{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_76696/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_76696","id":"gutenberg_76696","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76696","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian life -- Juvenile fiction","Domestic fiction","Friendship -- Juvenile fiction","Money -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Letitia stood looking in blank dismay, not offering\n to help.]\n\n\n\n                       _Little Eyebright_\n\n                      AND HER PUND O' CARE\n\n\n                               BY\n\n                          AGNES GIBERNE\n\n                            AUTHOR OF\n\n   \"THE EARLS OF THE VILLAGE,\" \"IDA'S SECRET,\" \"LIFE TANGLES,\"\n                   \"FLOSS SILVERTHORN,\" ETC.\n\n\n                          New Edition\n\n\n                    John F. Shaw & Co., Ltd.\n                           Publishers\n                3, Pilgrim Street, London, E.C.\n\n\n\n                         [Illustration]\n\n                            CONTENTS\n\nCHAP.\n\n    I. EUPHRASIA'S HOME\n\n   II. EUPHRASIA'S PLANS\n\n  III. SOME CAUSE FOR CARE\n\n   IV. FOR ONE'S GOOD\n\n    V. THE JOHNSTON FAMILY\n\n   VI. EUPHRASIA'S FRIEND\n\n  VII. FRIENDS _AND_ FRIENDS\n\n VIII. A STEP IN THE DARK\n\n   IX. A PRISONER\n\n    X. HOW MUCH LONGER?\n\n   XI. NEVER SENT!\n\n  XII. GENUINE!\n\n XIII. NOT CAST DOWN\n\n  XIV. SOMETHING WRONG\n\n   XV. \"WILL YOU\u2014?\"\n\n  XVI. HOW \"CARE\" MAY BE CARRIED\n\n\n\n                         [Illustration]\n\n                        LITTLE EYEBRIGHT\n\n                      AND HER PUND O' CARE\n\n                            \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nEUPHRASIA'S HOME\n\n\"I DON'T know, I'm sure, Mrs. Landor. I suppose you're right, of\ncourse. People never ought to fret, of course. Mr. Landor would say\njust the same if he were preaching. I suppose everybody ought always to\nfeel sure that everything is always exactly right.\"\n\nAn odd expression crossed the other's face.\n\n\"Oh, I know it is quite wrong ever to let one's self get worried. But\nthen, you see, it always was my way to be easily upset. Some people are\nmade like that; don't you think so? And other people are made quite\ndifferent. I don't see, for my part, how one is to help how one was\nmade. When things go wrong, I always do get low-spirited. It is very\nfoolish, perhaps, but then it is my way. I have been harassed half\nout of my senses the last week. As fast as ever one trouble clears\noff, another comes in its place. That is what I find,\" sighed Mrs.\nMackenzie. \"There's no sort of peace or rest in life,\u2014nothing but\nworry!\"\n\n\"Isn't it a comfort that one trouble does clear away before another\ncomes?\" asked her caller.\n\n\"Oh well, when it does. But sometimes everything seems to come\ntogether, all in a heap. I am sure, last winter I didn't know where to\nturn or what to do, with the influenza and all! And most likely it will\nbe just as bad next winter. The influenza is certain to come again.\"\n\n\"Nay! Why certain?\"\n\n\"Oh, they say it will; people all say so. And if my husband gets it a\nfourth time, I don't believe he will pull through. I don't, indeed! He\nhas never been the same man since those three attacks, one on the top\nof another. He isn't fit for his work, and everybody says so, but if he\nstops, how in the world are we to pay our way?\"\n\n\"He might take a holiday if needful. Still, I would not in your place\ngive much for the opinion of 'everybody.' What does your doctor say?\"\n\n\"Colin has not been to the doctor lately. He doesn't want to run up\nbills, but he looks so ill, I quite dread to see him come in! And Ken's\ncough frightens me. He has kept it on the whole summer, and now we\nare half-way through September. I suppose he won't lose it before the\nwinter; and a boy is so exposed to risks . . . And in the middle of all\nmy worries, my cook has given me warning, just because she wants to\nget married. It is hard, when she suited me so nicely, and when I have\nso many things weighing on me! And my housemaid has a bad finger, and\ncan't do half her work . . . And then there is Euphrasia.\"\n\n\"What of Euphrasia? Nothing wrong there surely! Euphrasia looks the\npicture of health.\"\n\n\"Oh, as to health\u2014yes, she is well enough. It isn't that, but I do\nget so disappointed. I suppose one must expect to be disappointed. I\ndid think it would be such a comfort to have a daughter at home with\nher education done and no lessons, and plenty of time to help me: and\nreally Euphrasia is as busy as Flo, and not half so pleasant. It is a\nsort of way with her\u2014answering so shortly, I mean\u2014but I always do feel\nhurt. And then she likes her own way so much! Girls do, I suppose,\npretty nearly always. Flo is different, but then Flo always 'was' a\nlittle angel. It quite frightens me sometimes, she is so good.\"\n\n\"Euphrasia does not frighten you, apparently, in that respect. However,\ngirls ought not to be too busy to help their mothers.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't say she is. She means to do right, I dare say. Of course,\nshe doesn't want to neglect her duties. Only I suppose I'm too\nsensitive: and then there is a grudging sort of manner; not that she\nmeans it so, I dare say. It is only awkwardness, only I can't help\nnoticing. And to have her going away already, just when I was beginning\nto find her useful\u2014\"\n\n\"Going where?\"\n\n\"It's an invitation from a school friend, Letitia Johnston. Euphrasia\nis so odd; she makes hardly any friends. She only has this one, and\nreally I don't know anything about the girl's family. There's been a\nsort of promise that Euphrasia should pay them a visit when she had\ndone with school, and now Colin says we can't well refuse. We had\nLetitia here once for a week; and she seemed nice, rather. But still\u2014\"\n\nMrs. Landor made no immediate answer. She was a graceful woman, over\nmiddle height, and perhaps beyond middle age, with hair already\nsilvered, and a certain innate queenliness of bearing, not lessened by\nthe severe plainness of her black merino dress and close gray bonnet.\nSerene eyes beneath a broad brow studied the pretty woman opposite\u2014for\nMrs. Mackenzie, wife of the Manager of West Norton Bank, was a\ndecidedly pretty woman still, despite her forty years. She might have\nbeen a very attractive one, had her lips fallen habitually into less\nfretted curves; had her blue eyes been habitually less full of trouble\nand self-condolence.\n\n\"Still if you do not feel that you can spare her\u2014\"\n\n\"I don't suppose it will make much difference. She has to go some day,\nand the visit may as well be got over. Euphrasia would not like to give\nit up, and any time, almost, would be as bad. Women's lives are just\nmade up of harass and bother.\"\n\n\"Are they?\" queried Mrs. Landor soberly. \"Mrs. Mackenzie, if I didn't\nknow you quite so well, I should venture to say something . . . One can\nspeak more freely, I think, on some subjects as a stranger than as a\nfriend.\"\n\n\"I hope she isn't going to begin preaching,\" darted through Mrs.\nMackenzie's mind. And then came a swift recollection of innumerable\nkindnesses, followed by the resolve, \"I mustn't seem to be vexed.\"\nAloud she said cautiously, \"I should think you might say anything you\nliked to me!\"\n\n\"Then may I ask a question? You have a good deal to say about harass\nand worry, and, of course, life does mean a fair amount of them for\nmost people. Yet there is another side of the question. I wonder\nwhether that side ever presents itself to you . . . When our Lord\nsaid, 'Come unto Me . . . and I will give you rest'\u2014what do you think\nHe really intended to do? Is absolute rest a thing compatible with\nperpetual mental harass? For surely harass means unrest! If the two are\nnot compatible\u2014then, what did He mean?\"\n\nMrs. Mackenzie was silent.\n\n\"If I were you, I would find an answer to that question,\" continued\nMrs. Landor softly. She was not at all a demonstrative person, but for\nonce she stooped and kissed the plaintive downcast face. \"We may be\nsure of one thing, that what Christ said, He meant, and that what He\nmeant was something very real and practical . . . Perhaps the question\nresolves itself into not so much what HE means by rest, as what 'we'\nmean when we ask for rest; and whether we ever do actually take Him\nat His word! . . . It seems such a pity, if He is willing and waiting\nto give us rest, that we don't trouble ourselves to receive it . . .\nForgive me for saying so much. Good-bye.\"\n\n\"It's all very well, but Mrs. Landor doesn't know what life means with\nsuch an income as ours,\" sighed Mrs. Mackenzie. \"If she did, she might\nhave a right to speak. If her husband died to-morrow, it wouldn't make\na farthing's difference to her comforts. And if Colin were to break\ndown, we should just be at the end of everything. It's bad enough now,\ntrying to make both ends meet and never able to get a quarter of the\nthings we need. Of course, it is quite right to have a proper amount of\ntrust, but all the same one must be anxious. Mrs. Landor would in my\nplace, whatever she may say now. And there's nobody to understand, nor\nto be the least help to me. Colin never will talk over things till he\nhas made up his mind what to do, and Euphrasia is wrapped up in her own\nconcerns. I did think Mrs. Landor would give me a little sympathy, but\nshe is no better than anybody else. I might just as well have kept it\nall to myself . . . Why, there's Colin coming home now! What can be the\nmatter? O dear!\"\n\nMrs. Mackenzie ran to the front door and flung it open in a tremor of\nalarm. A tall man of somewhat solid build, not amounting to stoutness,\ncame slowly up the little garden. His face, albeit by no means\nhandsome, had good strong outlines, but the complexion at this moment\nshowed an unnatural pallor.\n\n\"Colin! What has brought you back? Do tell me\u2014quick! Is anything the\nmatter? I am so frightened! Oh, make haste and speak! I know something\nis dreadfully wrong.\"\n\n\"Nothing for you to be frightened about, my dear. I am merely\u2014a little\nout of sorts to-day.\" He spoke with a touch of breathlessness, as if\nthe walk home had been too fatiguing. \"I'll be all right presently.\"\n\nMaking his way past her into the small drawing-room, he sat down in his\nfavourite arm-chair.\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nEUPHRASIA'S PLANS\n\n\"BUT what is the matter? What is wrong?\" exclaimed Mrs. Mackenzie. \"Why\nhave you come home at this hour?\"\n\n\"Dr. North was there: and he said I should be better for an afternoon's\nrest. Where is Euphrasia?\"\n\n\"How should I know, Colin? Girls are so restless. She is out somewhere\nwalking with Flo. But I'm so unhappy about you! I know you are going to\nbe ill. I am quite sure of it.\"\n\n\"My dear, I hope not. Pray do not talk so before the children. I am not\nquite up to the mark just now, perhaps.\" Then a smile dawned, as two\ngirls came quickly in\u2014the elder eighteen in age, the younger a mere\nchild of thirteen, and an exceedingly pretty child.\n\nNobody ever called Euphrasia pretty. She had blunt manners, and\nirregular features, and no particular complexion. But, in Mr.\nMackenzie's opinion, all defects were compensated for by the peculiar\nstedfast gleam of her gray eyes; a gleam which, in childhood, had made\nsuitable the pet name of \"Little Eyebright.\" The name clung to her\nstill, though she was \"little\" no longer, but of good medium height and\nrounded proportions.\n\nPerhaps Mrs. Mackenzie had never become entirely reconciled to the fact\nthat Euphrasia had failed to take after herself. Kenred, the only boy,\nwas good-looking enough to satisfy her desires: and Flo she was wont\nto describe as \"a perfect picture\" of her earlier self. Some people\ndemurred privately, counting the \"picture\" far more attractive than the\noriginal. But, \"poor dear Euphrasia had nothing to boast of in the way\nof looks,\" and this constituted one of Mrs. Mackenzie's many trials in\nlife.\n\nThe elder girl was commonly said to be more her father's than her\nmother's child. She had inherited much of his Scotch reserve, of his\nScotch slowness in giving expression to the deeper feelings, but she\nhad not inherited his placid temper. At times, under pressure, she\ncould be stirred into vehement speech. When not so stirred, she was apt\nto veil her true self under a crustiness of demeanour, which repelled\nsome people and perplexed others. It certainly stood in marked contrast\nwith Flo's sweet and winning ways.\n\nAlmost everybody liked Flo best, and wondered how it was that the elder\ngirl should be so different. Perhaps Mr. Mackenzie alone in the house,\nand Mrs. Landor alone out of the house, guessed the real worth of\ncharacter which lay undeveloped beneath this outer crustiness.\n\n\"Is father ill?\" exclaimed Flo. She came to his side and put her little\nhand on him caressingly. \"We met Mr. Everett, and he said he had been\nbringing father home.\"\n\n\"A little out of sorts, my dear. Just a headache,\" interrupted Mr.\nMackenzie.\n\n\"Colin, you never told me that! Why, I saw you come in alone!\"\n\n\"My dear, there was no cause for a fuss. Everett gave me his arm part\nof the way.\"\n\nMr. Mackenzie did not find it needful to state how large a part of the\nway. He was rather annoyed at this unexpected rencontre of the young\nclerk with his two girls, and vexed with himself for not having warned\nEverett to keep silence. But somehow he had felt so confused as to be\nunable to think steadily.\n\n\"It was just nothing,\" he reiterated,\u2014\"just a headache. I'll be all\nright to-morrow.\"\n\n\"But, daddy, he said\u2014\"\n\n\"Flo, do hold your tongue. You are bothering father,\" Euphrasia said\nsharply.\n\nAnd Flo's sweet face flushed up, the blue eyes filling, like veronica\nblossoms full of dew.\n\n\"Really, Euphrasia!\u2014You do scold that poor darling!\" remonstrated Mrs.\nMackenzie.\n\n\"Nay, nay; nobody is going to scold anybody,\" interposed her husband,\nalways the family peacemaker. \"My dear, I don't think we will have a\ndiscussion just now. I am not just up to the mark. I wonder if you\ncould get me a nice cup of strong coffee. Somehow I think it would do\nme good; and nobody makes it like you, Mary.\"\n\n\"Why, nobody's likely to. I learnt it from a Frenchwoman,\" said Mrs.\nMackenzie, much flattered.\n\nShe went off, and Colin Mackenzie used the opportunity for a strict\ninjunction. Nobody was to say anything that would make the little\nmother anxious.\n\n\"But, daddy dear, 'was' it true? Mr. Everett did tell us you fell right\ndown, and couldn't tell where you were at first. And he said you looked\n'awfully bad.' Was it true?\"\n\nFlo's lips were quivering still with the rebuke she had received.\n\n\"James Everett is a silly boy to go and chatter. I was a trifle dizzy,\nI'll admit, but nothing to make a fuss about, nothing at all, you\nunderstand. I'll write a line to Everett, and bid him hold his tongue,\nand Ken shall take it round presently. And the less you both say to\nyour mother the better.\"\n\n\"I told you so, Flo! I said father wouldn't like you to repeat it.\"\n\n\"Never mind! It's all right,\u2014no harm done! Nobody is going to say\nanything more. I think I'll lie down for an hour, and then I'll be\nmyself again.\" Mackenzie kissed Flo and patted Euphrasia's arm as\nhe rose to move away. The slight fluster of talk had brought again\nconfused sensations.\n\n\"Flo, you'd better tell mother where to take the coffee. Father will be\nupstairs.\" Then, as she vanished, Euphrasia came nearer and asked, \"Is\nnothing the matter really? Not like what Mr. Everett said?\"\n\nMackenzie stood still, leaning on the back of a tall chair. \"I was\u2014not\njust the thing, my dear; Everett was not so far wrong. Just a passing\nlittle attack, but I'm not to be counted ill; and Dr. North hopes it\nwill not recur. I would not have your mother know, on any account. She\nwould give herself no peace.\"\n\n\"Did anything happen to worry you, father?\"\n\n\"Things do happen once in a way!\" Mackenzie spoke evasively.\n\nAnd Euphrasia, looking straight up into his face, read there an\nunwonted shadow, as of something impending.\n\n\"It isn't only that you are poorly,\" she said decisively. \"Not only\njust a headache, father. Something or other has gone wrong at the Bank.\"\n\n\"Hush! My dear! I wouldn't have you overheard for anything. That is\nnot your business. Something of worry comes, of course, now and again;\nand very often it means nothing\u2014just nothing at all. Why should it? I\nam not quite what I was since the influenza, and a trifle too easily\nknocked down, perhaps. But you must not talk to people as if I had any\nspecial weight upon my mind. Be sure you do not! I would not have it\nsaid for anything. And I'll be all right in the morning.\"\n\n\"I will not tell, of course, but of course I can't help seeing,\"\nEuphrasia answered sturdily. Then an impulse came, and she acted upon\nit, without pausing to consider. \"Father\u2014would you like\u2014would you\nrather\u2014if you like, I'll put off going to the Johnstons! Shall I? If\nyou are bothered, and would like to have me at home!\"\n\nAs she made the offer, her heart gave a resisting bound, and then sank\nlow at his look of instant relief. But quickly as she saw what his wish\nwould be, so quickly he saw what the giving up would mean to her.\n\n\"No, no\u2014nonsense\u2014not the least need. Have your pleasure, Little\nEyebright! I wouldn't for the world stand in the way. Not for a moment!\nNo, no; you'll be off in two days, and back again in a month. And what\nis a month? Why, it's just nothing!\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nSOME CAUSE FOR CARE\n\nEUPHRASIA stood close to the bay-window, deep in thought. Her brows\nwere knitted, her eyes fixed upon the dull street, seeing nought.\n\nMost of the West Norton streets were dull; and this particular row\nof houses, built all upon the same fashion, fronted by a long blank\nwall which enclosed Dr. North's kitchen-garden, could not be called an\nexception. A girl who had lived there all her life might be expected\nto grow used to the dulness, but Euphrasia had not always lived there.\nThree years at a Brighton school, by way of educational finish, had\nmade a marked break.\n\nWest Norton, after Brighton, wore a slumbrous aspect. For the\nsleepiness Euphrasia cared little. She had within her young self, life\nand vigour enough to counteract it. What she did mind was separation\nfrom her one friend, Letitia Johnston. Girl-like, she had flung\nherself, heart and soul, into this friendship; and Letitia had grown to\nbe the centre of her world. An occasional letter by post was found to\nbe a poor substitute for daily and hourly intercourse.\n\nMoreover, Euphrasia was suffering from the abrupt ending of\nschool-work. She had not yet found her niche in life, and her unused\nenergies craved for more scope than seemed at present to be within\ntheir reach. A certain restlessness was upon her; and this added to\nthe zest with which she looked forward to the promised visit. A whole\nmonth in a new place with Letitia's unknown relatives, above all with\nLetitia herself\u2014all this contained a promise of delight, without a\nshadow. Euphrasia had not by nature her mother's unquiet spirit, always\nexpecting ills. Her spirit was unquiet only in the desire for more\nchange; and she was unsophisticated. Life thus far had been easy, on\nthe whole.\n\nAnd now as the day drew near, only two nights remaining between, the\nquestion arose sharply, Ought she to give it up?