sorry. I did not like Sir William to\ndoubt you.\"\n\n\"I am very glad you trusted me through it all,\" he said.\n\nI was gathering some more lilies, so I did not look up till he spoke\nagain, and then he only asked me a question, and I do not remember that\nI ever answered it:\n\n\"Will you trust me through life, May?\" he said.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nWAS I RIGHT?\n\n[Illustration] WE often speak of \"learning by contrast;\" and, surely,\nsome of our most forcible lessons, those which we never forget, are\nlearnt in this way.\n\nI had been about three months in my new home, and I had always felt\nthat it was the happiest place on earth, and yet, although I thanked\nGod for giving it to me, every morning and evening, when I said my\nprayers, still I do not think I ever realised how happy, how peaceful,\nhow blessed it was, until that Monday night.\n\nFor Monday morning's post had brought me a letter, written in\npencil and almost illegible. I did not recognise the writing, and\ntherefore glanced to the end, and I was very much surprised to see the\nsignature\u2014Alice Ellis.\n\nYes, the letter was from Claude's wife. It was a very short one. I\nturned to the beginning, and read as follows:\n\n   \"MY DEAR MRS. STANLEY,\n\n   \"I want to ask a great favour of you. Will you come and see me, as soon\nas you can after you get this letter? I want very much to speak to you;\nthere is something that I want to ask you.\n\n   \"I am very ill, so please forgive this untidy note, for I am writing it\nin bed. Do come at once, if you can.\n\n   \"Please forgive me for asking you.\n\n             \"Believe me, dear Mrs. Stanley,\n\n                         \"Very sincerely yours,\n\n                                    \"ALICE ELLIS.\"\n\n[Illustration: A SAD ERRAND.]\n\nWe do not live very far from London; it is only about an hour's\njourney, so I went by the next train. I wondered very much why Alice\nhad sent for me, and what she wanted to ask me.\n\nWhen I arrived in London I took a cab to the address she had given\nme on the letter. The cabman drove for about a mile through a dirty\nand dismal part of the great city, and then he stopped before a high\ndismal house, in the midst of a row of high dismal houses, which was\nconfronted, on the opposite side of the street, by another row of\nhouses just as high and just as dismal.\n\nI dismissed the cabman and rang the bell. The door was opened by an\nuntidy servant, with no cap or collar on, but wearing a very dirty,\nragged apron. She showed me into a room the windows of which looked out\ninto the narrow street, and asked me to sit down whilst she went to\ntell \"the folks upstairs\" that I had come.\n\nThe room was shabbily furnished, and smelt strongly of tobacco, and\nthe atmosphere was close and stifling, as if the windows had not been\nopened for a long time.\n\nWas it possible that Claude and Alice were living here, or had I made\na mistake in the address? I referred to the letter in my pocket, and\nfound I was correct as to the name of the street and the number of the\nhouse, and, certainly, the girl who had admitted me had said that Mrs.\nEllis lived there.\n\nBut oh, how forlorn and dreary everything looked! I was quite glad when\na slipshod footstep was heard on the stairs, and a sullen-looking girl,\nof about fourteen years old, came in, and asked me to come upstairs\nto \"missus.\" She took me into a bedroom at the very top of that high\nhouse, and there, lying in bed and looking fearfully ill, I found\nClaude's wife, Alice.\n\nShe welcomed me very warmly, and thanked me, again and again, for\ncoming so soon; but I could hardly hear what she said, for her baby,\nwho was lying on the bed beside her, was crying so loudly, and her\nevery effort to pacify him was in vain.\n\n\"Jane, you can take baby into the next room,\" she said to the girl; \"he\nis so fretful! Does not he look ill?\" she added, turning to me.\n\nI took the child in my arms; he was dreadfully thin, and had a\ncareworn, wasted face, more like that of an old man than of a baby\nthree months old.\n\n\"Poor little fellow!\" I said.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, with a sigh; \"I almost wish sometimes that he would\ndie.\"\n\n\"Oh, Mrs. Ellis,\" I exclaimed; \"you don't mean that.\"\n\n\"Yes I do,\" she said, bitterly; \"I had rather that he died before I do.\nTake him into the next room, Jane!\"\n\nThe girl took the child from me and went away, leaving the door open\nbehind her.\n\n\"Would you mind shutting the door?\" said Mrs. Ellis. \"She always will\nhave it open. And then I can talk to you comfortably; we shall feel\nquite safe. I have been wishing to see you for more than a week,\" she\nwent on; \"ever since I knew that I was so ill. Oh, Mrs. Stanley, I am\nso utterly miserable.