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diff --git a/old/54596-8.txt b/old/54596-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ab13ec1..0000000 --- a/old/54596-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3657 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Nelly Channell, by Sarah Doudney - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Nelly Channell - -Author: Sarah Doudney - -Release Date: April 24, 2017 [EBook #54596] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NELLY CHANNELL *** - - - - -Produced by Melissa McDaniel, Mhairi and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - -NELLY CHANNELL. - - -[Illustration: "Until she came to the side of the brook."--Page 196.] - - - - - NELLY CHANNELL. - - - BY - SARAH DOUDNEY, - - - AUTHOR OF - - _"Strangers Yet," "A Woman's Glory," "What's in - a Name," "Nothing but Leaves," etc._ - - - With Four Illustrations. - - - Boston. - - IRA BRADLEY & CO., - 162, WASHINGTON STREET. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - CHAPTER I. - - THE HOME AT HUNTSDEAN, AND ITS NEW INMATES 1 - - CHAPTER II. - - BROTHER AND SISTER.--RHODA FARREN PERPLEXED 17 - - CHAPTER III. - - A SPARED LIFE.--NEWS FROM ROBERT CLARRIS 23 - - CHAPTER IV. - - AN INVITATION FROM SQUIRE DERRICK 43 - - CHAPTER V. - - HELEN UNDER A NEW ASPECT 53 - - CHAPTER VI. - - "THE MASTER IS COME, AND CALLETH FOR THEE" 65 - - CHAPTER VII. - - THE DISPOSAL OF HELEN'S JEWELS 79 - - CHAPTER VIII. - - THE FARM PURCHASED BY ONE RALPH CHANNELL 87 - - CHAPTER IX. - - "THE CONSCIOUSNESS OF BATTLE" 101 - - CHAPTER X. - - THE STORY OF THE DARK HOUR 111 - - CHAPTER XI. - - NELLY CHANNELL 131 - - CHAPTER XII. - - MORGAN FOSTER, THE NEW CURATE 141 - - CHAPTER XIII. - - WHAT A LITTLE POEM REVEALED 151 - - CHAPTER XIV. - - EVE HAZLEBURN, POET AND FRIEND 161 - - CHAPTER XV. - - A CONFESSION OVERHEARD 173 - - CHAPTER XVI. - - HOW THE TRUTH CAME OUT 189 - - CHAPTER XVII. - - AN UNLOOKED-FOR RELEASE 201 - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - "WHAT GOD HATH JOINED TOGETHER" 211 - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE HOME AT HUNTSDEAN AND ITS NEW INMATES. - - -It was the dreariest of November days. The only bright spot was a -crimson sumach, spreading its gorgeous foliage against the watery grey -of the sky, and misty back-ground of fog-hidden fields. It was a day -that made the burdens of life seem heavier than they really were, and -set the heart aching for the sunshine of the vanished summer. - -The scene was as still as death. There was not wind enough to lift the -pale vapours that hung over the meadows. No kindly breezes came to the -poor brown leaves, heaped on the wayside, and carried them off to quiet -hollows where they might have decent burial. Better rain and tempest -than such a gloomy calm as this; and better the roar and rattle of the -train than the heavy jog-trot of the carrier's horses, and the rumble -of his wagon. - -"It will never be the same home again," said Rhoda Farren to herself, -as the old grey cottage came in sight. There was the low, moss-grown -wall, built of flints--there were the splendid sumachs, brightening the -desolate garden. Rhoda and her cousin Helen had chased each other along -those grassy paths when they were children. But they were women now, -and had put away childish things. Rhoda loved her cousin reasonably -well, yet not well enough to give up her own bedroom to her and her -baby. - -The baby was the principal grievance. Rhoda had had very little to -do with children; and being of a studious turn, she did not want to -improve her acquaintance with them. In reading her favourite books -she always skipped the parts that related their sayings and doings. -It was, therefore, no small cross to find an infant of two months old -introduced into the family circle. For there she had hoped to reign -supreme. - -She had a presentiment that there would be rivalry between the baby and -herself--a struggle for mastery, in which her little opponent might -possibly be victor. "Baby lips would laugh her down," if she attempted -remonstrance. Even parents and a fond brother might be won over to the -cause of the small usurper. - -For three years Rhoda Farren had been living away from home, only -coming back for a fortnight at Christmas, and sometimes for a few days -in midsummer. Neighbours and friends had looked upon her as fortunate. -She had held the post of companion to the rich widow of a London -merchant, and had been well treated, and not ill remunerated. - -The widow was lately dead, and Miss Farren was returning to her home -with an annuity of twenty pounds, to be paid regularly by Mrs. Elton's -executors. - -Mrs. Elton had not been difficult to live with; and her companion had -adapted herself to her ways more readily than most girls of twenty -would have done. The quiet house in Cavendish Square had been no -uncheerful home. But the mode of life there had strengthened Rhoda's -habits