\n\nEuphrasia was a girl of right principle, and to some extent, of\nsubjection to duty. Religion in her was as yet a thing rather desired\nthan possessed; and the personal love for an unseen Lord and Master,\nwhich cannot but result in obedience to His Word, had not yet\ndawned\u2014although she wished for it. She had a very distinct aim in her\nmind, to do what was right, not to be selfish, not to be lazy. But the\nself-pleasing will was strong, as in most young natures\u2014not to speak of\nolder ones, unless transformed under a nobler force of love. She wanted\nvery much to do her duty, but she wanted still more to get her own\nway. In this particular natter of the projected visit to Letitia, the\ncraving to have her way was overmastering.\n\n\"Could\" she give up so great a delight? That was the question which she\nasked of herself, standing in the bay-window. Not so much \"ought she?\"\nas \"could she?\" If her parents had insisted, she would, of course, have\nremained at home\u2014not contentedly, or of her own free will, but simply\nbecause the thing had to be. Euphrasia appreciated the difference\nbetween such discontented submission and voluntary giving up.\n\nMoreover, she knew that her parents would not insist. Mr. Mackenzie\nmight wish, and Mrs. Mackenzie might fret, but neither of the two would\ndecide against her going, so as to leave with her no further choice.\n\nAfter all, why should she lose the pleasure? Why should anything go\nwrong at the Bank? Why should Mr. Mackenzie be ill? Anybody might\nsuffer from a trifling attack of indisposition; and occasional business\nworries were a necessity. There, at least, she was powerless to help.\n\nTo be sure, her father did sometimes seem to find it a relief to\nconfide in his eldest girl, when afraid to say a word to his wife lest\nshe should magnify his meaning tenfold, and worry herself ill with\nunreasonable fears. He could be sure that Euphrasia would understand.\nBut he would not expect that she should be invariably at hand for such\nconfiding . . . To be sure, it was a very short time since her return\nfrom school, and she had not meant to go away again so soon. But the\ninvitation had come, and was irresistible. Under a momentary impulse\nshe had offered to withdraw from the promised pleasure; and the instant\nthrob of fear lest her offer should be accepted, had shown her what\nsuch withdrawal would mean. Each hour since had made the giving up\nharder to contemplate.\n\nShe resolved to wait through the night, and to see how her father\nseemed in the morning.\n\nAt breakfast, he called himself \"better,\" and looked wretched. His\nfixed paleness, yet more, his fixed look of trouble, gave her a guilty\nfeeling. Mrs. Mackenzie, rather singularly, while noting and commenting\non the former, did not perceive the latter.\n\nEuphrasia was haunted through the meal by a sense of threatening\ntrouble. Something surely had happened, or was going to happen. So\nshe told herself, and then she tried to believe the notion a mistake.\nAnything rather than allow herself to feel that she might not go.\n\nHe kissed Euphrasia when starting for his day's work. \"Pack up your\ntraps, Little Eyebright. You will be off to-morrow. Mid-day train, is\nit not?\"\n\n\"Father, are you really better?\"\n\nHis smile was not cheerful. \"'A man's weel or wae as he thinks himsel'\nsae.' I'm not going to be fancying myself an invalid, till I grow into\none.\"\n\n\"If you would like me to put off my visit\u2014\"\n\nAgain the momentary gleam of half-assent, and the quick pulling in of\nhimself. \"No, no!\u2014no need\u2014it is best over. Have your pleasure while you\ncan, child.\"\n\nA deep sigh was audible as he turned away.\n\nThen it was that Euphrasia found her way into the bay-window, to stand\nlost in thought.\n\n\"Ought I to go? I wonder if I ought? Is it wrong? 'Must' I give up?\nI don't see any real reason. It may be all just nothing at all. And\nLetitia would be so hurt. Perhaps she would never ask me again.\"\n\nThat thought won the day. Euphrasia resolved to leave arrangements\nundisturbed. She did not feel satisfied, but it was something to have\ncome to a decision of any sort; and she went in vigorously for packing.\nShe went in also for anticipations. This coming month promised to\nbe the happiest she had ever known. Letitia and Letitia's parents,\nLetitia's home, and Letitia's brother\u2014Euphrasia's imagination rang the\nchanges on these thoughts hour after hour. But ever and anon rose once\nmore the question, \"Ought I really to go?\"\n\n\"It is settled now. I can't unsettle things. Mother would be worried\nif I did. My box is packed, and why 'should' I put off? It would be\nabsurd!\" So she made answer, yet the little questioning voice would not\nbe entirely put down.\n\nMr. Mackenzie, as an ordinary rule, came home to early dinner, but once\nin a way, if very busy, he would take lunch at a confectioner's close\nby. On this day they saw no more of him till the evening, and then his\ngray shadowed look sent a fresh thrill through the girl.\n\n\"Ought I to go?\" the voice asked again.\n\n\"Oh, but I can't give it up now,\" she cried within herself. \"Now! How\ncan I? Just when everything is settled! Oh, I can't!\"\n\nAnd so the evening passed, till bed-time drew near.\n\n\n\"Euphrasia, my dear, I should rather wish\u2014I should like a few words\nwith you.\"\n\nMr. Mackenzie's voice broke into a half-happy, half-uneasy dream. Mrs.\nMackenzie was upstairs, called away by some domestic appeal; and Flo\nhad retired with Ken to the dining-room, where he prepared his lessons.\n\n\"Not here, I think. Your mother will be back directly.\"\n\n\"No. She said she would be more than half-an-hour. Nobody will\ninterrupt us just now.\"\n\nHis face worked uneasily, the muscles twitching, the eyes sombre.\n\n\"I should like to say\u2014something. It would be a\u2014something of a relief to\nme. For yourself alone, mind\u2014absolutely for yourself alone. Not a word\nto anyone.\"\n\n\"Father, you can trust me. You know I would never repeat a single\nthing.\" Euphrasia drew her chair a little nearer, and his hand came on\nhers. \"How hot you are!\" she said involuntarily.\n\n\"No, my dear, you never repeat things. I am quite aware! You are a good\nchild! . . . Perhaps I am not wise to speak, but this burden on me\u2014\"\n\n\"What burden?\"\n\n\"A sense of coming calamity. And if I do not speak now\u2014if I should\nnever have another opportunity\u2014\"\n\n\"Never\u2014'what,' father?\" A spasm of terror almost deprived her of\nutterance.\n\n\"My dear, nobody ever knows. Nobody can tell. Anything might happen\nbefore you come home. A whole month! Nations have changed owners in\nless than a month!\" And he laughed faintly.\n\n\"But in West Norton\u2014what 'could' happen? I don't understand what you\nmean!\"\n\n\"I am\u2014not wise, perhaps. Looking forward and expecting ill is not a\nsensible occupation. But the feeling overpowers me at times. It has\nbeen upon me so strongly of late\u2014a constant sense of coming trouble. I\ncan hardly define what I mean; it weighs me to the ground! And it will\ncome true!\" The last few words were almost whispered.\n\nEuphrasia's heart beat thickly. \"Then it is not only a feeling. It is\nsomething that you really know, something going wrong at the Bank.\"\n\n\"Hush! Hush!\" and he glanced round apprehensively. \"You must not\nsuggest such things.\" He held one hand over his brow. \"I wish my head\ndid not feel as it does of late. But that is a small matter. If I could\nonly think\u2014\"\n\n\"Father, what is wrong really?\"\n\n\"Did I say\u2014anything was?\"\n\n\"Yes. You meant it.\"\n\nAnother anxious look round.\n\nEuphrasia went to the door and demonstrated the fact of its being fast\nshut. Then she returned to his side, standing close and speaking low.\n\n\"Please tell me. I will not talk. I will not repeat a word. Only tell\nme what you mean.\"\n\nHe hid his face, groaned, and said, \"Everything is going.\"\n\n\"Not the Bank!\"\n\n\"Hush!\"\n\n\"Father\u2014do you mean\u2014is 'that' going to fail?\"\n\nHe laid his large hot hand again on her little plump one, and held it\nin a grasp which gave positive pain.\n\nEuphrasia endured the pain without flinching. As she stood thus,\nwaiting, listening to the loud ticks of the clock, watching the veins\nswollen on her father's forehead, she had a strange sense of growing\nolder fast, of each minute being almost as a year in her existence, of\nall remnants of childhood slipping from her. Whatever her father's mood\nmight imply, it certainly implied something serious.\n\nA mutter came at length, hoarse and low, \"Loss of everything.\"\n\n\"For 'us?'\"\n\nHe moved his head in silent assent.\n\n\"When? How?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell. I see it looming.\"\n\n\"And nothing can be done to keep it off?\"\n\n\"Nothing whatever.\"\n\nShe crept closer, and caught her breath audibly.\n\n\"Hush! If your mother comes in\u2014\"\n\n\"Must she not know?\"\n\n\"Not a day earlier than need be! . . . It will kill us both! . . .\nLet her be happy a little longer.\" His haggard eyes looked into\nEuphrasia's. \"I do not know why I have told you\u2014such a child as you\nare! It does no good. I have been selfish to speak.\"\n\n\"Poor father!\" Euphrasia's voice was seldom so tender.\n\nMr. Mackenzie was stirred by it to strong emotion. He hid his face.\n\n\"Poor Euphrasia! Poor little Eyebright! They will say I have been a bad\nfather to you all! But\u2014not from want of love!\"\n\n\"Oh, no! Don't say that! Don't talk so, please! The dearest and best of\nfathers! Please don't say such things. I can't go to-morrow. I'll stay\nat home.\"\n\n\"No, my dear. You must go.\"\n\n\"I can't! How can I? There will be no pleasure in it at all\u2014now.\"\n\n\"You must. We could give no reason. I would not have this guessed for\nanything! I do not know how I have come to say so much. It has been\nfoolish\u2014selfish of me! To spoil your pleasure for no good. But the\nburden seemed more than I could endure alone.\"\n\n\"I'm glad you told me.\" She wondered vaguely\u2014might not some word of\ntrust be helpful here? People had to trust in trouble. Mrs. Landor\nwould say so at once. But the trouble seemed so real, and the trust so\ndim. Euphrasia could not feel conscious of anything like real trust\nwithin herself; and how then might she advise another to exercise it?\n\nNo, all she could do was to give up going away, and stay at home, to\nbe, if possible, some little comfort to him. But she strove in vain.\nHis will was as a flint in opposition. The dread lest anything might\nin consequence be guessed overmastered all other considerations. To\nEuphrasia the fear seemed unreasonable, but she had no power to make\nhim see as she saw.\n\n\"If you had decided against it earlier\u2014of your own will\u2014before I spoke,\nthat would have been different,\" he said once, wistfully.\n\nAnd a stab of self-reproach shot through the girl, for she knew \"now\"\nthat conscience had spoken plainly, and that she had refused to listen.\n\n\"But not since I have spoken\u2014not on any account! I could not permit it!\"\n\nWhen she pleaded further, a look of distress and confusion came. \"I\ncannot stand discussion. You must go, my dear, and enjoy yourself.\nNothing can alter the plan now.\"\n\n\nEuphrasia's train was not until after mid-day. And an early message\nfrom Mrs. Landor intimated that a good-bye call was expected at the\nRectory.\n\n\"I told you she would not be pleased if you didn't go,\" Mrs. Mackenzie\nobserved.\n\n\"Mother, I was there the day before yesterday.\"\n\n\"Well, you must run round again now. There's no need to stay long, and\nyour packing is finished.\"\n\nMrs. Landor was always especially kind to Euphrasia, treating her in\nsome sort as she would have treated a favourite niece. She had no\nnieces, and she had known \"Little Eyebright\" from infancy. Euphrasia\ngave much quiet love to Mrs. Landor\u2014a steady affection, without\nromance, but reliable.\n\nAlthough Lady of the Manor, Mrs. Landor had, since her marriage some\nten or twelve years earlier, lived always at the Rectory. Her own house\nlay at a good distance\u2014inconveniently far for the clergyman. So it was\nlet to strangers, and she quietly devoted herself to Parish work. Some\npeople thought and whispered that Mrs. Landor's affairs had become\ninvolved, and that her wealth was by no means what it once had been.\nShe seldom spoke of her own affairs, however, and conjecture went no\nfurther.\n\n\"Did you mean to flit without one word to me?\" Mrs. Landor asked, when\nthe girl came slowly in.\n\nIt was not Euphrasia's way to go about with lagging step, and Mrs.\nLandor noted the change instantly. Then she saw a look in the young\nface not commonly there, and she put aside the work over which she was\nbusy, motioning Euphrasia to a seat by her side.\n\nEuphrasia did not take it. She went to a chair at a little distance,\nresolutely reticent in air. Mrs. Landor would see, of course, that\nsomething was wrong, for Mrs. Landor always saw everything, and\nEuphrasia knew that she must guard her words carefully. It was so\nnatural to tell Mrs. Landor all that was in her mind, and here she\nmight not do so. She had an odd feeling that distance meant greater\nsafety. But Mrs. Landor quietly moved to the nearest sofa, so she\ngained nothing.\n\n\"Mother said I was to come.\"\n\n\"Against your will, child?\" Mrs. Landor scrutinised the grave face. \"It\nis not a question of 'Little Eyebright' to-day. Those eyes have been\nawake nearly all night. What have you been doing with yourself?\"\n\nOne glance answered, quickly veiled.\n\n\"Some little matter that you do not want to tell me? Girls have their\ntroubles, have they not? Don't make too much of it, whatever it may be.\nYours is not, I think, a peculiarly anxious temperament, but most of us\npossess some power of self-worrying.\"\n\n\"I don't think\u2014\" Euphrasia failed to complete her sentence.\n\n\"You are pleased, on the whole, to go to your friend.\"\n\n\"I didn't want to give it up.\"\n\n\"Not even if your mother wanted you at home?\"\n\n\"But my father says I must go. I did offer\u2014last night.\"\n\n\"Ah! That alters the question.\" A pause; and then\u2014\"Euphrasia, what is\nthe matter with your father?\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nFOR ONE'S GOOD\n\nTHE question came abruptly, though uttered in gentle tones. It took\nEuphrasia by surprise. A wave of colour crimsoned her face to the\nhair-roots, and then fled, leaving her white. Mrs. Landor watched with\nquiet attention. She could do so, since the downcast eyes were not\nraised.\n\n\"I see. He has been talking things over with you. No; you need not\nanswer. I am asking no questions. Perhaps, a little mistake on your\nfather's part. The best of men make occasional mistakes. He does not\nquite realise what a child you are.\"\n\n\"I don't feel like a child.\"\n\n\"Children seldom do. You will feel younger when you are really\nolder . . . But of course he does not realise\u2014how should he? And\nhe has not been the same man since last winter. A sort of nervous\ndisorganisation about him. He ought to go abroad for a few weeks, and\nget shaken out of it . . . He has been telling you of some little\nbusiness worry or other; and in his present state, it has grown to\nBrobdingnagian proportions. The mole-hill is to your mind a veritable\nmountain.\"\n\n\"I must not repeat\u2014\"\n\n\"Not a word. I wouldn't have you do so, on any account. Confidence is\nsacred, from anyone\u2014from a father or mother especially so, if there\ncan be any 'especial' in connection with what is absolute. 'I' shall\nnot repeat even my own conjecture to any human being. Be sure of\nthat! . . . But I do not wish Little Eyebright to leave home with so\nsad a face. It's not needful, child. Things will come right.\"\n\n\"Will they?\" Euphrasia looked with unbelieving eyes at her friend. \"How\ncan you tell? Things don't always come right.\"\n\n\"Not with everybody. That may be. It depends\u2014\"\n\n\"Does it?\" Euphrasia seemed to take the rest of the unspoken sentence\nfor granted. \"If people are good enough, you mean. But nobody can be\nmore good than my father. And that does not mean that everything must\nalways come right with him.\"\n\n\"I think it does. 'We \"know\" that all things work together for good\nto them that love God.' We 'know' so much, with a certain knowledge.\nIf he loves God, then all things must and will work together for his\ngood. Whether that is exactly what you mean by 'things coming right,' I\ncannot say. It is what I mean.\"\n\nA certain girlish resistance was in the other's face.\n\n\"Not easy to grasp, at your age, perhaps.\"\n\n\"I don't see how that would make trouble any the less hard to bear.\"\n\n\"Trouble is meant to be trouble; and you must not expect it to be aught\nelse. The knowledge that it is to work utterly and absolutely for our\ngood, ought to make it less hard to bear.\"\n\n\"It wouldn't, with me. I should want the trouble taken away,\u2014just the\nsame. I hate things going all crooked. It's so miserable. I suppose I\nought not to talk so\u2014but\u2014I'd rather be without the trouble, and without\nthe good of it too.\"\n\n\"You may say what you think to me. Probably many of us feel so at\ntimes, in our ignorance of what we wish. To be 'without the good'\n'might' imply such awful loss in the future,\u2014yet of course we don't\nunderstand. And God knows that we don't. Mercifully He doesn't punish\nus by taking us at our word, and treating us according to our folly.\nAfter all, it is just Father and child over again, as we see the\nrelationship daily. The father, knowing best and loving most, bent on\nthe child's happiness, and willing at any cost to himself, to give\npresent pain for future good. The child bent on present ease and\nenjoyment, not able to understand the discipline it has to bear, or to\nlook ahead . . . What do you say? Yes, cost to the child, no doubt, but\ngreater cost to Himself: because the pain of giving pain is more severe\nto a loving nature than that of receiving pain! . . . There is nothing\nfor it but trust, where we cannot see. HE deals with us commonly\naccording to the measure of our trust, responding more when we expect\nmore, and less when we expect less.\"\n\nEuphrasia seemed to be lost in thought. When she spoke, it was to put a\nquestion.\n\n\"Do you mean that if\u2014if I saw a trouble coming\u2014and if I prayed that it\nmight not come, and felt quite sure it would not\u2014do you mean that that\nwould keep it off?\"\n\nA rather odd expression crossed Mrs. Landor's face. \"You couldn't do\nit, child.\"\n\nEuphrasia's look fell.\n\n\"Such a prayer in itself would be presumptuous, unless prayed in\nsubmission, and then, of course, the mode of answer would be doubtful.\nIf you resolved wilfully to pray that the trouble might at all hazards\nbe kept off, you could not make yourself believe that it inevitably\n'would' be kept off.\"\n\n\"I thought, sometimes, people were so sure about getting an answer.\"\n\n\"People may be absolutely sure, always, about getting an answer, but\nnot about getting the particular answer which they would choose for\nthemselves . . . I don't say there are no exceptional cases. Sometimes\na trouble threatens to come, and the child turns to his Father for\nhelp; and an instant assurance is whispered to him that the trial shall\nnot come. Then it does not come . . . But I doubt if such assurance is\never given to one wilfully insisting in prayer on having\u2014'Not Thy will\nbut mine.' It is not for us to dictate to God: only to ask.\"\n\n\"Then I don't see the good of praying,\" Euphrasia broke out\npassionately. \"One might just as well let it alone.\"\n\nShe gazed again with rebellious eyes, expecting to see signs of\nindignation, but she could detect nothing beyond pity.\n\n\"Poor child!\" the elder lady said softly. \"Wait a little while, till\nyou know Him better! Then you will find the difference between bearing\nyour own burden and putting it off into His hands.