\"\n\n\"I am very sorry to find you so ill,\" I said.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"I am very ill, and I shall never be well again. The\ndoctor says I am in a rapid decline. It is trouble which has brought it\non; you will have heard what trouble we have had.\"\n\n\"Miss Richards told me something about it, when I was with her, a few\nmonths before she died,\" I said.\n\n\"Yes, all my money has gone; every farthing of it. My father made some\nmistake about it, and the investments failed, and we lost it all. And\nClaude is so angry about it; he says my father has deceived him, and\nhe is just as vexed as if it were my fault; he has not seemed to care\nfor me a bit since then. But I did not mean to speak of that. I don't\nwant to complain. It is natural, I suppose, that he should be vexed. He\nthought we were rich, and we went on spending a quantity of money, and\nthen, when this came out, all the people sent in their bills, and now\nall Claude's money has gone too. I don't know what will become of us!\"\n\n\"And you look so ill,\" I said; \"you ought to be taken care of, Mrs.\nEllis.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" she said, \"I don't mind so much for myself; it is poor little\nbaby that makes me so unhappy. He cries so much, and that girl is so\nvery careless with him. Old Mr. Ellis is very kind; he wants me to go\nthere, but Claude won't hear of it: I don't know why. We could not live\nat all if it were not for Claude's father; he is always sending him\nmoney.\"\n\n\"But could you not be moved into a more comfortable lodging than this?\"\nI asked.\n\n\"I'm afraid not. It is very dirty and untidy; but you see they are good\nin one way, they do not hurry us about paying them, so it seems a pity\nto move. But I did not send for you to tell you all our troubles, Mrs.\nStanley,\" she said; \"I wanted you, if you could, to help me to get a\nlittle comfort.\"\n\n\"In what way?\" I asked, for I wanted to hear what she would say.\n\n\"Do you remember a conversation we had together when I stayed at\nAlliston Hall, Mrs. Stanley? I told you then that I always tried to\nlaugh trouble away, and you said\u2014do you remember what you said?\"\n\n\"What was it?\" I asked.\n\n\"You said that there were some troubles that could not be laughed away.\nThose troubles have come to me now; I can't laugh now, Mrs. Stanley.\nBut I wonder if you remember what else you said that day; you told me\nthat you never tried to laugh troubles away, but you always prayed them\naway. Oh, if I could only do that!\"\n\n\"Do you believe in prayer, Mrs. Ellis?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes, I do,\" she said, earnestly; \"I do now. I used to laugh at it when\nClaude laughed at it, and I used to try to think it was all nonsense.\nBut the other day the doctor was here, and I said,\u2014\n\n\"'Doctor, please tell me the truth; shall I ever get well again?'\n\n\"And the doctor said, 'I am afraid not, Mrs. Ellis.'\n\n\"Then I asked him how long he thought I should live, and he said\n'perhaps a month or two.'\n\n\"And then he went away. I told Claude what the doctor had said, but he\nanswered: 'Oh, nonsense, that doctor is a fool, don't believe him; you\nhave nothing the matter with you; you will be all right when the warm\nweather comes.'\n\n\"And then Claude went out, and he did not come home till past midnight;\nhe is always out till quite late every night. I do not know where he\ngoes; he never will tell me, and he is always so tired and cross when\nhe comes in. Well, that night I lay awake thinking the whole time, and\noh, Mrs. Stanley, I was so frightened. I knew the doctor was right, I\nfelt that I had not long to live, and then I asked myself,\u2014\n\n\"'Where am I going?'\n\n\"I must be going somewhere. Oh, Mrs. Stanley, I felt that night, and I\nfeel now, that the Bible is true; my own heart tells me so. I cannot\ndoubt, now that I am dying. I made up my mind that night that I would\nsend for you, but since then I have been putting it off. I was afraid\nyou would not like to come, we have seen so little of each other; but\nthen, yesterday, I thought I would just write and tell you, for there\nis no one else I can think of who would be able to help me.\"\n\n\"I am very glad you have sent for me,\" I said, taking her thin hand in\nmine; \"and now, what was it you wanted to ask me?\"\n\n\"I want you to tell me very simply,\" she said, \"how to be saved; tell\nme what I must do to get rid of my sin\u2014oh, Mrs. Stanley, I have been so\nvery wicked, what must I do? I will do anything I can, if I only know\nwhat it is.\"\n\n\"There is nothing to do,\" I said, \"nothing at all; if you feel your\nsin, and long to get rid of it, there is nothing to do.\"\n\n\"Nothing to do!\" she, said, incredulously. \"Oh yes, Mrs. Stanley, there\nmust be something to do!