of self-indulgence. She had had ample time for reading and -musing. No harsh words had chafed her temper, no small nuisances had -planted thorns in her path. They had few visitors. Weeks would pass -without their hearing other voices than those of the servants. It did -not matter to them that there were mighty things done in the great -world. It was an unwholesome life for two women to lead--a life of -cramped interests and narrow thoughts. - -Helen had been living in Islington, while Rhoda was in Cavendish -Square. But in those days Miss Farren never went to see anybody; and -she excused herself for not visiting Helen by saying that Mrs. Elton -did not like her to be gadding about. Thus it came to pass that she had -not even once seen her cousin's husband. - -She knew that Robert Clarris had taken Helen from her situation of -nursery governess, and had married her after a brief acquaintance. -Rhoda's parents were Helen's only surviving relatives, and they had -given their full consent to the match. It was not a bad match for a -penniless girl to make; for Robert Clarris was a confidential clerk in -the office of Mr. Elton, son of the widow in Cavendish Square. - -It was in July that Mrs. Elton's health began to fail. Rhoda Farren saw -the change stealing over her day by day, and knew what it portended. -In a certain way she had been fond of the old woman; but it was an -attachment without love. There would be no great pain when the ties -between them were broken, and Rhoda was conscious of this. She was even -angry with herself for not being more sorry that Mrs. Elton was dying. - -"The worry of life is wearing me out, Rhoda," said the widow one day, -when Miss Farren had found her violently agitated, and in tears. It -surprised her not a little to hear that Mrs. Elton had any worries. But -when the wind shakes the full tree, there is always a great rustling -of the leaves. The bare bough does not quake; it has nothing to lose. -Mrs. Elton had been a rich woman from her youth upward, and she could -not bear that a single leaf should be torn from her green branches. - -"I have had a dreadful loss, Rhoda," she continued; "a loss in my -business. The business is mine, you know. I always said my son should -never have it while I was alive. But of course I have let him carry it -on for me, and very badly he has managed! That confidential clerk of -his--Clarris--has robbed me of three hundred pounds!" - -"You surely don't mean my cousin Helen's husband, Mrs. Elton?" cried -Rhoda. - -"How should I know anything about his being your cousin's husband?" -said the old lady peevishly. "His wife is a very unlucky woman, whoever -she is. Three hundred pounds have been paid into Clarris's hands for -me, and he has embezzled every shilling of it. My son always had a -ridiculous habit of petting the people he employed. This is what has -come of it." - -"Is he in prison?" faltered Rhoda. - -"No; I am sorry to say that he isn't. Those lazy idiots, the -detectives, have let him slip. He has had the impertinence to write -a canting letter to my son, telling him that every farthing shall be -restored." - -The fugitive was not captured. Perhaps Mr. Elton had a secret liking -for the _ci-devant_ clerk, and did not care to have him too hotly -pursued. Poor lonely Helen had travelled without delay to her uncle's -house, and there her little girl had entered this troublesome world. At -the end of October Mrs. Elton had ceased to fret for the three hundred -pounds, and had gone where gold and silver are of small account. And on -this November afternoon Rhoda Farren had returned to her old home once -more. - -Bond, the carrier, had picked up Miss Farren and her belongings when -the train had set her down at the rural railway station. Then came -the five mile drive to Huntsdean, over the roads that she had often -traversed in her girlhood. The pallid mist clung to every branch of the -familiar trees, and veiled the woodland alleys where she had watched -the rabbits and squirrels in bygone times. Not a gleam of sunshine -welcomed her back to the old haunts; not a brown hare leaped across her -path; not a bird sent forth a note of welcome. Nature and Rhoda were in -the same mood on that memorable day. - -But if the whole scene had been radiant with flowers, Rhoda would -still have chosen to "sit down upon her little handful of thorns." She -told herself again and again that her good days were done. Was she not -coming home to find the house invaded, and her own room occupied, by -the wife and child of a thief? - -Yes, a thief. She called him that hard name a dozen times, and even -whispered it as she sat under the wagon-tilt. It is a humbling fact, -that humanity finds relief in calling names. Ay, it is a miserable -thing to know that we have fastened many a bitter epithet on some -whose names are written in the Book of Life. - -"Wo!" cried Bond to his horses. - -The ejaculation might have been applied to Rhoda; for