\"\n\nSomething of the same thought came to Euphrasia that had come to her\nmother. \"If Mrs. Landor expected to lose everything, would she feel so,\n'then?'\" The question found half-expression in a murmured, \"It is easy\nto talk\u2014\"\n\n\"For people who have not the trouble themselves. Yes, I dare say it\nseems so. It must, naturally. You know your own troubles, and you don't\nknow mine. Perhaps you would even say that I had none. If it were so,\nmy dear, remember that the highest honour God can put upon one of His\nchildren is, perhaps, to 'leave' that child in the dark, that he may\ntrust without being able to see.\"\n\nEuphrasia's glance was uncomprehending.\n\n\"Try at least to think what a splendid thing it is to have such a\nFriend as Christ to hold one's hand, and to shape one's life. If He\nincludes some pain in the shaping, it is because we need the pain.\nBetter to accept what He brings, bravely and without murmuring. I don't\nmean for a moment that we may not pray against coming trouble. We ought\nto pray, and to be confident of an answer. Only we may not dictate the\nmanner of answer.\"\n\n\"I can't see the good of praying if the trouble is to come just the\nsame.\"\n\n\"It does not come 'just the same.' If it comes, it comes differently,\nor we are made able to meet it differently. My dear, try for yourself,\"\nurged Mrs. Landor, her slender hand resting on the girl's sunburnt\nfingers. \"Only try, and prove for yourself how kind and true a Master\nHe is. He will not be dictated to, but He does love to be appealed\nto. Only put your worries straight off into His Hands, and ask Him to\narrange everything for the best. If your experience in life is to be\nat all the same as mine has been, you will constantly be amazed at\nthe manner of answer that comes, so simple and direct. Very often so\nexactly the thing that you have asked and wished for. I don't say it\n'will' be the same. God does not treat us as patients were treated in\nolden hospitals\u2014laid us in rows, to receive the same doses of medicine\nall round. Each case needs its own treatment, and each case gets it.\nBut one thing I do know, that you will never turn to Him in vain.\"\n\n\"Some people don't seem to get such answers.\"\n\n\"Do they expect such answers, Euphrasia?\"\n\nMrs. Landor had no reply to her question. Half to herself, yet\ndistinctly, she quoted,\u2014\n\n   \"'If our love were but more simple,\n       We should take Him at His Word:\n     And our lives would be all sunshine\n       In the sweetness of our Lord.'\n\n\"All sunshine doesn't mean no clouds, but it does mean sunlight between\nand through the clouds . . . Still, answers are sometimes long delayed.\nThat again may be the higher honour put upon us. We test a rope more or\nless severely, according to our belief in the strength of the rope.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE JOHNSTON FAMILY\n\n\"WHERE is Letitia? I can't imagine what has become of her. That girl\nwill be here directly, and it will seem so rude, if Letitia is out.\nSomebody ought to have met her in Bristol, but really I have not known\nhow to arrange it; and Letitia never thinks of anything.\"\n\n\"Except it be a thing that she wants for herself,\" chimed in Howard\nJohnston, a rather handsome and severe-looking young man, busy at\na side writing-table in the large drawing-room. It was an upstairs\ndrawing-room, after the manner of the big old-fashioned Royal York\nCrescent houses in Clifton; and its front windows overlooked the\nlengthy crescent-shaped stone terrace which partly hid from sight the\nroad below.\n\n\"Girls always think of themselves first. What can you expect? I'm\nsure she is welcome to do what she likes, generally. 'I' don't expect\nmy children to put themselves out for me,\" declared Mrs. Johnston\ncomplacently, from the depths of a luxurious chair. \"But I do think she\nought to have managed to meet her friend. She knows that I meant to\nsend her down in a cab with Jerrold\u2014and I didn't see the use of Jerrold\ngoing alone. She would never have managed to stumble on the right\nperson. Jerrold is all very well as a maid, but she is stupid about\nthat sort of thing.\"\n\n\"It might have been more polite to make the effort.\"\n\n\"Do you think so? But really I have been so busy, I am afraid it\nslipped my memory. Letitia should have seen to things. At all events,\nshe ought to have managed to come home in time.\"\n\n\"No doubt the young lady knows Letitia too well to be astonished at\nanything.\"\n\n\"But I have never seen her, and she knows none of us except Letitia.\nIt was so provoking that she should accept the invitation just now.\nAlmost any other time would have been better. So much going on in\nClifton! And, of course, we can't take Miss Mackenzie everywhere.\nPeople haven't always spare space; and I don't even know yet whether\nshe is presentable; and Letitia can't be perpetually leaving her. It is\nprovoking. Letitia said we were bound to ask her before winter because\nit has always been a promise. I am sure I shouldn't have remembered,\nbut I suppose I did say something once, and Letitia seems to have made\nthe most of it. So absurd of her. And I suppose the girl will stay a\nmonth at least. Country people of that sort have no notion of paying a\nshort visit.\"\n\n\"Make some other arrangement, and tell her the room won't be free after\na certain date.\"\n\n\"My dear boy, how can I? Letitia has asked her for a month. 'It was\nalways promised,' she says.\"\n\n\"Promised! For whose sake?\"\n\n\"I'm sure I don't know. Letitia 'used' to wish it.\"\n\n\"Well\u2014if Letitia undertakes her\u2014\"\n\n\"But that is the very thing! I believe Letitia would be as glad to be\noff it as I should be. Of course they were very good friends at school,\nbut that is another matter. It isn't really that Letitia 'wants' her\nnow, only she feels bound. I don't suppose Miss Mackenzie is anything\nparticular\u2014not pretty, or clever, and she doesn't sing or play, and\nher father is only the manager of a little country branch bank. For\nmy part, I can't imagine what made Letitia take to her; only girls do\nlike to have a fuss made about themselves, and it is plain that Miss\nMackenzie has an immense admiration for Letitia. That's how it has\nbeen. And at school, as I say, it was all very well. Letitia was glad\nof anything to pass the time. But here it is different. She has any\namount of friends; and really, between ourselves, I believe she would\nhave been glad if Miss Mackenzie had put off coming. Only, in a sort of\nway, Letitia is conscientious, you know, and she declared we had to ask\nthe girl.\"\n\n\"Conscientious 'in a sort of way!' I should think her sense of\nobligation might extend so far as to include a kind welcome.\"\n\n\"Oh, of course! Letitia means to be as kind as possible. She always\ndoes. I don't say the child isn't a little scrap spoilt, but she really\nhas very nice manners\u2014generally. Of course she will take Miss Mackenzie\nabout, and make it a pleasant visit. Only it really is 'rather' a bore\nfor poor dear Letitia because I don't suppose Euphrasia Mackenzie will\nsuit Letitia's friends in the least. And a month is a long time. If it\nwere only a week or ten days, one could manage better. But it can't be\nhelped. That sort of thing has to be endured. Letitia ought to have\nbeen more cautious with her promises. I do wish she would come in first\nof the two.\"\n\nLetitia failed to do so. At this very moment she was seated in a\nfriend's house, deeply interested in a certain discussion of plans, and\noblivious of the hour. At this very moment Euphrasia was driving alone\ninto the road below the Royal York Crescent.\n\nShe had not expected to find nobody waiting for her at the big noisy\nBristol station. Euphrasia was not yet much of a traveller.\n\n\"You will be met, of course,\" her mother had said, on seeing her off.\n\nAnd though capable of managing for herself, she did look out, with\neagerness amounting to certainty, for Letitia's pretty face, as the\ntrain drew up.\n\nBut no Letitia was there! Euphrasia wasted some little time gazing\nblankly about, before she could make up her mind to the reality.\nThen she secured a porter and found her luggage, not a little hurt\nat the apparent coldness. Something might unexpectedly have happened\nto keep Letitia away\u2014still, Euphrasia felt that it must have been a\nvery serious something which should have sufficed to keep her away, if\nLetitia had been coming to her home.\n\n\"And if she could not come herself, she might have sent somebody,\"\nthought Euphrasia, during the long drive through Bristol, and up a\nBristol hill, into Clifton.\n\nThe cabman presently pulled up and leant over for a word. \"Will you get\nout at the lower door, or at the steps?\"\n\n\"Lower door!\"\n\n\"Royal York Crescent is a terrace, Miss. The luggage 'll have to go in\nat the lower door, but there's steps up to the terrace, if you'd sooner\ngo in at the front door.\"\n\nEuphrasia forlornly decided to cling to her luggage, and the cab drove\non.\n\nThen the \"lower door\" was reached. And Euphrasia found herself,\ninwardly quaking, in a long stone passage\u2014kitchen regions, plainly.\nThe maid led to a flight of stairs, by means of which they gained the\nhall. But this was only the \"ground-floor,\" ordinarily considered,\nlevel with the terrace. Here were dining-room and library, while for\nthe drawing-room yet another climb was needful. Country-bred Euphrasia,\nused to two little sitting-rooms on a level with earth's surface, found\nthis a somewhat breathless experience. She grew each instant more\nheated, bewildered and embarrassed. One glimpse of Letitia would have\nset all right, but no Letitia appeared.\n\nHad her coming been forgotten? Was she really not expected?\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nEUPHRASIA'S FRIEND\n\n\"MISS MACKENZIE,\" announced the man, who had taken the place of the\nmaid on the front door level.\n\nEuphrasia cast a hungry glance round the drawing-room as she entered,\nand she found there no Letitia. Not even when, advancing farther,\nshe obtained a view of the smaller back part, at first hidden. The\ndisappointment was so keen as actually to bring a threatening of\nsomething like tears. Reserved Euphrasia was by no means always so\nreserved as she liked to count herself. She had to clench her gloved\nhands, and to set her teeth.\n\nA young man, seated at a side writing-table, stood up, and the lady\nbeyond made a half motion, as of intent to do the same, but did not\nactually raise herself. Perhaps the object seemed hardly worth the\nexertion. She held out a hand of welcome, however, smiling in a lavish\nstyle.\n\n\"How do you do, Miss Mackenzie? Quite well, I hope? And not very tired\nwith your long journey! Travelling really is most fatiguing, is it not?\nWe are delighted to have you at last in our midst.\"\n\nMrs. Johnston's eyes ran all over Euphrasia, taking careful stock of\nher exterior, and farther than the exterior those eyes had no power to\npenetrate. (\"Dear me! What a very ordinary girl!\" decided the lady.\n\"What 'could' have made Letitia ever take a fancy to her? Such a\njacket! And no manner at all!\")\n\n\"It's really most unfortunate that Letitia should have been prevented\nfrom meeting you at the station. Bristol is such a bustling place that\nshe fully meant to be there, but she found it impossible, I suppose,\nto get back in time. Letitia has so many engagements, and Clifton is\nsuch a busy place, always something going on. I never can count upon\nher now for anything. One lives in a perpetual rush. (Has the girl\nnothing to say? Does she mean to stand and stare for an hour?) Pray sit\ndown, Miss Mackenzie. Yes, that chair please, Howard. My son,\u2014no doubt\nLetitia has mentioned her brothers to you. Girls always talk over their\nhome-people together, don't they? And you and she are great friends, I\nknow\u2014'immense' friends. Letitia has so often spoken of the pleasure of\nhaving you here.\"\n\n\"Letitia is rather more given to speech than action,\" remarked Howard.\n\n\"Oh, that is too bad\u2014poor dear Letitia! When she isn't present to\ndefend herself! But Miss Mackenzie and I know better. Of course Letitia\nhas her little faults\u2014what girl has not?\u2014and sometimes she may even\nforget to look at her watch when she has an important engagement on\nhand, but she would never be willingly neglectful of anybody. I'm\nreally afraid she must have forgotten the hour this afternoon, but she\nwill be back directly. We shall see her in a minute or two; and I know\nhow distressed she will feel at her own carelessness. (I declare, the\ngirl has not uttered one single syllable, good, bad or indifferent!\nIs she a dummy? I'll try a direct question!) Have you had a pleasant\njourney?\"\n\n\"Yes, thanks.\" Euphrasia gazed with combative eyes at the speaker; eyes\nwhich had to be combative, if they would escape being tearful.\n\n\"Chilly, I should imagine.\"\n\n\"I don't mind cold.\" Euphrasia spoke curtly.\n\n\"Ah! So different from me! Now, cold quite shrivels me up, positively\nkills me! But you are young and vigorous. Have you ever seen Clifton\nbefore?\"\n\n\"No, never.\" (\"And I shall not stay long to see it now,\" thought\nEuphrasia. \"If only I had not come!\")\n\n\"A very pretty place, you know. Delightful walks and drives. Letitia\nmust take you across the downs, and into the Leigh Woods.\"\n\nEuphrasia was silent.\n\n\"Ah, here is the child at last!\" Mrs. Johnston spoke in a tone of\nrelief, feeling that her share of responsibility was ended. \"My dear,\nyou have been most thoughtless! Your friend has arrived in your\nabsence, and you know that you were to have gone down to the station.\nI had looked upon that as a settled matter. Miss Mackenzie must have\nthought you quite unkind, really 'most' unkind, letting her come among\nus as a perfect stranger. But of course you could not help it!\"\n\nLetitia entered slowly\u2014a pretty girl, prettily dressed\u2014with a\nthundercloud of annoyance on her brow. No confirmation came from her\nof the last assertion\u2014no disclaimer from Euphrasia of the preceding.\nA mechanical kiss was exchanged between the friends, and Letitia\nstood gazing into the fireplace, wrapped up in her own thoughts. Mrs.\nJohnston glanced from the one downcast face to the other, uncomfortably\naware of something out of joint.\n\n\"Where have you been, my dear?\"\n\n\"To the Fearings!\"\u2014shortly.\n\n\"Lady Fearing?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course! You knew! I told you I was going there!\" The tone\nspoke of ill-temper, and was, to say the least, disrespectful.\n\nThat her friend \"had a temper,\" as the saying goes, Euphrasia was\naware, but she had not before seen precisely this form of it. At school\nLetitia had been in wholesome subjection, and such a tone to the\nprincipal, or to any of the teachers, would not have been tolerated\nfor a moment. At home the spoilt manner of a spoilt child was at once\nreassumed, but it came upon Euphrasia with a shock. She was not herself\npeculiarly sympathetic in manner to her own mother, but at least she\nnever showed disrespect.\n\n\"Well, you may have told me, Letitia, but I am sure I don't remember.\nSo many things are always coming up.\"\n\n\"Lady Fearing asked me to call, and I told you I had to go and couldn't\nget back early. You 'might' have remembered,\" Letitia continued curtly.\n\"And it's most provoking. Lady Fearing wants me to go to Bath with her\nand Cecy next week for three or four nights\u2014to one of the hotels. We\nshould go everywhere and see everything. It would be so delightful. Of\ncourse, I said I could not, but\u2014\"\n\n\"No, of course not,\" assented Mrs. Johnston, with a warning glance,\nwhich had more effect on Euphrasia than on Letitia.\n\nLetitia sighed, and dangled one of her gloves to and fro with a dismal\nair.\n\n\"Of all things I should have loved it,\" she murmured.\n\n\"Why should you not go?\" asked Euphrasia.\n\n\"Oh, why\u2014of course\u2014\" uttered Letitia, half-ashamed.\n\n\"It would not be convenient. Entirely out of the question.\" Mrs.\nJohnston launched another reproachful glance. She might be as much\ndisappointed as Letitia at the impossibility, and she was not delighted\nat first sight with her daughter's friend, nevertheless, she knew what\npoliteness required of them both.\n\n\"Then it is not because of my being here for a few days? That need make\nno difference. I shall be going home early next week.\"\n\n\"Oh, nonsense\u2014why, you promised us a month at least.\" Letitia was\nbeginning to get a glimpse of herself from outside, and to realise the\nrudeness into which temper had betrayed her.\n\n\"I don't think I promised anything. I have only come for a 'very' few\ndays. My father isn't well, and I almost put off coming altogether.\"\n\n\"Oh, well\u2014of course that makes a difference. I mean, I am very sorry he\nisn't well. What is the matter with him? But you wouldn't like to be\nlong away, if he is poorly. And then, of course\u2014\"\n\n\"My dear, I think you had better show Miss Mackenzie to her room. Tea\nwill be up in a few minutes, and Miss Mackenzie may be glad to remove\nher hat.\"\n\nEuphrasia made no objection. She was upheld by a consciousness of\nhaving acted her part well. She certainly 'would' go home\u2014if not before\nSunday, then immediately after. At home she was wanted, here she was\nnot wanted. A glow of affection for the dear little home crept over\nher as she walked silently in Letitia's rear; and she wondered how she\ncould ever have been so eager to leave it.\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nFRIENDS _AND_ FRIENDS\n\nA PANG came as Euphrasia remembered her father's forecast of loss\nand change, and she wondered how long the little home would still be\ntheirs. How small other matters seemed by comparison!\n\n\"And yet I 'did' think Letitia really loved me! I didn't think she\ncould be like this!\" the girl said voicelessly.\n\nThe cloud had cleared from Letitia's brow and she tripped lightly\nupstairs showing the way. Once she paused to slip her arm within\nEuphrasia's in the old affectionate style, but there was no response.\n\n\"Why, Euphrasia! You are not vexed with me, are you?\"\n\nEuphrasia made no answer till the question was repeated. \"I don't\nknow,\" she said then, slowly. \"Perhaps not\u2014exactly\u2014vexed! Only I\nthought you really wanted to have me, and now I see it was a mistake.\"\n\n\"You dear old goosie! Nonsense, Euphrasia! What 'can' have put such an\nabsurd notion into your head? Not want you! Of course I want you. I\nwanted you to stay a whole month\u2014you know I did.\"\n\n\"Only you are very glad I cannot.\"\n\n\"Really, Euphrasia, you are too ridiculous! What nonsense! Of course\nif your father isn't well, you are right to go home. That is another\nmatter. I shouldn't be right to try and keep you.\"\n\n\"And then you will be free to go to Bath!\"\n\n\"Oh, that\u2014as to that, I shall see! Other things might prevent. I may\nnot go, anyhow. It just depends! Of course, I should like it, and I\ndon't see why you should mind! Anybody would like such a treat, and\nanybody would be provoked when things don't fit in properly. But my\nwanting to go there doesn't mean that I don't want to have you here\ntoo.\"\n\nEuphrasia shook her head, almost imperceptibly.\n\n\"Why, they can all tell you that I have talked for months of your\nvisit. But of course I have other friends too. And Cecy Fearing is the\nvery dearest girl! If you knew her, you wouldn't wonder at me.\"\n\n\"I quite understand,\" Euphrasia answered, standing gravely near the\ndressing-table. By this time they were in the little bedroom.\n\n\"Well, I hope you are not going to have any more fancies. You ought\nto know me better by this time. Do you think you can find your way\ndownstairs? Shall I send the maid to help you unpack? No? You dear\npiece of independence! Tea will be up in a few minutes, and there's\nsomething I 'must' do first. But don't be long coming down.