\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, decidedly, \"there is nothing to do; but there is\nsomething to take!\"\n\n\"Something to take!\" she repeated, in somewhat of her old manner. \"I\nsuppose you mean that I am to take salvation; but that is so very\nindefinite, Mrs. Stanley. I know all those set phrases so well; but\nthey mean nothing to me. What is salvation, and how am I to take it?\"\n\n\"You are quite right,\" I said, \"have nothing to do with set phrases;\nthey are hollow and worthless. You have to deal, not with dead words\nbut with a living Saviour, Mrs. Ellis. It is the Lord Jesus whom I want\nyou to take\u2014as your own Saviour. I want you to take Him as the One who\ncan alone save you from the guilt and power of your sin, and who can\nalone give you the right to enter heaven. He comes to you, and He says:\n\n\"'Take Me, take My love as your own; look upon Me as the One who has\ndied to save you, and then you need not fear.'\n\n\"You understand how it is that He is able to save you, Mrs. Ellis, that\nHe has been punished instead of you; that your sins have been laid on\nHim, and that He has suffered the penalty that your sins deserved!\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" she said, \"I know all that with my head; I know it\ntheoretically, but I want to be able to put it into practice. How am I\nto be quite sure that Jesus has done that for me; how am I to know that\nHe has taken my sin away?\"\n\n\"Because God's Word tells you so,\" I said; and I took my Bible from my\npocket and read:\n\n   \"'He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our\niniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon Him; and with His\nstripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have\nturned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on Him the\niniquity of us all.'\"\n\n\"Then what is there left for me to do?\" she asked.\n\n\"Only to accept the Lord Jesus as your Saviour,\" I said. \"Go to Him and\nsay to Him,\u2014\n\n\"'Lord Jesus, I do thank Thee for bearing my sins; I trust myself to\nThee to be saved. I want to be forgiven through Thy death, and because\nThou hast been punished in my place.'\"\n\n\"Is that all?\" she said.\n\n\"That is all!\" I answered. \"You cannot do more. One of my husband's\ntenants was in great trouble a few months ago; he was not at all a\nrich man, and he had got into some rather serious difficulties with a\nneighbour of his. My husband heard of it, and when he had been told\nthe whole story, he felt that the man was to be pitied. The poor wife\ncame and pleaded with tears in her eyes that he would help them, so my\nhusband went to the trial to see what could be done. The sentence was\npronounced\u2014the man was to pay \u00a320, or failing that, he was to go to\nprison. The poor man could not have paid even \u00a35, for he was very badly\noff, so he was quite prepared to be led off to prison. But at that\nmoment my husband stepped forward, and laid down the \u00a320. What was left\nfor the man to do? Nothing, but to come forward and to say with tears\nin his eyes,\u2014\n\n\"'Mr. Stanley, I thank you kindly, sir; I shall never forget it as long\nas I live!'\"\n\n\"I see,\" she said; \"I see it all now; and is that just what I have to\ndo?\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" I said; \"you must go to the Lord Jesus and say,\u2014\n\n\"'Lord, I have nothing with which to pay. I am a great sinner, and\nowe a great debt, but Thou hast paid it all; I look upon Thee as my\nSaviour, and I shall never forget it as long as I live.'\n\n\"It is quite touching to see that poor man's love for my husband now;\nhe tries in every way he can to show his gratitude.\"\n\n\"I see,\" she said; \"and we love Him because He first loved us. Oh, Mrs.\nStanley, thank you so much!\"\n\nI did not leave the house until I had reason to believe that Alice\nhad indeed taken the Lord Jesus as her own Saviour, nor until she\ncould tell me with a smile on her thin, wasted face, \"I am not utterly\nmiserable now, for I have a sure hope for the future; He has forgiven\nme.\"\n\nI did not see Claude once, though I was with Alice for several hours.\nPerhaps he purposely kept out of sight, and, I must confess, I was\nglad, under the circumstances, not to meet him, for I felt very angry\nwith him for his heartless neglect of his poor little wife.\n\n\nI returned home by the evening train, and then came the contrast. My\nhusband was at the station to meet me, and we drove back together to\nour happy home. On the way I told Howard of my visit to Alice, and of\nthe conversation I had had with her.\n\nHe was very much interested in all I told him, and when we had talked\nit over for a little time, he said: \"I have a letter for you in my\npocket, May, which came by the evening post, and I think I have been\nvery good not to open it, for I am most anxious to hear the news\ncontained in it.