it was a woful -visage that emerged from the tilt and met the gaze of John Farren as he -came out of the garden gate. - -"You don't look quite so young as you did, Rhoda," he said when he had -lifted her from the wagon and set her on her feet. - -There are birds that pluck the feathers from their own breasts. -For hours Rhoda had been silently graving lines upon her face, and -deliberately destroying the bloom and freshness that God meant her -to keep. But she did not like to be told of her handiwork. When Miss -So-and-so's friends remark that she is getting _passé_, is it any -comfort to her to know that her own restless nature, and not Time, -has deprived her of her comeliness? Many a woman is lovelier in her -maturity than in her youth. But it is a kind of beauty that comes with -the knowledge of "the things that belong unto her peace." - -John looked after her boxes, and paid the carrier. The wagon rumbled -on through the village, the black retriever barking behind it, to the -exasperation of Bond's dog, which was tethered under the wain. Then -the brother put his hands on his sister's shoulders, glanced at her -earnestly for a moment, and kissed her. - -"Mother's waiting for you," he said. - -As he spoke, Mrs. Farren appeared in the porch, and at the sight of her -Rhoda's ill-temper was ready to take flight. But Helen was behind her, -waiting too--waiting to weary her cousin with all the details of her -wretched story, and expecting her, perhaps, to pity Robert Clarris. - -"It's good to have you back again, my dear," said the mother's soft -voice and glistening eyes. - -"Ah, Rhoda!" piped Helen's treble, "we were children together, were we -not? Oh! what sorrows I've gone through, and how I have been longing to -talk to you!" - -Before Miss Farren could reply, a feeble wail arose from the adjoining -room. The baby had lost no time in announcing its presence, and Helen -hurried in to the cradle. Dim as the light was, her mother must have -detected the annoyance on Rhoda's face. Or perhaps her quick instinct -served her instead of sight, for she hastened to say-- - -"It doesn't often cry, poor little mite! But it has been ailing to-day." - -There was only one flight of stairs in the house. As Rhoda slowly -ascended them, the loud, steady ticking of the old clock brought back -many a childish memory. Would the hours pass as swiftly and brightly as -they had done in earlier years? She sighed as she thought of all the -small miseries that would make time hang heavily on her hands. It never -even occurred to her then that - - "No true life is long." - -A fretful spirit will spin hours out of minutes, and weeks out of days. - -"I told you, Rhoda, my dear, that we had given your room to Helen. I -said so in a letter, didn't I?" remarked Mrs. Farren, leading the -way into the chamber that she had prepared for her daughter. "This is -nearly as good. And I felt sure that you would not grudge the larger -room to that poor thing and her child." - -"What is to be, must be," Rhoda replied. - -"Don't stop to unpack anything," continued her mother, trying not to -notice the gloomy answer. "Come downstairs again as soon as you can. -There's a good fire, and a bit of something nice for tea. It's a kind -of day that takes the light and colour out of everything," she added, -with a slight shiver. "I'll never grumble at the weather that God -sends; yet I'm always glad when we've got through November." - -It was Rhoda who had brought the damp mist indoors. It was Rhoda--God -forgive her--who had taken the light and colour out of everything. In -looking back upon our lives, we must always see the dark spots where -we cast our shadow on another's path--a path which, perhaps, ran very -close beside our own. It may be that our dear ones, enfolded in the -sunlight of Paradise, have forgotten the gloom that we once threw over -their earthly way. But we never can. - -When Rhoda went down into the old parlour, she found it glowing with -fire and candle light. Her father had come in from the wet fields and -the sheepfolds, and was waiting to give her a welcome. Red curtains -shut out the foggy evening; red lights danced on the well-spread table. -The baby, lying open-eyed on Helen's lap, had its thumb in its mouth, -and seemed disposed for quiet contemplation. The black retriever, -stretched upon the hearth-rug, had finished a hard day's barking, and -was taking his well-earned repose. - -They gave her the best chair and the warmest seat. All that household -love could do was done; and she began to thaw a little under its -influence. - -Once or twice Helen tried to introduce the subject of her troubles, but -the farmer and his wife quietly put it aside. Rhoda had made no secret -of her resentment. There were many other things to be told; little -episodes in village lives; little stories of neighbours and friends. -The talk flowed on like a woodland stream that glides over this -obstacle and under that. It was threading a difficult and intricate -way, but it kept on flowing, till night broke up the family group. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -BROTHER AND SISTER.--RHODA FARREN PERPLEXED. - - -The father and mother retired first, then Helen. John seated himself -in the farmer's large arm-chair, and looked at Rhoda as she sat on the -other side of the fire. These after-supper talks had been a custom with -them in the old days. The sister knew by her brother's glance that he -understood her mood, and was prepared for a long chat. - -It is a trying thing for a woman that a man will seldom begin a -subject, however full his heart may be of it. He will wait, with -indomitable patience, until she speaks the first word, and after -that he will go on glibly enough. Rhoda first learned to understand -something of man's nature by studying John, and she knew perfectly well -that she should never get a sentence out of him unless she broke the -silence. - -"Well," she said at last, with a little movement of impatience, "this -is a miserable business. I never thought that I should come back to the -old home and find the wife and child of a felon comfortably settled in -it. But there is no end to sin--no limit to the audacity of criminals. -It is not enough for Robert Clarris to rob his employer, he must also -thrust his own lawful burdens on other folks' shoulders." - -"When one commits a crime," replied John gravely, "one never foresees -what it entails. When Clarris found that discovery was inevitable, he -came home to his wife and asked her to fly with him. But she would not -go----" - -"How could she go?" interrupted Rhoda indignantly. "Think of her -condition, and of the misery and disgrace of following his fortunes. He -is a base man indeed." - -John moved uneasily in his chair, and kept his eyes fixed on the -burning log in the grate. More than once his lips opened and shut -again. - -"I suppose you'll be very hard on me," he said at length, "if I own -that I've a sort of tenderness for this poor sinner. I don't mean to -make light of his crime, but I believe that when he took the money he -intended to pay it back." - -"Oh, John," said Rhoda severely, "I am really ashamed of you! What has -come to your moral perceptions? There is a saying that the way to hell -is paved with good intentions;--of course this man will try to excuse -himself. The world has got into a habit of petting its criminals, and -it is one of the worst signs of the times. As Mrs. Elton used to say, -it would be well if we could have the good old days back again!" - -"The good old days when men were hung for sheep-stealing, and starving -women were sentenced to death for taking a loaf!" retorted John with -unusual heat. "How I hate to hear that cant about the good old days! -And when the gallows and the pillory and the stocks were so busy, did -they stop the Mohawks in their fiendish pranks at night? or did they -put down the Gordon riots till the mob had begun to sack and pillage -London? I am glad the world is changed, and I hope it will go on -changing." - -"If we change from over-severity to over-mercy, we shall just have to -go back to over-severity again," replied Rhoda. - -"No, Rhoda," he said more calmly. "By that time we shall have got to -the days 'when the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as -the waters cover the seas.'" - -Rhoda looked at her brother and wondered. These were strange words to -hear from a young man living in a Hampshire village, where everything -seemed to be standing still. There was no more talk that night. It was -evident to Rhoda that John had shot ahead of her in the road of life. -Not being able to say whether he were in a bad way or a good way, she -said nothing and went to bed. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -A SPARED LIFE.--NEWS FROM ROBERT CLARRIS. - - -A great sorrow is like a mountain in our way: we must either climb -to its top, or lie grovelling at its base. If we grovel, the path of -life is blocked up for ever, and the shadow of our misery is upon us -night and day. If we climb, we shall find purer air and fairer regions. -Heaven will be nearer to us, the world will lie beneath our feet;--we -shall bless God for the trial that has lifted us so high above our old -selves. We shall comprehend a little of the vast Love that reared the -mountain;--ay, we shall break forth into singing, "Thou, Lord, of Thy -goodness, hast made my hill so strong!" - -It was clear that Helen would never climb her mountain. In the old -days, although she was three years older than her cousin, Rhoda had -found out that nothing would ever lift her above the dead level of -life. Always beautiful, always common-place, always a little sly--such -were her childish characteristics, and they were unaltered by time. -Her beauty was of that kind which inevitably gives a false impression. -Every smile was a poem; every glance seemed to tell of thoughts -too deep for words. She