\"\n\nLetitia hurried off, plainly eager to be free; and Euphrasia gazed\nsolemnly out of the window, seeing nothing.\n\n\"Father would say that one has to learn what the world is like. And\nMrs. Landor would call this being d\u00e9sillusionn\u00e9e. I did think I had\none real friend in Letitia, and now I find I have not! Perhaps it is\na good thing to find out early, not to be long deceived. She seemed\nso different at school. But everything was different there. These\nFearings\u2014why, they are quite new people. Letitia didn't know them three\nmonths ago. And yet she would rather be with them than with me. But\nthey are somebodies and I am a nobody.\"\n\nEuphrasia laughed faintly. One may be quite as proud of being a Nobody\nas of being a Somebody, but she did not know this.\n\n\"Anyhow, I am not going to make a goose of myself, or to let them see\nthat I care. My father being poorly is excuse enough for me to hurry\nhome. I shall not write to-night, because I might say too much. But\nto-morrow morning I'll tell him plainly that Letitia is not the friend\nI thought her, and that I'm not really wanted here, and so I mean to go\nhome on Monday or Tuesday. Only he must not think that I am letting out\nanything he said to me. I shall have to be careful.\"\n\nMeanwhile Letitia ran downstairs, and was greeted in the drawing-room\nby a\u2014\n\n\"Really, Letitia\u2014!\"\n\n\"It's all right, mother. She's obliged to go home in a hurry because of\nher father! So now I can go to Bath.\"\n\n\"You will do nothing of the kind,\" Mrs. Johnston said, for once\nseriously displeased. \"I would not on any account have Miss Mackenzie\nhurried away in such a fashion, just for your convenience. Of course I\nshould like you to be in Bath with Lady Fearing, but I will not have a\nguest treated with rudeness, and that would be positive rudeness.\"\n\n\"She says she has to go home.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, my dear. Could you not see for yourself? Of course she felt\nbound to say so, when you showed so plainly what you wanted. But after\nasking her here for a month\u2014really it was too bad, and Howard says the\nsame. If you choose to make foolish promises to your friends, you must\ntake the consequences. Nobody else wanted her, but now she is here, she\nwill stay\u2014at all events for ten days or a fortnight. I don't believe a\nword about her father's health. Why did she not mention it in writing?\"\n\n\"I don't see why she should.\" Letitia spoke sullenly.\n\n\"Anybody else would see. Which day do the Fearings go to Bath?\"\n\n\"Tuesday. To stay till Friday or Saturday.\"\n\n\"Then it is out of the question. You must give up all idea of such a\nthing.\" Mrs. Johnston spoke with unwonted decision. \"It can't be, and\nthat is the long and short of the matter.\"\n\nA few minutes later Euphrasia made her appearance. She would not remain\nlong upstairs. She did not wish for solitude or time to think, and she\nwas especially desirous not to show signs of affront. Such signs would\nbe tantamount to an avowal that her father's indisposition was not the\nreal, or at all events not the sole cause of her shortened visit. \"And\nit 'shall' be short,\" she told herself resolutely.\n\nLetitia's face showed a fresh phase of affairs, which at first\nperplexed Euphrasia. Tea was come, and Mrs. Johnston while dispensing\nit talked continuously, to cover her daughter's silence. Euphrasia\nmade necessary answers, not hearing half that was said, till the words\ncaught her attention:\n\n\"Next Wednesday Letitia shall take you.\"\n\nThe \"where\" had doubtless been explained before.\n\n\"Thank you,\" she said at once, \"but I shall not be here on Wednesday.\"\n\nMrs. Johnston laughed. \"Indeed, Miss Mackenzie, we shall not let you\noff so early. If a whole month is impossible, a fortnight is the least\nwe can be content with.\"\n\n\"Thank you. It is very kind.\" Euphrasia's eyes went straight to\nLetitia's face, and lingered there for two seconds. \"But I must go home\non Monday or Tuesday. Not later than Tuesday.\"\n\n\"No, indeed! I really could not consent. I shall write to your father\nmyself, and ask him if it is necessary.\" Mrs. Johnston spoke with an\nair of pleasant determination. \"I do not think he can be so ill as not\nto spare you for a short time. As for Letitia's absurd notion about\nBath, pray do not let that trouble you. The plan is absolutely out of\nthe question.\"\n\n\"It makes no difference. I must go on Monday or Tuesday.\"\n\nA smile of dissent answered, and Mrs. Johnston put the matter aside, as\nif further discussion were superfluous. Since Letitia would not exert\nherself, Mrs. Johnston did, and the next hour was made as pleasant to\nEuphrasia as could be possible under the circumstances.\n\n\"Most fatiguing for myself, for the girl has no conversation,\" Mrs.\nJohnston stated inwardly, with compassion for her own arduous task. But\nshe succeeded in winning Euphrasia's gratitude, and even to some extent\nEuphrasia's liking.\n\n\"Letitia, my dear, I wish you would run upstairs and get me that little\nwork-basket out of my bedroom,\" she said, after a while. Lights had\nbeen brought in, for it was getting dark.\n\n\"Oh, bother,\u2014why don't you ring for the maid? I'm tired.\" As with most\nspoilt children, \"tired\" with her meant \"out of temper.\"\n\n\"Really, my dear, you might speak more civilly.\"\n\nAnd Euphrasia started up, actually blushing for Letitia.\n\n\"Please let me! I should like so much to go. Yes, I know your\nbedroom\u2014the front room over this. And the work-basket\u2014\"\n\n\"Well, really, you are very kind! I'm most obliged\u2014but after all\u2014yes,\njust a little work-basket, on the small table within the door. But I\ndon't like\u2014\"\n\nEuphrasia was gone. \"I call 'that' obliging,\" said Mrs. Johnston.\n\nEuphrasia had no difficulty in finding her way, though the landing\nabove was dark. It seemed that the servants had delayed later than\nusual lighting the gas. She gained the room, found the work-basket, and\nset off swiftly to return. Too swiftly for one not familiar with the\ngeography of the house.\n\nBefore she knew it, the first short flight was reached. When just about\nto move cautiously, in search of the stairs, her foot was already over\nthe topmost step. Beyond that\u2014a dead blank!\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nA STEP IN THE DARK\n\n\"LETITIA, what is that noise?\"\n\n\"Somebody has let something fall, I suppose. The servants are always\ndropping trays about.\"\n\n\"Somebody has fallen down, I am sure. Not Miss Mackenzie, I hope! Do\npray see.\"\n\nMrs. Johnston did not wait for Letitia's reluctant motion. Although\nusually far from rapid herself, being of lymphatic temperament, she\nstarted out of her chair, and hurried into the hall.\n\n\"Nothing here, but the sound seemed to come from above. Do find out.\nHow you dawdle, child! I declare, the fright has turned me positively\nill. If Miss Mackenzie\u2014\"\n\nLetitia, mounting unwillingly to the half-way landing, broke into a\nscream: \"Mother, it is Euphrasia! Down a whole flight!\"\n\nAnd Mrs. Johnston hastened thither.\n\nEuphrasia was coming to herself. The first shock had driven away all\nconscious sensation. For though the flight was not a long one, she had\nfallen with considerable force. But she woke up to her position as Mrs.\nJohnston arrived on the scene.\n\nLetitia stood looking in blank dismay, not offering to help.\n\n\"I'm sorry\u2014so stupid of me\u2014\" were Euphrasia's first words, uttered\nvaguely. She was hardly yet awake to actual pain, but an odd dread of\nthe least movement held her in a cramped heap. \"It isn't\u2014it won't be\nmuch.\"\n\n\"Can I help you up, my dear?\" asked Mrs. Johnston, with extended hand.\n\nEuphrasia could have cried out, \"Oh, don't!\" merely from that instinct\nthat she might not move. She resisted the impulse and made an effort\nto raise herself, only to sink back, voicelessly clutching the nearest\nbaluster.\n\n\"What is it? Where are you hurt?\" asked Mrs. Johnston, much concerned.\n\"Somewhere, surely. She does look white! Letitia, pray call somebody.\nCall Horris. Oh no, he is out. Call anybody. Do make haste. Oh, here is\nHoward.\"\n\n\"Something wrong?\" enquired Howard's voice.\n\n\"Miss Mackenzie missed the top step somehow, and has fallen down. She\nhas hurt herself, I am afraid.\"\n\n\"If I may just wait a minute! It isn't so very bad\u2014if only I needn't\nmove! If I may just wait\u2014please\u2014\" That terrible thrill of pain had\nturned her sick, and she did not know how to endure another.\n\n\"You will have to let me carry you upstairs.\" Howard spoke as if it\nwere the most everyday thing in the world.\n\n\"Oh no, thank you, indeed, I'll walk in a few minutes. If I may just\nwait!\" pleaded Euphrasia, dreading the most kindly touch, and only\ncraving to be left alone.\n\nThe servants by this time were gathering round. \"Dear me, ma'am, this\nis bad!\" Jerrold was saying. \"Hadn't we best send for the doctor,\nma'am?\"\n\n\"Robert should certainly come,\" Howard said in a decisive under-tone,\nas Mrs. Johnston hesitated.\n\n\"Doctor! I don't want a doctor,\" exclaimed Euphrasia, a vivid\nrecollection springing up of the state of the home finances. \"I shall\nbe all right after a night's rest.\"\n\n\"You think so really?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, of course. It's only a little\u2014a little twist, I think.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\nNo answer came. She made another resolute effort to rise, endeavouring\nto pull herself up by means of the baluster, but again the result was\nfailure. \"My\u2014knee, I think\u2014\" she said faintly,\u2014\"and\u2014and\u2014\"\n\n\"My dear Howard, she is too heavy for you! Don't, pray,\" urged Mrs.\nJohnston. \"Do wait for Horris. He will be in directly.\"\n\n\"Please don't!\" echoed Euphrasia, as he prepared to lift her.\n\nBoth appeals were disregarded. \"Then don't take her all the way. Bring\nher to my room, at all events, just for the moment,\u2014only one little\nflight, Howard!\"\n\n\"Two moves are better avoided.\"\n\nEuphrasia protested no further. All her strength of will was required\nto suppress outward signs of suffering. The jar of each step was\nas much as she could possibly endure. And by the time Howard laid\nher on the bed in her little front bedroom, she was on the verge of\nunconsciousness.\n\n\"Poor girl! Fainted away. Really, she has borne it very pluckily.\nBetter send at once for Bob, and the less movement the better,\nmeantime, till we know what is wrong. I am afraid she is a good deal\nhurt.\" And again he said,\u2014\"Poor girl!\"\n\nEuphrasia, though too far gone to speak or to open her eyes, heard\ndistinctly, as from a distance\u2014\n\n\"Yes, indeed, I am very sorry for her,\u2014though really I do think,\nHoward, that 'we' are to be pitied too! I suppose it will mean no end\nof trouble and bother to everybody. One wouldn't say it to her, of\ncourse, but it is true.\"\n\n\"I shall go for Bob myself,\" Howard responded shortly.\n\n\nThe doctor, Robert Wells by name, nephew to Mrs. Johnston, paid his\nvisit and departed, leaving dismay behind him.\n\nThough young in appearance, he was several years older than his cousin\nHoward, a man of skilful fingers and of few words, not in the least\ngood-looking, but pleasant-mannered. He spent some time with Euphrasia,\nputting her to as little pain as could consist with needful examination\nof her injuries. Euphrasia endured bravely, and waited for the\nopportunity of a brief t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate with him to ask in earnest tones,\n\"Will it be much? How soon may I go home?\"\n\n\"It is an awkward twist,\" Mr. Wells said in answer. \"Everything depends\non perfect rest from the first.\"\n\n\"But I may get up to-morrow morning?\"\n\n\"Certainly not. This knee has to be kept entirely still. I don't think\nyou would advance far in your dressing, if you made the attempt; and\nyou must not make the attempt. You will feel very stiff all over\nto-morrow, apart from the knee.\"\n\n\"But staying in bed means giving trouble, and I can't bear to do that.\nI would rather go home to be nursed, please.\"\n\nThe doctor looked her over gravely, asked, \"Where is your home?\"\u2014Then\nsaid, \"H'm!\"\n\n\"I can't stay here to be a bother. I don't know Mrs. Johnston well\nenough. I couldn't bear to give such trouble to strangers. May I go\nhome to-morrow?\"\n\nHe shook his head.\n\n\"Then on Monday\u2014I may go on Monday!\"\n\nAnother shake.\n\n\"It isn't such a very long journey; and only one change. Somebody could\nmeet me there, and I might be helped in and out of the train. I would\nnot make any fuss, really.\"\n\n\"I am sure you would not. But this knee must have a few days of\nabsolute rest. You don't want to be troubled with it for months to\ncome. There is nothing like taking a thing in time.\"\n\n\"Only a few days! Not more, you are sure?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you that when I see the effect of the few days.\"\n\nFurther questioning failed to bring a more definite answer. Euphrasia\nlay after his departure, conning over his words, trying to extract some\ncomfort from them. If not Monday, then Tuesday, or Wednesday at the\nlatest! To lie here, giving \"no end of trouble and bother\" to people\nwho did not care in the slightest for her personally\u2014no, not even\nLetitia!\u2014seemed unendurable!\n\n\"I can't do it; oh, I can't,\" she said aloud. \"It is too dreadful. If\nonly I were at home. If only I had never come. Oh, I can't stay here!\nAnd I don't see the need. The pain isn't so very bad, except when I\nmove. I couldn't stay here to be nursed!\" But one often has to do in\nlife just that thing which one most shrinks from.\n\nThe doctor's reticence was of small avail. Letitia presently came in,\nby her mother's desire, not as it appeared too willingly. She stood at\nthe foot of the bed, and in moody tones said\u2014\n\n\"Well, you've done for yourself now, at any rate!\"\n\n\"I couldn't help falling, Letitia.\"\n\n\"You could have helped it with common care. So absurd, to go rushing\nabout in a strange house, where you didn't know your way. It was not\nyour business to offer to get the basket at all. If you hadn't meddled,\nthis wouldn't have happened.\" The implied rebuke of Euphrasia's action\nto her own lazy inaction rankled still.\n\n\"I thought I ought,\" in a constrained tone.\n\n\"Well, I hope you are satisfied!\"\n\nLetitia's unkindness cut deeply. Euphrasia could hardly have believed\nin such a display of temper to one in her then position. She had to\nwring her hands under the bed clothes, for self-control before speaking\nagain.\n\n\"I want to say one thing. Please don't let this make any difference\nabout your going to Bath. If I should not get away quite so soon as I\nhad meant to do, I should like you to go just the same. There's no need\nfor you to be here. It would only make me miserable to think that you\nstayed at home on my account.\"\n\n\"Mother won't hear of it.\"\n\nThen the question had been already mooted!\n\n\"I would so much rather\u2014I would, indeed. I don't want anybody. I shall\njust lie quiet, and nobody need take any trouble, till the doctor says\nI may travel. I want to go on Monday or Tuesday, but it might perhaps\nhave to be Wednesday.\"\n\n\"Tuesday! Wednesday! Why, Robert says you won't be able to travel for a\nmonth at least\u2014six weeks very likely. He says it's out of the question.\nAnd he won't even hear of your getting up for some days. I am sure I\ndon't know how we shall manage. The servants are always grumbling as it\nis about their work.\"\n\nA month or six weeks. Euphrasia's heart died within her.\n\n\"He can't mean that! He didn't tell me. He only talked of a few days.\"\n\n\"Oh, that was to pacify you, of course. I suppose I ought not to have\ntold you, but I forgot. Don't go and repeat it, or you'll get me into a\nscrape.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nA PRISONER\n\nBEFORE morning, Euphrasia knew well that getting up was at present\na matter, not of course, but of absolute incapacity. Bruised back\nand strained side had asserted themselves, and might alone have been\nenough to enforce a short imprisonment, but the knee was far worse. The\nslightest movement meant an unbearable thrill of agony, and all through\nthe long night she had hardly dared to let herself drop asleep, because\nof the inevitable awakening.\n\n\"Won't quite do for a journey yet, will it?\" the doctor said kindly.\n\n\"But will this go on long?\"\n\n\"I hope not. You have given the knee a most awkward twist, and the\nleast additional strain now might make it very serious. Nothing for\nsuch a case but absolute rest. I don't want to keep you in bed longer\nthan need be, but I am afraid a few days are necessary. Then we must\ntry to get you on a sofa.\"\n\n\"But all that means so much trouble. Oh, I could not,\" Euphrasia was\ndismayed almost to the point of tears. \"How can I? Among strangers! I'd\nrather just lie quiet here, and give no trouble. Much rather!\"\n\n\"You are of an independent spirit.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't mind so much at home. But in somebody else's house\u2014\"\n\n\"Well, yes, that does make matters more trying, I grant. It can't be\nhelped. The more quiet you can keep your knee, the sooner it is likely\nto improve. A great deal depends on yourself. Not much sleep last\nnight, I'm afraid.\"\n\n\"I couldn't. I kept waking with a start every time I dropped off. If I\nmoved ever so little, the pain woke me.\"\n\nMr. Wells took his leave, and Euphrasia was left to her own\ncogitations. She had time enough for them that day and in days\nfollowing. Far more solitude was hers than had ever before fallen to\nher lot; yet even solitude is better than a grudged companionship.\n\nMrs. Johnston, while expressing all polite concern for her guest's\ncondition, never visited the room without letting it appear how great\nan exertion she counted the effort. Letitia never spent half-an-hour\nthere without showing a desire to be elsewhere.\n\nWorse than the worst bodily suffering was Euphrasia's consciousness of\nbeing looked upon as a mere burden. No doubt the Johnstons, mother and\ndaughter, were in a general sense sorry for her, but they were a great\ndeal more sorry for themselves. To have a guest in the house requiring\ncare and nursing was simply a \"bother\" in their eyes. And if they could\npolitely have got rid of their unwished-for invalid, they would gladly\nhave done so. Euphrasia realised this to the core of her being.\n\nThe very servants, pampered and trained in self-indulgence, objected to\nthe \"extra work,\" and seeing this feeling plainly in their mistress,\nthey did not hesitate to speak it out plainly among themselves. A lazy\nyoung housemaid had been told off to wait upon Euphrasia; and due\norders were given to her, but nobody saw whether these orders were\ncarried out. In point of fact, they often were not. And Euphrasia was\nallowed to wait long for many things that she needed. Proudly, she\nwould not ask or remind the girl. At least it should not be said of her\nthat she gave unnecessary trouble.\n\n\"And I need not have come! I might have escaped all this! If I had just\ngiven it up when I really felt as if I ought, I might be at home now,\nand quite well\u2014not boxed up here where nobody wants me!\" Such regrets\nhaunted Euphrasia unceasingly.\n\nShe would not let her parents know what had happened. Why should she?\nIt would only make them anxious, and could do no good. Nay, in her\nfather's condition, the additional worry might even break him down\naltogether. So reasoned Euphrasia, putting bravely aside her own\nlongings for home sympathy. One short note she sent, to notify the fact\nof her arrival, carefully worded, and dealing only with generalities.