\"\n\nThe letter was from Evelyn Trafford. I took it from him and opened it.\n\n\"Oh, Howard,\" I exclaimed, as I glanced at the contents, \"I am so very\nglad!\"\n\n\"Yes, and so am I,\" he said; \"I know what it is about. There was a\nletter for me from Charlie by the same post. He has been staying at\nAlliston Hall for a week, and it seems to be quite settled now. How\nnice it will be for you to have your friend Evelyn so near. Carrington\nHall is only five miles from us; you will be able to meet as often as\nyou like.\"\n\n\"Evelyn is so very happy,\" I said, as I handed him the letter, \"and she\nseems to have quite forgotten that she said she would never marry any\none who squinted; I have no doubt now that she would agree with me,\nthat in spite of it, Lord Moreton is a very handsome man.\"\n\n\"I am very glad it is so nicely arranged,\" said my husband. \"More than\none good thing came out of our journey to Palestine, little wife! Do\nyou remember that it was my conversation with Miss Trafford near the\nDamascus Gate which first made her look more favourably upon poor\nCharlie\u2014the 'stupid, uninteresting man!' she called him then.\"\n\nAs he said this we turned in at the gate, and drove through the\nshrubbery to the house.\n\nHow beautiful everything looked that evening! The rhododendrons, the\nlilacs, and the laburnums were in bloom, and the evening sunshine was\nstreaming across the distant hills, and casting a golden light over\neverything.\n\n\"Oh, what a contrast, Howard!\" I said, as we stood together at the\nwindow that evening.\n\n\"A contrast to what?\" he asked.\n\n\"A contrast to the wretched lodging I have been in to-day. I always\nfelt that mine was the happiest home in the world, but I feel it more\nthan ever to-night.\"\n\n\"Are you really happy, little wife?\" he asked.\n\n\"Happy! Oh, Howard,\" I answered, \"what a question! You know, surely,\nyou know how very happy I am!\"\n\n\"You are not more happy than I am, May,\" he said; \"I little thought\nwhen I met you first on the roof, at Brindisi, what bright days were in\nstore for me!\"\n\n\"Oh, Howard,\" I said, after a pause, \"just think if that wretched\nlodging that I saw to-day had been my home! And it might have been!\"\n\nHe knew what I meant, for I had told him of Claude's letter.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"it might have been, if you had not resisted the\ntemptation put before you that day, and gained a victory over yourself.\nBut you are not sorry now, May, that you decided as you did; you think\nyou were right, do you?\"\n\n\"Right! Oh, Howard,\" I said, \"I feel as if I could never be thankful\nenough that I chose as I did; God has been very good to me!\"\n\n\"Yes, little wife,\" he said, \"the Lord never overlooks or forgets any\nself-denial for His name's sake. You chose His love, His favour, His\nsmile, in preference to an earthly affection; you chose to forsake an\nearthly love for His sake, and He did not forget it. I am sure those\nwords of our Lord's are true, May:\n\n   \"'There is no man that hath left house, or brethren, or sisters, or\nfather, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands' (in short, anything\ndear to his heart), for My sake, but he shall receive an hundredfold\nin this present time;' or, as another Gospel has it, 'manifold more in\nthis present time.'\"\n\n\"I have indeed received the hundredfold, Howard,\" I said.\n\n\"And then that is not the end,\" he said, \"for, after all, the second\npart of the promise makes the first part sink into insignificance.\n\n   \"'And, in the world to come, life everlasting.'\n\n\"Yes, May, there is a brighter home in prospect. Earth's homes, the\ndearest and best, are only for a time\u2014Heaven's homes are for an\neternity. I came across a verse to-day, which I thought very beautiful:\n\n   \"'What joys are lost, what promises are given,\n     As through this death-struck world we roam\n     Awhile we think that Home is Heaven,\n     At last we find that HEAVEN is HOME.'\"\n\n\"And we shall be together there, Howard,\" I said, \"with no fear of\nseparation.\"\n\n\"Yes, thank God!\" he answered. \"This bright little earthly home is\nto us a faint foreshadowing of our heavenly home, where we shall be\ntogether with the Lord.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"a happy, earthly home now, in this present time, and a\nbrighter, more glorious home awaiting me above, to be mine throughout\neternity. Was I not indeed right in my choice?\"\n\n\n\n               \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n Pardon & Sons, Printers, Paternoster Row, and Wine Office Court, E.C.","title":"Was I right?","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":67813}