\nNo mention was in it of her accident; and a request for silence stopped\nany communication from Mrs. Johnston.\n\nTwo or three days later came a hasty scrawl from Mrs. Mackenzie,\ntelling little or no news, and merely hoping that Euphrasia would enjoy\nher visit. After which followed silence. Mrs. Mackenzie did not write\nagain. Mr. Mackenzie did not write at all; and Mrs. Landor sent only\na line on Parish matters. Ken and Flo were equally remiss. Absence of\nhome letters made easier the keeping of her secret, since she too could\nthus be silent, without causing particular remark.\n\nBut the state of things was unusual, and she fretted over it a good\ndeal. During her long absences at school, letters had been frequent and\nregular. She could only conjecture now that her father was not well,\nand that they would not write for fear of having to say what might\nshadow her pleasure. As for her own silence\u2014doubtless they would think\nthat she was selfishly so enjoying herself as to forget to write.\n\n\"But I must bear that for a little while. They will soon know,\" she\nsaid.\n\nDays crept by with such desperate slowness that a week seemed like a\nmonth. And the silence therefore appeared a great deal longer than it\nreally was. Euphrasia did not allow for this fact.\n\nImprovement in the injured knee was slow, so slow that she sometimes\nwondered if it improved at all. At the end of a week, she was allowed\nto be moved to a small sofa, which the doctor ordered to be brought to\nher room, and from this sofa she could gain glimpses of the outside\nworld through the window. But the unwelcome trouble to others involved\nby even so slight a change pressed upon Euphrasia's mind, and destroyed\nher pleasure in it.\n\n\"To have to be such a bother!\" she said.\n\nYet she could not do without the help. Her restless young spirit chafed\nunder her own incapacity to stand or move about alone.\n\n\nOne day, nearly a fortnight after the accident, she lay alone on the\nsofa, looking out wearily into a blaze of sunshine. She could just\nsee the square tower of the old Parish Church beyond and away from\nthe further end of the Crescent; and a sound of bells came thence,\nringing merrily. It was almost half-past two. And Mrs. Johnston and\nLetitia were gone to a wedding which would be immediately taking place.\nEuphrasia did not expect their return till late in the afternoon, since\na \"reception\" was to follow the wedding.\n\n\"So much the better!\" she said. \"If they come up here to see me, it is\nonly because they think they must. And I hate to be a disagreeable duty\nto anybody!\"\n\nNevertheless, she felt somewhat forlorn in her dull little room, with\nthe bright sunshine and gay bell-ringing outside. And the afternoon\nseemed long to get through.\n\nNobody had thought of bringing her a book to while away the tedious\nhours. And true still to her resolution of making no needless requests,\nshe would not ask for one. A copy of \"Hymns Ancient and Modern\" was\nthe sole volume within reach, almost the sole volume in her room. No\nbookcase was here, and Euphrasia had brought no books with her.\n\nThere was nothing to draw her mind away from the subject of home.\nAn absolute dearth of letters continued. Euphrasia had written once\nagain, this time to Ken, saying little of herself and nothing of her\ncondition, only begging to know how they all were, especially Mr.\nMackenzie. But to her note, posted only the day before, no answer could\nyet arrive.\n\nAs she pondered, a favourite motto of her father's wove its measure\ninto the peal of bells, making itself heard with tiring persistency.\n\n\"A pund o' care winna pay an ounce o' debt\u2014an ounce o' debt\u2014an ounce o'\ndebt\u2014an ounce\u2014an ounce\u2014an ounce o' debt\u2014A pund o' care\u2014a pund o' care\nwinna pay\u2014winna pay\u2014winna pay an ounce\u2014an ounce o' debt.\"\n\n\"O dear, I wish I could forget that wretched proverb! And I don't see\nthe sense of it either. One doesn't worry because worrying does any\ngood, but only because one can't help it . . . Ought one to help it?\nMrs. Landor would say so. But then she has no cares\u2014at least, none\nworth speaking about. It is so easy not to be bothered when there is\nnothing to bother one.\"\n\n\"Winna pay\u2014winna pay\u2014winna pay an ounce\u2014an ounce\u2014winna pay an ounce o'\ndebt,\" persisted the bells.\n\nEuphrasia took up the small hymnbook and turned over its leaves with\nfingers thinner than their wont. Anything to break the line of thought!\n\n   \"If our love were but more simple,\n      We should take Him at His word\u2014\"\n\n\"I've seen or heard that before.\"\n\n\"A pund o' care\u2014a pund o' care winna pay\u2014winna pay\u2014an ounce\u2014an ounce\u2014an\nounce o' debt\u2014winna pay an ounce o' debt!\"\n\n\"O do stop! Where did I hear those lines before? Somewhere, I know.\"\nAnd straightway she read the hymn:\u2014\n\n   \"Souls of men! why will ye scatter\n      Like a crowd of frightened sheep?\n    Foolish hearts! why will ye wander\n      From a love so true and deep?\n\n   \"Was there ever kindest shepherd\n      Half so gentle, half so sweet,\n    As the Saviour who would have us\n      Come and gather round His feet?\n\n   \"There's a wideness in God's mercy,\n      Like the wideness of the sea;\n    There's a kindness in His justice,\n      Which is more than liberty.\n\n   \"There is no place where earth's sorrows\n      Are more felt than up in heaven:\n    There is no place where earth's failings\n      Have such kindly judgment given.\n\n   \"There is plentiful redemption\n      In the blood that has been shed;\n    There is joy for all the members\n      In the sorrows of the Head.\n\n   \"For the love of God is broader\n      Than the measures of man's mind;\n    And the heart of the Eternal\n      Is most wonderfully kind.\n\n   \"Pining souls! come nearer Jesus,\n      And, oh, come not doubting thus,\n    But with faith that trusts more bravely\n      His huge tenderness for us.\n\n   \"If our love were but more simple,\n      We should take Him at His word;\n    And our lives would be all sunshine\n      In the sweetness of our Lord.\"\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nHOW MUCH LONGER?\n\nEUPHRASIA read slowly, for there was no need to hurry. She had nothing\nelse to occupy her time. When she had reached the last verse, it took\nshape in the tones of Mrs. Landor, and she knew then where she had\nheard the words. She saw herself in Mrs. Landor's room, with Mrs.\nLandor by her side.\n\n\"My dear, try for yourself! Only try, and prove for yourself how kind\nand true a Master He is!\" This also came back in Mrs. Landor's quiet\nvoice.\n\n\"Is He so kind?\" the girl asked dreamily. \"So very very kind! I have\nalways thought of Him as good and just and true\u2014all that, of course.\nAnd angry, if one did wrong\u2014only 'angry' never seems quite the right\nword. But KIND\u2014'most wonderfully kind'\u2014is that what God is really and\ntruly like?\" Another utterance sprang from her very heart,\u2014\"If He is,\nhow I could love Him!\"\n\n\"Why don't I?\" came next.\n\n\"I suppose I haven't known before what He is really like\u2014that He is so\ntruly kind.\"\n\nRecollections arose, unbidden, of the \"old old story\" of how the Son of\nGod went to and fro on earth, ever with infinite kindness listening to\nall who spoke, answering all who petitioned, accompanying all who asked\nHim to go.\n\n\"He was kind\u2014He is kind\u2014and He was\u2014is\u2014God! He is just the same now\nas then. No difference at all. 'The heart of the Eternal is most\nwonderfully kind!' Doesn't that mean that He is kind still, even when\nHe sends trouble, because He only sends it for our good? . . . I wonder\nhow this can be for my good, except to make me do next time exactly\nwhat I think I ought. Yes, it may be that. But wouldn't my visit alone\nhave been disappointing enough without the accident? I did expect so\nmuch from it; and it has all turned out to be worth nothing,\u2014Letitia to\nbe no real friend at all. Wouldn't that have been punishment enough, I\nwonder, without my having to be shut up here for a whole month or more,\nwhere nobody wants me? And I can do no good to anybody, and I am wanted\nat home! Is it just a punishment for being wilful? Well, I shan't soon\nforget it all!\n\n   \"'There is no place where earth's sorrows\n       Are more felt than up in heaven\u2014'\n\n\"Is that true too? I never even thought of such a thing before. Are the\nangels sorry up There when any of us are in trouble?\u2014sorry now because\nI am dull and alone! And most of all, is God Himself sorry, even though\nHe has sent the trouble? Of course, I brought it on myself by being\ncareless and in a hurry, and by coming here at all. But still I suppose\nGod allowed it. And now, perhaps, all the while He really is sorry for\nme, because He is so wonderfully kind!\"\n\nEuphrasia was startled to find some quick drops falling.\n\n\"How do you do?\" a voice said by her side, not an echo this time of\npast utterances. Mr. Wells took her hand as he spoke. \"Did you not hear\nme ask leave to come in? The door was open, and I saw you lying here in\nfull view.\"\n\n\"Oh, was the door open? I didn't know. I thought I was alone.\"\nEuphrasia spoke shamefacedly, conscious of huskiness and wet eyes.\n\n\"No bad news from home?\"\n\n\"No letters at all\u2014I hope my father is not ill. They don't generally\nleave me so long. But then I have not written either, till yesterday.\"\n\n\"I would not lie and conjure up imaginary ills. It is a waste of power.\nWhatever may or may not be the cause, you are pretty certain to picture\nto yourself worse than the reality. Some most commonplace reason may\nhave prevented them from writing.\"\n\n\"If it were anything very bad, I should hear, of course; only my father\nwas not well when I came away.\"\n\n\"And you have too much time for thinking. Rather solitary work, is it\nnot? Three or four days would be all very well, or even a week, but you\nhave some right to get tired of it now.\"\n\n\"It won't be much longer.\"\n\n\"I hope not. So you have been reading.\" Mr. Wells took up the hymnbook,\nglanced at its open page, and looked over the edge at Euphrasia.\n\"Nothing else to read except this!\"\n\n\"That is nice enough. Why should I have anything else?\"\n\n\"Variety is sometimes good for people, the more so if they are in a\nmood to take melancholy views of things.\"\n\n\"And you think I am in a mood to do that?\"\n\n\"Possibly, just in the last half-hour.\"\n\nEuphrasia's look was one of protest. She could not explain. She could\nonly feel that if the thoughts which had brought tears into her eyes\nwere \"melancholy,\" it was a melancholy which she would fain keep for\nlife.\n\nMr. Wells read something unexpected in her face.\n\n\"I see I used the wrong word. Not melancholy, only perhaps a little\nsober\u2014a little serious. And when one is laid by, and a good deal alone,\nit is just possible to dwell too long at a time upon the very serious\nside of things. I don't say that it has been so with you at this\nmoment, but a change of ideas might be advantageous. I should certainly\nlike you to have some variety in your reading; and I do not see much\nvariety within reach.\" He glanced round critically.\n\n\"I could have asked for a book, of course.\"\n\n\"Letitia ought not to have waited to be asked.\"\n\n\"Oh, she was busy. There was the wedding. Please don't say anything to\nher.\"\n\nMr. Wells gave his attention to the lame knee, and presently remarked,\n\"Yes, it is getting on fairly well, perhaps as fast as we ought to\nexpect. But you are too much run down yourself.\"\n\n\"I shall be all right as soon as I get home. When may I go?\"\n\n\"By-and-by. You must get into another room first.\"\n\n\"I shall like that. I mean, if I may walk. I would rather not do it at\nall, if it means giving extra trouble.\"\n\n\"Is that the chief bugbear of your existence?\" asked Mr. Wells smiling.\n\n\n\"I wonder how much longer this is to go on?\" sighed Mrs. Johnston, next\nmorning.\n\n\"This!\" echoed her eldest son. The younger brother was a mere boy, away\nat school.\n\n\"Nonsense, Howard. As if you didn't understand! Euphrasia Mackenzie,\nof course. Here has she been nearly a fortnight in the house, and the\nservants are run off their legs\u2014or, at all events, they think so, which\ncomes to the same thing. I am sure, I did feel that we had done as much\nas could be expected of us. And now Robert must needs make all this\nstir about nothing.\"\n\n\"What stir?\"\n\n\"Oh, he declares we leave her a great deal too much alone, and let\nher feel dull, and don't attend to her as we ought. He fairly scolded\nLetitia. Poor dear, I do pity her, having to go and sit in that stuffy\nlittle room for an hour at a time!\"\n\n\"Something must be wrong with our household arrangements if we put our\nguests into stuffy little rooms.\"\n\n\"You know what I mean. Not exactly stuffy, but one doesn't want to sit\nthere half the day. And poor Letitia was so bent on going to Bath with\nthe Fearings. Of course I made her give that up, but it was rather hard\non the child. And she says Euphrasia is quite changed from what she\nused to be, so stiff and cold.\"\n\n\"I wonder whether Letitia ever does sit with Miss Mackenzie for\nanything like half-a-day\u2014or even for an hour at a time?\"\n\n\"I'm sure I can't tell. I only know I am perpetually at her about\nit. And I shall be thankful when it is all over. Euphrasia is not an\ninteresting invalid. And she hardly ever says a word of apology for the\ntrouble she gives.\"\n\n\"Does she not? Robert speaks of her as excruciatingly anxious not to be\na bother.\"\n\n\"Oh, as to that\u2014I suppose she doesn't make more work than she can help.\nI don't complain of the girl. Some people in her position would be\nmuch more thoughtless. But, of course, there are no end of things to\nbe done. And now Robert wants us to have her wheeled every day into\nLetitia's boudoir\u2014\"\n\n\"Where is that?\"\n\n\"The little room that used to be her nursery. Letitia turned it into\na sitting-room when she came home from school, but she never sits\nthere now by any chance. And Robert wants us to contrive not to leave\nEuphrasia so much alone. That is the worst of having a near relative\nfor one's doctor. He feels free to say whatever he happens to think. It\nseems he found her crying with nothing to read. So absurd not to ask\nfor what she wanted, if she had not a book! Robert does not commonly\nmake such a fuss about his patients, and why he should with Euphrasia\nMackenzie, I can't imagine. I never in my life saw a more unattractive\ngirl; did you?\"\n\n\"That wasn't precisely my impression, I confess. I thought she looked\nsensible.\"\n\n\"Oh, sensible\u2014if you think so much of being just sensible! Yes, I\ndare say she is sensible\u2014any amount! But not attractive\u2014not pretty,\nor clever, or anything.\" Then, reverting to her former subject, \"As\nlikely as not, if I tell Horris that he is to wheel the sofa in and out\nof that room every day, he will say he hasn't time, and can't do it.\nThat man gives himself such airs! I believe he will want to go the next\nthing.\"\n\n\"Let him go, by all means. If he does not want it, I shall, so soon as\nI find him indulging in airs. Plenty more men in the kingdom.\"\n\n\"You always talk like that. I can't bear the worry of change.\"\n\n\"A man who will not do his duty is a much worse worry, to my mind.\nNever mind; I'll see to replacing Horris if he goes. Meantime, if he is\ntoo grand or too lazy to wheel Miss Mackenzie's chair\u2014no, sofa\u2014a few\npaces, I am neither. Let me know when it wants doing.\"\n\n\"Oh, Horris must do it, of course, if he is told. But as for somebody\nto sit in the room\u2014Letitia never does a single thing she doesn't\nwish. And as for dragging myself up those stairs more than once in\ntwenty-four hours, I really could not undertake the exertion!\"\n\n\"Pray don't think of it,\" her son answered politely.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nNEVER SENT!\n\n\"MOTHER, I've got a letter from Euphrasia!\" Kenred burst into the house\nas he spoke, sending the words in advance of himself.\n\n\"A letter from Euphrasia!\" repeated Flo in his rear, and her pretty\nlittle face was flushed with delight.\n\n\"At last!\" A faint suspicion of hurt feeling might be detected in the\ntone. Nobody had expected that the absent member of the household would\nallow almost a whole fortnight to elapse with no further communication\nthan a scribbled statement of her safe arrival.\n\n\"And the queer part of it is, mother, that she doesn't say one word\nabout why she hasn't written, or what she has been doing. Not one word!\nShe only wants to know why 'we' haven't written, and says she is afraid\nsomebody can't be well.\"\n\n\"Your father is not well of course. He hasn't been for weeks and months\npast, and she knows it. Besides, I told her in my last letter that he\ndid not seem particularly better.\"\n\n\"But she says she has not heard at all.\" The boy flung himself down\non the sofa, beside Mrs. Mackenzie and her mending-basket. \"You'll\nsee. There is the letter. Couldn't be much shorter. Eyebright is a\nfunny girl, isn't she? One might think 'she' had been sending heaps of\nletters all the time.\"\n\n\"But I wrote last. I have written twice, and she has never answered\neither of my letters.\"\n\n\"I don't believe Euphrasia is enjoying herself one bit,\" murmured Flo,\nwhen Mrs. Mackenzie had perused the short note, and had pronounced it\nunsatisfactory. \"She writes in such a dull sort of way, and she doesn't\nsay a word about anything or anybody there.\"\n\n\"As likely as not, she is disappointed with her friend. Euphrasia would\nnever confess that she had been taken in. Girls never do! I don't\nthink the note does sound very happy: but she will manage to get some\nenjoyment out of her visit. If not, why should she stay on, and not\ncome home sooner? I cannot understand about the letters. Not had a\nsingle one from anybody, since three days after she left! Well, if she\nhad not, she hasn't written either! But she forgets.\"\n\n\"Flo and I made up a long letter to go with yours last week, mother\u2014a\njoint concern. She couldn't have forgotten that. It was the day you had\nsuch a long call from old Mr. Brown.\"\n\nA recollection came to Mrs. Mackenzie, summoned up as such\nrecollections often are, by a passing word. She started up, opened a\ndrawer, and after some rummaging drew thence a stamped and addressed\nenvelope.\n\n\"How stupid of me! I remember now. Your speaking of Mr. Brown brought\nit back. When he came, I popped the letter in here to be safe, meaning\nto post it directly he was gone. Somebody must have pushed it out of\nsight afterwards, and I declare I never thought about it again until\nthis moment.\"\n\n\"Poor Euphrasia!\" exclaimed Flo.\n\n\"My dear, if she had taken the trouble to write home just a little\noftener, we should soon have found out about it.\" Mrs. Mackenzie really\nhad been pained by her eldest's prolonged silence.\n\n\"Shall I post it now?\" asked Ken.\n\nMrs. Mackenzie debated, then wrote outside\u2014\"Just found this; ought to\nhave gone off days ago.\"\n\n\"Yes, do, Ken; and some of us will write in a day or two. I really\ncan't to-day; I have so much to do. And there is Mrs. Landor coming in;\nso run away, Flo dear, because I want to speak to her particularly.\"\n\nFlo obeyed. And Mrs. Mackenzie received her visitor with a careworn\nexpression, quite unconsciously and involuntarily assumed. Mrs. Landor\nwas at all times so absolutely at leisure, so free to hear her friends'\nworries, and to bestow sympathy for the same\u2014albeit with the sympathy\nwent sometimes a less welcome word of warning, or even of reproof\u2014that\na temptation existed to make claims upon her sympathy, even without\nespecial cause; and Mrs. Mackenzie occasionally yielded to this\ntemptation. She did not so much as notice, being wrapped up in her own\nthoughts, that Mrs. Landor looked paler than usual, and that her air\nof kind attention was, to a slight degree, forced\u2014as if the mind were\ntrying to wander, and required reining in.\n\nThe note from Euphrasia had to be shown first, with sundry comments\non its tardy arrival, on its limited contents, and on her wish that\nEuphrasia cared more for home interests, less for mere pleasure.\n\nMrs. Landor read the note, and said\u2014\"It does not give one the idea that\nshe is having too much pleasure.\"\n\n\"Well, no. I always thought she would be disappointed with those\npeople. But of course a good many things are going on\u2014sure to be, in a\nplace like Clifton\u2014and she does not somehow find time to write to us as\nshe might.\"\n\n\"She says nothing about the many things going on. How is Mr. Mackenzie\nto-day?\"\n\nThis led to a fresh assortment of cares. Mr. Mackenzie was not at\nall the thing, not by any means well. He could not be described as\npositively ill, but Mrs. Mackenzie was very anxious, very worried about\nhim. He had seen Dr. North again; and Dr. North, as usual, laid it\nchiefly to the state of his nerves\u2014wherein Mrs. Mackenzie was not at\nall sure that the doctor might not be mistaken, as Mrs. Landor knew\ndoctors so often were. But anyhow, Dr. North recommended a thorough\nchange for her husband, some day soon, if it could be managed.\n\n\"And how we are to afford it, I am sure I don't know, and I can't\nimagine. Colin's income is not much, as, of course, everybody knows.\nAnd expenses are so heavy. And there's always something or other that\nmust be got, whether one can afford it or no. It always seems to me\nevery year that we shall never manage to fight our way through, or keep\nour heads above water.\"\n\n\"And yet, somehow, you always do.\"\n\n\"Well\u2014somehow\u2014at least, we always have, so far. But nobody can be sure\nabout the future.\"\n\n\"Except that we have the absolute certainty that 'He' Who has cared for\nus in past years will never grow forgetful or indifferent.\"\n\n\"Oh, of course\u2014I do try to trust. One knows one must, of course. But\nit is dreadfully hard to make both ends meet. And as for this idea of\na change for my husband\u2014I really don't see how it is to be managed. If\nit must be, it must, but I can't see how.\" Far back in her mind Mrs.\nMackenzie was saying\u2014\"So easy for Mrs. Landor! Why, she only has to sit\ndown and write a cheque, and there would be enough in a moment to take\naway all one's bother. She wouldn't even miss it. But people don't do\nthat sort of thing, unfortunately. I wish they did.\"\n\n\"There can hardly be a 'must' for anything that is clearly impossible.\nStill, it would do your husband good. I do not doubt that his nerves\nare out of order, but it is partly the result of long years of work,\nand he has fairly earned a holiday.\"\n\n\"So Dr. North says. It is not a necessity, I suppose, exactly; only he\nwould be ever so much the better for a thorough change. He is always so\ndown-hearted now; not like himself. It may be partly Euphrasia being\naway and not writing. But he isn't as he ought to be; and Dr. North\nsays a change would be the best remedy.\"\n\n\"If it is the right thing for him, you will see your way to it.\"\n\nMrs. Mackenzie counted this rather hard. She had been building a little\nstructure of hopes, founded on Mrs. Landor's wealth and liberality, and\nthe apparent collapse of that structure made her feel irritable.\n\n\"Of course it is the right thing for Colin to get away. It is not a\nquestion of what is the right thing, but of whether we can do it. It\nseems to me that most of the right things for us in life are just kept\naway from us for no reason at all.\"\n\n\"You do not really think so, Mrs. Mackenzie.\"\n\n\"I don't know why not\u2014\" rather faintly. \"That is what I often notice.\"\n\n\"It is not my experience. But if a thing is kept from me, I am so\nsure that it is 'not' the right thing for me to have. We look at the\nquestion from different standpoints.\"\n\n\"You don't understand; you don't know what it really is,\" protested\nMrs. Mackenzie, plaintive, because she felt herself in the wrong. \"To\nhave one's deposit getting lower and lower in the bank, and to know\nthat nothing more is coming in for ever so long, and to see all the\nfamily needs, when there is no money to get what is wanted, and to have\none's husband falling ill for want of a little holiday, and no holiday\npossible\u2014at least, to know one can't rightly afford it;\u2014oh, I dare say\nI ought to be sure that everything is always right, and it is very easy\nfor people to preach, but\u2014\"\n\n\"It seems to me a simple opportunity for exercising a little trust\u2014just\nto show that one knows 'Him!'\" Mrs. Landor spoke in a curious dreamy\ntone, almost as if addressing the words to herself.\n\n\"People always talk such a lot about trusting. And it is generally\nthose who don't need to trust, because they have got everything they\nwant.\"\n\n\"Is that the case, I wonder, with any human being? Money anxieties are\nnot by any means the only ones in the world. And few of us escape even\nthem sooner or later, in one form or another.\" Mrs. Landor stood up, as\nif wishing to end the discussion. \"Would you ask your husband to come\nround to the Rectory by-and-by if he is able. I should be glad of a\nfew words with him. And, Mrs. Mackenzie, if I may make the suggestion,\ndon't you think a more courageous spirit would be a happier one? It is\nsuch a help to feel absolute certainty in the Divine love which watches\nover us . . . I am not speaking out of ignorance of what anxiety\nmeans . . . But another day you shall hear more. We have used all the\ntime that I can spare just now.\"\n\nMrs. Mackenzie had a dismayed sense of having stopped some interesting\ncommunication, and curiosity vied with something like fear. \"Oh, do\nwait!\" she begged, with about as much result as if she had endeavoured\nto check the inflow of the tide.\n\nMrs. Landor smiled, bade a kind farewell, and was gone.\n\n\"What does she mean?\" inquired Mrs. Mackenzie of herself, no one else\nbeing present. \"Is Mr. Landor ill? He didn't look so on Sunday. Why on\nearth couldn't she explain? I wish people would not be so puzzling.\nThere comes Colin\u2014what a pace. I have not seen him walk so fast for\never so long. He will meet Mrs. Landor; oh no, she has turned the other\nway, and doesn't see him. I do detest mysteries; and of course Colin\nwill know nothing.\"\n\nBut Colin came in with an absorbed face. \"I see Mrs. Landor has been\nhere. Has she told you?\"\n\n\"No! Told me what? She said she had not time to wait any longer. And\nshe wants to see you presently. What is it all about?\"\n\n\"I'll go, of course. Did she say when?\"\n\n\"I don't think so. I don't know. Colin, what is wrong? Has anything\nhappened?\"\n\n\"Yes\u2014\"\n\n[Illustration: \"Is Mr. Landor not well? There can't be much the matter\nwith him, or she would not be out. Besides, she seemed just like\nher usual self. Colin, do speak out. Make haste.\"]\n\n\"What? Do tell me!\"\n\n\"The Landors\u2014\"\n\n\"Is Mr. Landor not well? There can't be much the matter with him, or\nshe would not be out. Besides, she seemed just like her usual self.\nColin, do speak out. Make haste.\"\n\n\"My dear, you allow me no opportunity. Mrs. Landor\u2014\"\n\n\"Yes. Go on! Make haste! O dear, you men are so slow!\"\n\n\"Mrs. Landor\u2014\"\n\n\"Yes, I hear! Oh, make haste!\"\n\n\"\u2014Has lost pretty nearly everything she has.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nGENUINE!\n\nMRS. MACKENZIE had to sit down, absolutely panting under the blow,\nand for once without words, as her husband gave a few particulars.\nIt appeared that the Landors' affairs had been for some years in an\ninvolved condition, unknown to many of their most intimate friends.\nLosses here and embarrassments there dated nearly, though not quite, so\nfar back as their marriage. The prosperous widow chosen by Mr. Landor\nfor his wife had been since by no means so prosperous as was commonly\nsupposed. But inasmuch as he had chosen her for herself, and not for\nher money, this fact had had no power to touch their happiness.\n\nThey had hoped to emerge in the end from their difficulties. And in\nthe ordinary course of events, the hope might have been fulfilled. Now\nhowever, at one blow, the main bulk of Mrs. Landor's possessions was\nswept away by the collapse of the great Company in which most of her\nmoney was embarked. An immediate sale of the estate was inevitable, and\nthe utmost that it could be expected to bring in would be swallowed up\nby previously-existing liabilities.\n\n\"The extraordinary thing is that nobody should have expected anything\nof the sort! No one seems to have so much as guessed what was coming.\nIf you had asked me about that Company, I could have declared that it\nwas almost as staunch as the Bank of England.\" Mr. Mackenzie looked\nback to his own haunting fears, as partly expressed to Euphrasia,\nabout the bank with which he was himself closely connected, in a kind\nof wonder. Clear vision had come suddenly, and he realised now the\nfutility, the needlessness, of his fears.\n\nAt this instant, the imaginations which had made him wretched for\nmonths past looked absolutely absurd, the mere fruit of a disorganised\nnervous system, with no positive foundation in fact. That which he had\nso feared for himself, and for those dependent on him, had not come,\nmight never come. But the blow which none had foretold for the Landors\nhad fallen with startling abruptness. He woke out of a dream to the\nsound of his wife's voice:\u2014\n\n\"Do tell me! What are you thinking about? Do pray tell me. What will\nthey have to live on?\"\n\n\"My dear, I fear almost nothing\u2014beyond Mr. Landor's stipend.\"\n\n\"A stipend of eighty-five pounds a year!\"\n\nMrs. Mackenzie burst into tears. She might be habitually a good deal\nself-occupied, and not a little addicted to nursing her own troubles,\nbut she had a warm heart, and a very real affection for his long-tried\nfriend.\n\n\"She can't do it, Colin. At her age, and all her life accustomed to\nhave everything she could want. And he is getting elderly, and not\nstrong. It is perfectly dreadful! Of course, they have had some worries\nnow and then, everybody has, but nothing of this sort. Why, she has\nalways been able to get every single thing she wanted. And just think\nof eighty-five pounds a year!\"\n\n\"Yes, it's the suddenness of it\u2014and the change from what she is used\nto. That makes it so much worse.\"\n\n\"Worse! It makes it awful for them. How you can talk of it so quietly!\nAnd what in the world are they to do now? This is what I cannot\nimagine. Brought up as she has been. Eighty-five pounds a year. She\nmust be half dazed with it. Of course she does not see yet what it all\nreally means\u2014she can't. And, oh dear, to think of what I have been\nsaying to her. How I could!\"\n\nColin made a sound of enquiry.\n\n\"Oh, I don't know\u2014I mean\u2014Oh, of course I didn't know anything about\nthis; and she never told me. But it must have sounded so horribly\nunfeeling. I told her about the doctor wanting you to get away, and she\nsaid I ought to trust more. And I thought it was so easy for her to\ntalk when she had got everything she wanted, and I said something of\nthe sort. She won't be vexed, I know, because it is not her way, but I\nam vexed with myself.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it is a little lesson just to be more careful next time, my\ndear.\"\n\nMrs. Mackenzie rather resented having \"little lessons\" pointed out\nto her, however clearly she might perceive them for herself. And she\nhastened to explain that \"another time\" was very unlikely to recur.\nIn fact, one might think that this was the only time in her life that\nshe had ever been betrayed into hasty speech. But in the midst of her\ndefence, she relapsed into tears.\n\n\"Mrs. Landor wanted you to go and see her, Colin. Don't you think I\nmight go too, and tell her how sorry I am?\"\n\n\"No, my dear. If Mrs. Landor asked for me only, she did not mean you\ntoo. It is always best, when people are in trouble, to do exactly what\nthey ask, and not more. It may be that she wishes to put some business\nquestions,\" observed Colin, in his most oracular tone.\n\nHe had his way, and started alone, bearing a long message of unlimited\napology and sympathy, which went utterly out of his head by the time he\nquitted the garden gate.\n\nIt was a trying visit to pay. He was a tenderhearted man, and could not\nendure to look upon distress. And, judging from people generally, he\nexpected to find the Landors overwhelmed by the blow which had fallen\nupon them, Mr. Landor in depths of despair, Mrs. Landor in floods\nof tears. She had kept up, it was true, while calling on his wife,\ndoubtless for her sake, but that she should continue to keep up was\nbeyond the bounds of reasonable expectation. Colin wondered sorrowfully\nwhat he should say to comfort them.\n\nOf course Mrs. Landor would \"trust.\" Both of them would of course\n\"trust.\" He felt no doubt on that head. He always asserted the fact\nof his own \"trust,\" no matter how dismally certain he might feel that\neverything was going wrong, no matter how dolefully hopeless he might\nbe of any help arriving in time to tide him over rocks ahead. His idea\nof trust was vague, and therefore was quite compatible with a general\nhopelessness.\n\nBy the time he reached the Rectory, his face had grown portentously\nlong over the thought of his friends' grief. Rather oddly, this blow\nto them had acted with a rousing force upon himself. He had not for\nmonths felt so hopeful, so light-hearted about his own affairs. It was\nalmost as if he had foreseen that something would happen, and had only\nbeen mistaken in supposing it to be a something concerning himself.\nProbably a truer explanation would be that Colin Mackenzie, after\nrepeated attacks of severe influenza, coming upon long years of hard\nwork, had fallen into a dyspeptic and nervous condition of body, which\ncondition had reacted on the mind, rendering him unable to take a fair\nand reasonable view of things in general, more especially of business\nquestions.\n\nAs Mrs. Landor had once said, molehills grew to mountains in his\neyes, and a usually unselfish nature had become for the time morbidly\nself-centred\u2014a state of things largely physical, but not on that\naccount altogether free from blame.\n\nWakened now by the shock of his friends' trouble, he looked back upon\nhis own past mental condition with a curious sense of surprise, almost\nof disgust. What could have made him talk as he had done to Euphrasia,\nthe day before she left home? Absurd,\u2014when really there had been no\nsufficient cause, but only some needful business uncertainties, and\na desperate fit of the \"blues,\" inclining him to see everything on\nits darkest side. Dyspepsia, of course, as Dr. North had at the time\nassured him. While Colin, because of that same dyspepsia, had counted\nhimself wiser than any number of doctors, and had refused to believe\nthe explanation. Now he knew better!\n\nPoor little Eyebright! How she might have worried herself! Only of\ncourse she had not, or she would have written oftener. No doubt she had\nnot grasped his full meaning. Still, he might have spoilt her visit\nwith his ill-considered remarks. He would write at once, this very\nevening\u2014cheerily, and in a different strain.\n\nBut then he would have to tell her about the Landors. She would\nfeel that down in the depth of her loving little heart, which Colin\nknew to be really loving, though some might count her to be of a\ncold disposition. No, he would not write yet. Better to wait, since\nevidently she was not grieving. Mr. Mackenzie, like his wife, had been\nsomewhat hurt by Euphrasia's long silence, even while telling himself\nthat it meant nothing.\n\nThen he reached the Rectory, and his courage was at a low ebb, though\nnot now for himself.\n\nFloods of tears! States of despair! Not a whit! As he stood in the\nhall, lugubrious with the weight of his pity, he heard the merriest\nlaugh, coming through the closed study door. That Mrs. Landor!\nAnd a deeper-toned masculine laugh, no less cheerful. That the\npoverty-stricken and despairing Rector! Colin could hardly believe his\nown ears.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nNOT CAST DOWN\n\n\"HERE, sir, please.\" Into the study Colin was welcomed\u2014by the Rector\nwith a smiling face, by Mrs. Landor with outstretched hand and look of\nwelcome. In all the years he had known that sweet serene woman, he had\nnever seen her so bright. Calm she had usually been, but seldom bright.\nWas this forced, unnatural, the result of over-strain?\n\n\"Come in, pray come in, Mr. Mackenzie. Come in and sit down. If you\ndon't mind an economical cup of tea. My husband and I are practising\nat once for the future. No use to put off, is it? You see, we cannot\npossibly afford any longer the most expensive Souchong, so I picked\nup a pound of one-and-sixpenny tea as I came along; and we have made\nit with half the usual quantity. It 'really' isn't bad. Like Dickens'\nMarchioness, one only has to exercise one's imagination a little. And,\nafter all, the most important ingredient is real boiling water.\"\n\nColin received his cup from those slender hands, and had some\ndifficulty in swallowing the first mouthful.\n\n\"Some cake, or bread and butter? I did not tell your wife about our\naffairs because I thought it would take too long, as she had a good\ndeal to say first. So you must explain it all to her, and say that\nit is nothing for her to fret about. Is it, dear?\" lovingly to her\nhusband. \"The less one has to carry in life, the more lightly one ought\nto be able to go!\"\n\nColin might appropriately have delivered his message here, but he was\nin no state of mind to remember it.\n\n\"Most people think the burden of anxiety a great deal heavier than the\nburden of wealth,\" he could not help saying.\n\n\"If one must be anxious,\" she said, smiling a little.\n\n\"For my part, I am sure of one thing,\" observed Mr. Landor placidly,\n\"and that is that it is worth a great deal to know what sort of a wife\none has. I thought I did know before\u2014pretty well\u2014but it seems I didn't!\"\n\n\"Why, the whole matter is so simple.\" Mrs. Landor was too much\ninterested in her view of the question to notice at the moment what he\nsaid. \"So very simple and plain. All these years God has chosen to give\nus money in plenty, to use for Him; and I do think we have tried to use\nit rightly. And now He has chosen to take it away. Hasn't He a perfect\nright to do as He will? It is His, not ours. I do think it would be so\nutterly ungrateful of us to grumble.\"\n\n\"I am afraid if I had lost everything\u2014\"\n\n\"Ah, everything!\" she echoed with a quick breath. \"But it is not that.\nNot everything! My husband is left to me still. And our health. It is\nnot like Job.\"\n\n\"If health broke down, or if the call came to me to go, you would say\nthe same still, my dear,\" interposed the Rector. \"I know you would,\nbecause it would still be His will.\"\n\nMrs. Landor smiled again, though tears were in her eyes.\n\n\"Few would feel as you do, in your position,\" said Colin.\n\n\"Perhaps because they have been accustomed to look upon the money as\nstrictly their own. I do not think we have ever done that.\" She spoke\nin a thoughtful tone, as if considering the question.\n\n\"It is harder for her than for me,\" the old Rector said softly, looking\ntowards Colin. \"I was poor for years before I married, and she does not\nknow what it is to be poor.\"\n\n\"So every one tells me. But is not the unknown sometimes more alarming\nthan what one does know? Well, we are to have a new experience\ntogether\u2014you and I! It will be a new kind of life entirely. We shall\nhave to make every single penny go as far as it possibly can, instead\nof never troubling one's head about the matter. I am bent on proving\nthat, at least, luxury has not spoiled me, Mr. Mackenzie. Don't think\nI am putting on a cheerfulness which I do not really feel. Perhaps,\nas my husband says, I don't know what it all means as yet. But what\nI 'cannot' understand is the sense of doubt and terror in looking\nforward, which I seem to be expected to feel. Of course there is\nuncertainty. We have not the least idea how we are to manage. Expenses\nmust be cut down to the utmost; and even then it is a mystery in what\nway we can get along. Only\u2014we shall get along! We simply have to wait\ntill the 'how' becomes clear.\"\n\n\"I suppose something always turns up somehow,\" remarked Colin, in a\nreflection of his wife's favourite tone.\n\n\"Is that enough for you? It would not be for me. 'Something turning up\nsomehow' sounds dreary. With me it is the direct and positive care of\na Father for His child; not a mere turning up of something, one hardly\nknows how. Of course, one is left in the dark now and then\u2014if only to\ngive one the opportunity of trusting Him!\u2014and of course we have to do\nthe very utmost that we can do towards helping ourselves. But when we\ncan do no more, and still it is not sufficient, then comes the waiting,\nbecause it is just there that God steps in.\"\n\n\"If everybody felt as sure.\"\n\n\"Does 'everybody' know God well enough?\" she asked with a curious keen\nsmile. \"Even on earth one must know a person before one can repose\ntrust in him; and for the absolute repose of perfect trust, very full\nknowledge of his character is needful. Not quite everybody knows God so\nwell as that!\"\n\n\"No, indeed!\" Colin spoke in a conscience-stricken voice.\n\n\"And yet\u2014one may. It is His wish for us all. And when one does know\nHim, even a little, all is altered by it. Without any boasting, but\njust as a matter of common reasonableness, I am absolutely sure that\nHe will take care of us. Absolutely sure! That He should fail us in\nour need is, I know, a thing impossible. Then what nonsense it would\nbe to fret and worry. Why should we feel anxious, any more than your\nFlo does? She knows you will provide for her, to the extent of your\npower\u2014knows it with a perfectly undoubting trust in your love. Your\npowers are limited, and you might fail in providing for her, not\nthrough lack of love, but through poverty of means.\n\n\"My Father's powers are without limit; and His love is boundless. Would\nit not be the height of absurdity for us to keep worrying about the\nfuture, when we 'know' that He will supply all our needs? All our real\nneeds. We may have to do without a good many things that we are used\nto, but what then? It may be something of a trial. Just a little of\nlife's discipline, and no more! Don't you see?\"\u2014with a smile which had\nbecome positively radiant.\n\nIt had a quiet reflection in her husband's face.\n\nColin listened, like one dumbfoundered. Another manner of trust, this,\nfrom any exercised by himself!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWas Euphrasia \"not at all an interesting invalid?\" Howard Johnston,\nrecalling his mother's words, began to doubt their truth\u2014not so\nmuch with respect to himself, as with respect to his cousin, the\ndoctor. Howard still held that Euphrasia was a \"sensible\" girl, and\nhe liked her for being sensible. That was all. He felt nothing more\nthan a general approval, a general wish to be polite and kind to an\nunfortunate guest. But apparently that was by no means all, so far as\nRobert Wells was concerned.\n\nSo much the better, thought Howard. Everybody had long said that Mr.\nWells ought to marry; and he had shown himself reprehensibly slow in\nfollowing this wise advice. His position as a medical man was good, and\nit promised to be better, and his patients liked him: but year after\nyear he remained wifeless. Possibly he had once wanted a wife whom he\ncould not get, and the failure might have left him indisposed to try\nagain.\n\nHe could quite well afford to marry. If he chose to fall in love with\nthe penniless daughter of the Manager of a country Branch Bank, there\nwas no reason whatever why he should not ask her to be his wife. He\nwas not entirely dependent upon his profession, and he had no near\nrelatives dependent upon him. This was Howard's view of the matter.\nAnd he watched the doctor's growing absorption in Euphrasia Mackenzie\nwith amused interest, saying nothing to anybody. Had he suggested\nsuch a notion to his mother, she would doubtless have exerted all her\nfaculties to put a spoke in the wheel.\n\nThe dullest period of Euphrasia's imprisonment was now over. Long hours\nof enforced thought had been good for her, as many things are good for\nus, not at the time enjoyable; and all her life she would be the better\nin character for that trying experience. Now, however, she was kept\nwell supplied with books, and she was able to enjoy them. The knee had\nsteadily improved, although she was still forbidden to walk more than a\nfew steps, and the doctor had thus far declined to hear any mention of\na journey. Euphrasia saw signs of growing impatience in her \"friend,\"\nand even Mrs. Johnston's politeness failed to conceal entirely a\nmeasure of the same.\n\nOne budget of letters had arrived from home, nearly a week old when\ndespatched, as notified by an outside inscription; and further letters\nfailed again to come. But at least she knew that nothing was seriously\nwrong with her father.\n\nThe services of a certain fine gentleman belowstairs were not required\nfor the wheeling of Euphrasia's couch from room to room, since the\ndoctor himself always undertook that office during his morning visit.\nAnd in the afternoon, earlier or later, Howard was unusually to the\nfore.\n\nEuphrasia was not permitted to protest. It was \"only a pleasure\" with\nthem both.\n\nWere these daily visits from the doctor an absolute necessity?\nEuphrasia had her doubts on that score. He looked at the knee every\nday, and asked questions, but little could be done beyond ordering\ncontinued rest. He almost invariably stayed for a chat, sometimes as\nlong as twenty minutes or half-an-hour; and Euphrasia would have felt\nvery dull without these cheery visits. She had learnt quite to look\nforward to them through the twenty-four hours. If only they would not\nall have to be paid for! There was the rub. Euphrasia's heart sometimes\nwent down to a low level, at the thought of the future \"bill\" in\nconnection with the state of home finances.\n\nWas it truly needful that he should examine the knee so often? If not,\nkind though his attentions might be, Euphrasia could not feel that\nshe would be right to let things continue thus. She debated much with\nherself, and several times resolved to put out a most delicate feeler\nof one kind or another, to discover whether, perhaps, twice a week\nmight not be sufficient. But Euphrasia was not gifted in the art of\nputting out delicate feelers, and when it came to the point, she always\nfailed to say anything at all. He was so pleasant, and it would be so\n\"horrid\" to hurt his feelings.\n\nSo she decided finally that the utmost she could do was to hasten\nher departure. Now that her month was almost ended, matters might be\npressed to a point. It had been a long month, very long\u2014except the\nlast few days. She would be glad to get away\u2014yes, certainly, very glad\nindeed to feel herself no longer an unwelcome burden on her friend's\nhospitality. Yes, certainly, very glad, repeated Euphrasia with\nemphasis, just because she was aware of an opposite sensation below.\n\nOne strong regret was asserting itself, and would not be put down; one\nreal pain, in the thought of parting from Mr. Wells. He had not been\nonly the doctor to her: he had been a friend in a season of trouble.\nLooking back upon the past month, she saw his figure more prominently\nthan any other. The prominence of any figure in one's surroundings\ndepends, after all, mainly upon one's own interest in that figure.\n\nWould she ever see him again? Would she never see him again? The\nquestion was unwelcome, and it haunted her. Never again, through all\nher life! A second visit to the Johnston lay beyond all bounds of\nprobability. She had no other friends in Clifton. West Norton was an\nunlikely place for anybody to visit; and in their little home, they\nseldom entertained friends from a distance. Why should he and she ever\nmeet again? He had done his duty as doctor, perhaps a good deal more\nthan his bare duty because he was kind-hearted, and because she had\nbeen lonely and uncomfortable. And she was merely his patient, a \"case\"\nto be dismissed when done with, and thought about no more.\n\nStill, she had to leave, and her duty was to go so soon as she might.\nThe odd part of the matter was that, after all her earlier impatience,\nnow the time for departure was near, she did not want to go. She had\ntold herself that she would be glad, but in her heart she knew she\nwould not be glad. Notwithstanding all the unpleasantness of giving\ntrouble to comparative strangers, notwithstanding Letitia's coldness,\nand Mrs. Johnston's hardly-veiled impatience, she would have given\nmuch to feel herself compelled to stay another month. Euphrasia's very\nconsciousness of this reluctance made her the more determined to bring\nabout a decision.\n\n\"I think I ought to write home now, and tell them about my knee,\" she\nsaid abruptly, after much previous consideration. \"And fix the day for\ngoing.\"\n\nTo which, Mr. Wells responded by a deliberate\u2014\"Ah!\"\n\n\"This is Thursday. Could not I say Saturday?\"\n\n\"You are in a great hurry to run away from us all.\"\n\n\"Oh, I should not like to stay a day longer than I must!\" The words\ncame back to herself with an ungracious sound in them; and she saw the\ndoctor biting his moustache. \"Please don't think I am not grateful;\nI really am. I have been such a bother all this time, and you have\nbeen so kind to me. But it wouldn't be right to put off any longer. I\nought to get home as soon as possible. And\u2014\" hurriedly, under a sudden\nimpulse to use her opportunity, knowing that Mrs. Johnston would be\nback immediately\u2014\"and, if you don't mind, I think before I go, I ought\njust to know how much\u2014I mean, if you could tell me, so that I can tell\nmy father\u2014and then he would send to you as soon as\u2014if you don't mind\u2014\"\n\nEuphrasia fell into a hopeless bungle, blushing more and more, while\nMr. Wells looked so intensely grave that she feared she must have said\nexactly the wrong thing in her inexperience. \"I think you know what I\nmean,\" she faltered, but he made no sign of comprehension. \"You have\nbeen so often, and\u2014and\u2014of course\u2014of course there must be\u2014owing\u2014\" the\nlast word being hardly audible.\n\n\"Much too often, under the circumstances, if things were as you\nsuppose.\"\n\n\"But you know\u2014but you must\u2014but I could not\u2014it would not be right,\u2014\"\n\n\"Nothing else could be right, or possible. My cousins ought to have\nexplained. Mrs. Johnston undertook to do so. I am one of the family;\nand you must please to regard my visits in that light. Nothing else is\npossible.\"\n\n\"I didn't know,\u2014I mean, I couldn't, of course\u2014\" Euphrasia came to\nanother bungle, actually trembling. That he was pained at something\nshe could see; she did not exactly divine what. Why should he care at\nall? \"Please forgive me for asking you, but indeed I do not think it is\nright.\"\n\n\"It is a matter of course. I am only sorry that you could suppose\nanything else to be possible,\" said Mr. Wells coldly.\n\nMrs. Johnston's step could be heard returning. She always came up with\nthe doctor, and very often used the opportunity of being \"up\" to attend\nto certain household matters in a neighbouring room, since nothing\nwould induce her nephew to be as quick about the knee as she desired.\nBut here she came, and no more could be said.\n\nRobert Wells bade an abrupt good-bye this day, not remaining for his\nusual chat.\n\nEuphrasia felt bewildered. Had she seriously offended him?\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nSOMETHING WRONG\n\nMR. WELLS was not entirely himself next morning, when he appeared for\nhis inevitable call, hardly \"offended\" in the strict sense of the word,\nbut overwhelmingly grave and punctiliously polite. Instead of wheeling\nEuphrasia, as usual, into the next room, he allowed her to walk there,\nwith help from his arm. And then remarked\u2014\n\n\"You are getting on well. We did not fix your day for going home. You\nwish to be off as early as possible.\"\n\nMrs. Johnston, overhearing this, took herself off with great celerity,\nto escape the need of pressing for a longer stay.\n\nEuphrasia's glance was apologetic, almost to the extent of begging\npardon. \"I ought to go.\"\n\n\"To-morrow is too soon. Monday, if you like. I should have preferred\nanother week's delay, as a measure of precaution, but it is not\nessential. To keep you here against your will is hardly fair.\"\n\n\"Oh, but it is not\u2014\" Euphrasia stopped.\n\nAnd he went on, as if he had not heard.\n\n\"On Monday I have to travel in your direction, and, if you do not\nobject, I can escort you part of the way. The change of trains you\ncould hardly manage alone. I will see you through that, and into your\nown train, after which you will only have to sit still until you get\nto West Norton. Somebody must meet you there. It will not do for you\nto depend upon yourself. A slight strain now would throw you back for\nweeks.\"\n\n\"How good you are!\" she said gratefully.\n\nHe put a slip of paper into her hand with unmoved countenance. \"The\ntrains are written down, so you can tell your father when to meet you.\"\n\n\"But it will be a trouble\u2014\"\n\n\"Not in the least.\" He spoke distantly still. \"I have to go on\nbusiness. This letter was lying on the hall table.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you. From my mother!\"\n\nMr. Wells made an unusually rapid exit, and Euphrasia lay musing with\nthe unopened envelope in her hand. \"I must have said something to vex\nhim yesterday, but what could it have been? He has not been like this\nbefore. How could I guess that he meant it all as a friend? Nobody told\nme; and it would have been such a cool thing to take for granted! I\ndon't think he ought to be annoyed\u2014if he is annoyed! I am not sure; it\nis almost more like being pained or disappointed.\"\n\nFor ten minutes the letter in her hand was forgotten, then she turned\nto it with a start of recollection\u2014\"Oh, how stupid! What is the use\nof bothering myself? If he does misunderstand, I can't do anything to\nalter it. Fancy forgetting to open my letter!\"\n\nWithin was a blotted scrawl from Mrs. Mackenzie.\n\n   \"Your father seems to think,\" she wrote, \"that there is no need to tell\nyou what has happened until you come home. But I really do not see the\nuse of putting off, and he says I am to do just as I like. You will be\ncoming back soon now, I suppose, and then of course you would have to\nknow.\"\n\nWas this the dreaded failure and loss of all, which Euphrasia had so\ndwelt upon during the first weeks of her imprisonment?\n\nShe had not thought much of the matter lately, her mind having been\nfull of other subjects; and the forgetfulness occurred to her as\ncurious, even while she eagerly glanced on to see what was wrong.\n\n   \"Only think\u2014is it not terrible?\u2014the Landors have lost nearly everything\nthat they have! Positively almost everything! All Mrs. Landor's money\nis gone, and the estate must be sold, and nothing will be left. I never\nunderstand business affairs properly, but the Company has failed in\nwhich her money was first made\u2014at least, in which her father's money\nwas made, which comes to the same thing. And now it is all gone in\none smash. She has had difficulties the last few years\u2014so we are told\nnow\u2014though nobody knew, except of course her husband. But things might\nhave come right in time, if it had not been for this failure, which\ntakes everybody by surprise, the Landors themselves as much as anybody.\nThey will have nothing left, beyond Mr. Landor's stipend of \u00a385 a year.\nFancy having to live on that, after what Mrs. Landor has always been\naccustomed to!\n\n   \"Nothing could be more sad. I have cried half the time since first I\nheard what had happened. Mrs. Landor is very cheerful, but she doesn't\nin the least know what it all means. How should she? She has never\nwanted anything that she could not get. I cannot imagine what they are\nto do. It is not like young people beginning life, but at their age, it\nis melancholy!\n\n   \"Your father is a great deal better since this has happened. It seems\nodd, but having to think so much about the Landors has quite roused him\nup and made a different man of him. Dr. North said yesterday to me that\nreally there is not much amiss with him, if only he could believe it!\nA change somewhere might do him good because it would mean something\nfresh to think about, but this trouble of the Landors seems to have had\nthe same effect: if only it will last.\"\n\n\nIn answer to the above, Euphrasia, wrote, after long cogitation:\u2014\n\n   \"DEAR MOTHER\u2014I can hardly believe what you have told me about Mr. and\nMrs. Landor; it is so very dreadful! I am not writing to them now,\nbecause I hope to see them so soon. This is just a line to say that I\nam arranging to come home on Monday.\n\n   \"I did not tell you before that I had a fall down several steps, the\nvery day that I came here, and hurt my knee. It was not worth while to\nmake you all anxious, and nothing could be done except to keep the knee\nperfectly still. The doctor says it will be all right in time, if I am\ncareful for a while, and it is a great deal better already, only I am\nnot allowed to use it much yet. He is\u2014the doctor, I mean\u2014a cousin of\nthe Johnstons, so his visits will be no expense to us, as he has only\ncome as a friend. I did not know this till a day or two ago, and I have\nbeen rather afraid about the bill.\n\n   \"Part of the time here was rather dull because I have been able to go\nnowhere. I shall be so glad to see you all again. Mrs. Johnston is\nkind, but I have found Letitia much less of a friend than I expected.\nI would not have stayed so long only I could not travel till Mr. Wells\ngave me leave.\n\n   \"I am enclosing a paper of trains for Monday. Mr. Wells has to go that\nway, as it happens, and he will see me into my train at the Junction.\nHe has been very good and kind to me. I do hope you will know him some\nday.\n\n   \"Would my father or somebody meet me at our station because I shall\nwant a little help in getting out of the train? Please give love to\neverybody, and believe me ever,\u2014Your affectionate child,\n\n                               \"EUPHRASIA.\"\n\n\"I knew it! I was sure something was wrong!\" exclaimed Mrs. Mackenzie,\non receipt of this letter. \"She has not been like herself all through.\nPoor dear child!\u2014just hiding from us how bad she was! I hope it does\nnot mean a lame knee for life. That sort of injury is so troublesome.\"\n\n\"I trust not, indeed, my dear!\"\n\n\"Of course, the doctor would say the best he could to her, but I know\nwhat knees are! Well, I felt perfectly sure all along that things were\nnot right; and you see it has been just as I expected!\"\n\nColin Mackenzie might have assured his wife that she usually did feel\nsure of things not being \"right,\" and that he did not find her by any\nmeans an invariably true prophetess. But he wisely forbore from so\nuseless an effort.\n\n\"It may be that things have been more 'right' than they seem,\" he\nsuggested, mindful of his visit to the Rectory. \"I do not think we can\nalways judge. Euphrasia has shown a brave spirit, dear child!\u2014saying\nnothing about it all these weeks! I will meet her at the Junction and\nbring her home. She cannot be fit for travelling alone. That old doctor\nmust be an uncommonly kind man!\"\n\nOnly, as we know, the doctor was by no means old!\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\n\"WILL YOU?\"\n\nMONDAY came, and Euphrasia went through her good-byes with no\nparticular distress, so far as Mrs. Johnston and Letitia were\nconcerned. She had not quite so soon to bid farewell to Mr. Wells; and\nsomething in her heart whispered that this would not be so light a\nmatter. But she tried to put aside the thought. Time enough when the\nmoment should arrive.\n\nMrs. Johnston had looked dubious when the scheme of Euphrasia's\n\"escort\" was propounded to her. Yet after all it was only a matter\nof some forty minutes together in the train, and Euphrasia was such\nan uninteresting girl, and Robert, though not very far over thirty,\nmight have passed for nearer forty. And Mrs. Johnston was extremely\ndesirous to get Euphrasia safely off her premises. And if she raised\ndifficulties, there was no knowing what amount of delays might be the\nresult. So she left matters to arrange themselves.\n\nAnd when a line came from Mr. Mackenzie stating that he would be at\nthe Junction, she wished she had not been so complaisant. No doubt Mr.\nMackenzie would have agreed with equal readiness to come the whole\ndistance to Clifton\u2014\"which would have been so much more correct!\" she\ncomplained to Letitia. But it was then too late for any re-shaping of\nplans.\n\nMr. Wells was grave still, and disposed to silence, albeit studiously\nattentive to his fellow-traveller's needs. He had not once relaxed\nsince the Thursday interview. And Euphrasia was still puzzled whether\nto count that he had been displeased, or only pained, by aught that she\nhad said\u2014and if either, by what? Puzzled though she might be, however,\na certain womanly reticence withheld her from making any attempt at\nexplanation or apology.\n\nMr. Wells gave to Euphrasia a \"Graphic\" and occupied himself with the\n\"Times.\" He seemed disposed to make a very limited use of this last\nopportunity for intercourse. Once and again he looked up to enquire\nbriefly, \"Quite comfortable?\"\n\nAnd receiving her assent, he returned to his leading articles.\n\nOther passengers were in the same compartment. Indeed, he had chosen a\nsomewhat full carriage at starting, but one after another vanished at\nsuccessive stations. And no new ones filled the vacant places.\n\nThe last of their companions got out at the last station before West\nNorton. Only a few minutes more! Yet still the doctor read on, or, at\nall events, he pretended to do so.\n\nSuddenly he stopped, folded his paper neatly into a minute compass, put\nit into his bag, and glanced across at Euphrasia, with the remark\u2014\n\n\"Nearly there!\"\n\n\"Yes!\" A sense of the coming \"good-bye\" assailed Euphrasia, and a lump\ncame into her throat. This would not do! She held it down fiercely.\n\nThe doctor looked her over with a calmly critical air of medical\nobservation.\n\n\"Getting done up with your journey?\"\n\n\"No, thanks!\" Euphrasia spoke gruffly. Anything rather than to have him\nsee what she felt, if he did not feel the same; and evidently he did\nnot.\n\n\"We shall be at the Junction in five minutes or so. You say your father\nwill be there. I shall give you over to him.\"\n\n\"And have done with you!\" occurred to Euphrasia, as an appropriate\nconclusion.\n\nHe had spoken in an odd cut-and-dried tone, but something made\nEuphrasia raise her eyes, and she saw that the face belied the voice.\nA curious pitying gentleness had crept into it, and he leant forward\nto pull straight the light rug over her knees\u2014a needless attention,\nsince they were just on the point of arriving. Euphrasia found herself\ndisposed to tremble.\n\nFive minutes more!\u2014less than five minutes!\u2014and then, perhaps, never in\nlife to meet again. Never, after a whole month of daily intercourse.\nTrue, the month's intercourse might have meant absolutely nothing\nto either of them; and in the majority of cases it would have meant\nnothing, being purely a case of professional intercourse. But\u2014it 'had'\nmeant more to her. Euphrasia knew now\u2014she had not known before\u2014to some\nextent how things were.\n\nLess than five minutes! So much the better, for fear she might betray\nherself. And yet\u2014if it had but been one more half-hour!\n\n\"Not in pain, I hope?\" came in a voice of grave concern.\n\nEuphrasia looked up again, quite involuntarily, to meet his gaze of\nkind enquiry. To her utter horror, she found her eyes suddenly full;\nnay, worse than full, actually overflowing. Two great drops fell, clear\nand visible, despite all she could do. Euphrasia felt as if she could\ngladly have sunk into the floor of the compartment.\n\n\"Ah, I was afraid that the journey might be rather too much for you,\"\nsaid Mr. Wells, with no appearance of surprise. \"You are not strong\nyet. Never mind; a good rest by-and-by will put it all right.\" He bent\nforward, and continued\u2014\"Do you think that some day I might venture to\nfind my way to your home? I have your West Norton address.\"\n\nThe reserve on which Euphrasia was wont to pride herself scarcely\nserved in the present emergency. It was impossible that the doctor\nshould fail to see the change in her face. \"Oh do!\" she said eagerly.\n\"Oh do!\" Then alarmed at her own delight\u2014\"I am sure\u2014quite sure\u2014they\nwould all be so glad. My father\u2014\"\n\n\"Your father would not object?\"\n\n\"O no, indeed!\"\n\n\"And would you be, perhaps, just a slight degree pleased too\u2014yourself?\"\n\nThe train was slackening outside the station, not yet at the platform.\nA minute or two remained. Euphrasia could only say shyly\u2014\"O yes!\"\nAdding after a pause\u2014\"You have been so good to me.\"\n\n\"Do you think you could let me go on being 'good' to you?\" Robert had\nnot intended to say more at present. In fact, he had very nearly come\nto a settled conclusion never to say anything more at all because Miss\nMackenzie so evidently regarded him from nothing more nor less than the\nprofessional point of view. But her sudden and unmistakable distress\nput a new face on matters, and severely shook his resolution. Suppose,\nafter all, that he were mistaken\u2014that she did care? \"I almost thought,\nlast week, that your one wish was to see nothing more of any of us!\"\n\n\"Oh, how could\u2014\" Euphrasia broke off in confusion.\n\n\"How could I think so? People misread one another sometimes. Perhaps\nI fancied you would have understood better\u2014have seen intuitively how\nthings really were!\" Robert Wells looked out of the window, but the\ntrain remained motionless.\n\nHalf-a-minute passed in silence. Then an impulse seized him, too strong\nto be restrained, and he spoke again:\u2014\n\n\"Euphrasia, could you make up your mind to be a doctor's wife? Will you\nbe mine?\"\n\nEuphrasia almost gasped for breath. The utmost for which she had\ndefinitely craved was that some day they might meet again, that this\nparting should not be a parting for always. She had wanted him still\nfor a friend. But\u2014to be his wife! Did he mean it? Had she grasped his\nwords in their true sense?\n\nThe train began to move.\n\n\"We are just there,\" said Wells, gently. \"I don't want to hurry you.\nShall I come to West Norton for an answer in two or three days? That\nwould give you time?\"\n\n\"O no!\" Euphrasia, crimson and confused, hardly knew what she said.\n\n\"No!\" The doctor's face fell. He might be excused for not understanding.\n\n\"I only mean\u2014Oh, I don't mean\u2014I do not want time\u2014I only\u2014\"\n\n\"You only do not quite know your own mind. I have taken you too much by\nsurprise.\"\n\nEuphrasia pulled herself together, with a resolute effort, and looked\nup at him once more, her eyes full of a happy light. \"Yes, I 'do'\nknow,\" she said. \"And I mean\u2014if my father is willing\u2014\"\n\n\"If he is willing\u2014\"\n\n\"I mean\u2014Yes!\"\n\nNot more than twenty seconds remained to them, but of those twenty\nRobert Wells made the best possible use.\n\nThen the train drew up, and Mr. Mackenzie's face appeared in the window.\n\n\"Euphrasia, my dear! Welcome home! Better, child? Why, I never saw you\nlook so well! Such a colour! So your friend, the old doctor, did not\ncome after all.\"\n\n\"Father,\u2014'this' is Mr. Wells!\" murmured Euphrasia, unable to meet his\ngaze.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nHOW \"CARE\" MAY BE CARRIED\n\n\"SO here is the fruit of your month's absence, little Eyebright! To\ncome back 'an engaged young person!' And not a hint of it to any of us\nbeforehand!\" Mrs. Landor spoke in her cheeriest tones, not in the least\nlike one bearing a heavy burden.\n\nThis was the earliest meeting of the two. Robert Wells had so far\naltered his plans as to go direct to West Norton for three nights,\nsleeping at the Inn, but spending two long days with the Mackenzies.\n\nMrs. Mackenzie would not soon forget that startling moment when her\nhusband had first walked in, with an excited whisper\u2014\"Euphrasia and\nMr. Wells, my dear! A most nice young fellow! And he wants our little\nEyebright!\"\n\nThe manner of the \"wanting\" was left to conjecture, but Mrs. Mackenzie\nhardly needed to ask an explanation of the term. Her answer was a\ndismayed exclamation\u2014\"But, Colin! Why, Colin! Nobody knows anything in\nthe world about him!\"\n\nRobert Wells was, however, a man to be rapidly known when he chose to\nopen himself out; and on this occasion, he naturally did choose. All\nwent well for his wishes; everybody was charmed with him. And before he\nleft the place, full consent to the engagement had been accorded.\n\nEuphrasia \"could hardly believe in her own happiness,\" as the saying\ngoes. In point of fact, she did believe in it very thoroughly, and felt\nsupremely joyous. Her whole being expanded; and the face which most\npeople counted plain had never been so nearly pretty.\n\nMr. Mackenzie thought it more than pretty, with so tender a gleam in\nthe gray eyes; and what Robert Wells thought is hardly worth while to\nenquire.\n\nShe had to remain indoors, to rest the knee after its journey. And\nnothing would content Mr. Mackenzie short of conducting his future\nson-in-law round the place, to visit their most intimate friends.\nEuphrasia might have murmured at being necessarily left behind, but she\nwas far too happy for her serenity to be so easily upset. She was only\ndelighted with her father's satisfaction in Robert.\n\nNow the doctor was gone, but only for a time. He would soon run over\nagain, for a peep at his \"Eyebright!\" He had adopted with readiness\nthe home pet name. And in no long time, the wedding would have to be\ndiscussed, Robert having intimated pretty plainly that so far as his\nvoice in the matter was concerned, he was in no mind for a long delay.\nMeanwhile, he had invited Colin Mackenzie to spend two or three weeks\nwith him in Clifton by way of needed change, and for the purpose of\ntheir becoming more fully acquainted.\n\n\nWhen he had vanished, and not before, Mrs. Landor appeared, for a good\nchat with Euphrasia.\n\n\"I want the child to tell me all about it,\" she said.\n\nAnd they were left alone together.\n\n\"So here is the fruit of your month's absence, little Eyebright!\" she\nrepeated. \"And not a word to any of us beforehand!\"\n\n\"How could I?\" asked Euphrasia, blushing. \"I didn't know\u2014really. I only\nknew\u2014just that I liked him very much. And he only spoke in the very\nlast moment.\"\n\n\"Three seconds before the train got in! Yes, I heard. A most original\nmode of proceeding! If your answer had been a 'No,' he could have\ndecamped instantaneously, and never been heard of more!\"\n\n\"He went to see you.\" Euphrasia spoke wistfully.\n\n\"He did; and I liked him\u2014so far as one can tell in a quarter of an\nhour. I am not often mistaken in first impressions. Perhaps I might\neven like him very much indeed, if I knew him very well indeed.\"\n\n\"It seems almost too much happiness to be true!\"\n\n\"Ah,\u2014I wouldn't say that. It springs from a false idea. Nothing is ever\ntoo great happiness to be true. We are made for happiness. God loves us\nso well that He would fain have us always happy. Only we do not always\nuse the happiness rightly, and so we cannot always be trusted with an\nabundant supply of it.\"\n\n\"I hope I shall use this rightly. Oh, I hope I shall. Robert is so good\nand kind.\"\n\n\"That is right. You ought to feel so. Now tell me all about him, child.\"\n\nEuphrasia obeyed to the best of her power, and at least she succeeded\nin showing the completeness of her own trust in Robert Wells.\n\n\"But doesn't it seem\u2014\" she asked, \"doesn't it almost seem as if I were\nrewarded for being naughty? I did not half think that I was right to go\nto Clifton at all; and yet I went. Was that right? And yet, if I had\nnot gone, I should never have known Robert!\"\n\n\"You cannot say that. He and you might have met elsewhere.\"\n\n\"But still\u2014\"\n\n\"Do you remember that verse in the Prayer Book version of the\nPsalms\u2014'He will not be always chiding'? I would not, if I were you,\nget into a way of expecting God to be 'always chiding.' He does not\nchide except when it is really needful. If you did what was wrong,\nthen probably you have had your punishment\u2014your required discipline\u2014in\nthe accident and the dull days following, not to speak of the\ndisappointment in your friend, from whom you had expected so much. Some\nof that time was rather hard to bear, was it not? And perhaps you did\nbear it patiently; and then in love and kindness, this joy was brought\nto you, out of your very discipline. One sees that sort of thing so\noften with those who love and trust Him!\"\n\n\"And I have not said one word about your trouble,\" Euphrasia presently\nobserved. \"But indeed I have been thinking about you a great deal. I am\nso very very sorry!\"\n\n\"People waste far too much pity upon us. Life has plenty of happiness\nstill, without wealth. I don't say that the loss of money is not in\nany sense a trial. Of course, it is meant to be that, but I 'do' say I\nwould not have things otherwise, if this is God's will for us!\"\n\n\"Only it seems so hard\u2014\"\n\n\"Not hard! To some extent trying, but we have to expect trials. Things\nmay turn out better than we at present venture to hope. If not, we\nshall be provided for,\u2014one way or another. No one ever yet trusted God,\nand found Him to fail. And we do trust Him.\"\n\nShe passed her hand softly over Euphrasia's, a smile on her face.\n\n\"I am not boasting. A child does not boast of trusting his mother's\nlove and care! He trusts because he knows what she is, because\nhe cannot help it! It is no matter for boasting, but only for\ndelight . . . Curious that I should have had for years a kind of\nlonging to be allowed more opportunity for trust. Where one loves much,\none likes to be able to show the love by action. And I have always\nbeen so amply provided for\u2014never the smallest chance of unsupplied\nneeds\u2014never any loophole for wants being supplied straight from above.\nRoom enough for trust and dependence in spiritual matters, but not as\nto everyday needs. It has always seemed to me that probably I couldn't\nbe trusted with that. I have often thought how beautiful it must be\nto sit, like Elijah, waiting for the ravens, perfectly sure that they\ncould never fail to come. Of course, I do not mean, sitting idly, not\ndoing one's utmost; only when one's utmost is done, and the needs are\nnot supplied, 'then' to wait for Divine action.\"\n\n\"Ravens!\"\n\n\"Modern ravens would not wear black feathers, child. They come just\nas straight from God. But I have feared presumption in having such\nthoughts, and I have not allowed myself to wish. Now that this has come\nquite independently of anything we could do, it 'does' seem that to\nwait on them for daily bread may be very sweet\u2014always knowing that He\ncan never by any possibility fail His children.\"\n\n\"Ought everybody to feel so?\"\n\n\"I do not think the same lessons are given to all. People are\ndifferently constituted, for one matter, and they have to be put into\ndifferent classes in the Divine training-school. The same teaching is\nnot adapted for all characters\u2014perhaps could not be learnt by all. But\nsuch thoughts help me, till we can see our way. At present we cannot.\nTo live in a house the size of this Rectory, on \u00a385 a year, with all\nthe Parish claims in addition, seems an utter impossibility. But then,\nif we saw at once exactly how to manage, we should not need to trust\nand wait.\"\n\n\"And you don't even feel anxious?\"\n\n\"I think\u2014not what you mean by 'anxious.' I 'see' the difficulties and\nthe uncertainties. But the coming guidance is so very sure, that one\ncannot feel bowed down by it. Trust does not mean not realising. My\ndear child, why should we be anxious? It will be all right one way or\nanother\u2014whether we stay here, or go elsewhere.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOne little drawback Euphrasia saw in her bright future, which otherwise\nseemed cloudless, and that was the fact of a home near the Johnstons.\nCould she have chosen, she would undoubtedly have preferred almost any\nother place than Clifton. But choice did not exist. She waited, with\nsome trepidation, the first intimation of Robert having been to Royal\nYork Crescent. And when it came, her fears proved to have been needless.\n\nMrs. Johnston would beforehand have done all in her power to have\nprevented so \"imprudent a match,\" had she foreseen it. Now, however,\nthat the thing was inevitable, she was far too wise a woman of the\nworld to show ineffectual disgust. Her letter of congratulation to\nEuphrasia, if not entirely sincere, was at least as to its phraseology\nall that it ought to have been.\n\nThree months' delay Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie begged that they might have\na little taste of their eldest child at home, before she left them\naltogether. And then the wedding came off.\n\nOn that very same day, tidings were received that Mrs. Landor's\nproperty having sold unexpectedly well, and certain other matters\nhaving reached a better consummation than had been feared, enough would\nbe saved from the wreck to ensure an income of over \u00a3250 per annum, in\naddition to the Rector's small stipend.\n\n\"It will not be quite like waiting for the ravens now!\" murmured\nEuphrasia, as she clung to her friend in the very moment of\nparting\u2014when she was no longer Euphrasia Mackenzie, but Euphrasia Wells.\n\n\"I have often noticed in life,\" Mrs. Landor said placidly, \"that when\nsome trouble is held out to us, if we say at once\u2014'even so!'\u2014then it is\ntaken away, or perhaps lessened . . . Always! No, not always; only now\nand then! . . . Waiting for ravens! No, indeed. We shall be positively\nrich, in comparison with what we have been expecting.\"\n\n\"You did not 'wish' for the other! You are not disappointed?\"\n\n\"Disappointed to have greater ease! My dear child, what I want is not\nto choose\u2014to be willing either way. And now you are off! I have no\nright to keep you here. Let me hear soon, Little Eyebright. And do not\nbe afraid to feel 'too happy!'\"\n\n\n\n                               THE END","title":"Little Eyebright and her pund o' care","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":27655}