was the very impersonation of the German -Elle-maid--as hollow a piece of loveliness as ever sat by the roadside -in the old Schwarzwald, and lured unwary travellers to accept the fatal -goblet or kiss. - -When she said, tearfully, that Robert Clarris had fallen in love at -their first interview, and would not rest till he had married her, -Rhoda knew that she spoke the simple truth. No one who looked into the -eloquent brown eyes, and watched the play of the sweet lips, could -marvel at Robert's impetuosity. One could understand how that fair face -had drawn out the old Samson cry, "Get her for me, for she pleaseth me -well." - -"I might have done far better, Rhoda," she said, plaintively; "but I -had a hard situation, and I wanted to get out of it. You don't know -the misery of being nursery governess. One is just like the bat in the -fable, neither a bird nor a beast--neither a lady nor a servant. The -position is bad enough for an ugly girl; but it is ten times worse for -a pretty one." - -No one could blame Helen for speaking of her beauty as an established -fact. - -"When I was married to Robert," she continued, "I soon began to -be disappointed in him. There was an end to all the nice little -attentions. I was almost his goddess until I became his wife." - -"Oh, that's a very old story," responded Rhoda. "Lovers are just like -our old apple trees; one would think to see the quantity of blossom -that there would be a deal of fruit; but there never is. Great promise -and small fulfilment--that's always the case with men." - -"He was dreadfully stingy," went on Helen. "He worried me sadly about -my expenses. I was not allowed enough money to keep myself decently -dressed. I think he liked to see me shabby." - -"You are wearing a very good dress at this moment," remarked Rhoda. - -"Yes, this is well enough," answered her cousin, colouring slightly. "I -was obliged to get things without his leave sometimes, or I should have -looked like a scarecrow. Robert would never believe that I wanted any -clothes." - -"What did he do with the money that he stole?" Rhoda asked abruptly. - -"How should I know?" sighed Helen. "He never gave a shilling of it to -me. One day he came home and told me, quite suddenly, that his sin must -be discovered. I thought that he was crazed, and when I found that he -was in his right mind, I nearly lost my senses. Never get married, -Rhoda; take my advice, and be a single woman. It's the only way to keep -out of misery." - -"I'm not thinking of marrying, Helen," replied Rhoda, rather sharply; -"but every marriage is not such a mistake as yours has been. God knew -what He was about, I suppose, when He brought Adam and Eve together. -There's little sense in abusing a good road just because you couldn't -walk upright on it." - -"You would not have found it easy to walk with Robert," said Helen, -mournfully. "And now he has gone off, and has left me sticking in the -mire! It's worse than being a widow." - -Rhoda melted at once at the thought of Helen's desolate condition. - -"Perhaps he may really get on in Australia," she rejoined, trying to -speak hopefully; "and then he may send for you and the child." - -"Oh, I hope not!" returned Helen, with a little start. "If he gets on, -he will send home money for us; but I do not want to live with him -again." - -There can be no separation so utter and hopeless as that which parts -two who have been made one. The closer the union, the more complete is -the disunion. Even at that moment, when Rhoda's wrath was hot against -Robert Clarris, she was struck with Helen's entire lack of wifely -feeling. She could almost have pitied the man who had so thoroughly -alienated the mother of his child. And then she reflected that this -dread of reunion on Helen's part told fearfully against him. Helen was -weak, but was she not also gentle and affectionate? Better, indeed, was -it for them to keep asunder until another life should present each to -the other under a new aspect. - -She did not pursue the subject further. With a sudden desire to be away -from Helen and her troubles, she wrapped herself in a thick shawl, -and went up the fields that rose behind the cottage. On the highest -land the farmer was mending a fence. She could hear the strokes of his -mallet as he drove the stakes into the ground. - -As Rhoda drew near, she stood still and looked at him--a hale, handsome -man, whose face, fringed by an iron-grey beard, was like a rosy russet -apple set in grey lichen. His smock-frock showed white against the -dark background of brown trees. The air was so quiet that one could -listen to his breathing as his strong arms dealt the sturdy blows. - -She was proud of him as she stood there in the wide field watching him -unseen. He would leave her nothing save the legacy of an unstained -name, but the worth thereof was far above rubies. No one would sneer -at her as the daughter of a disgraced man. No one would whisper, "She -comes of a bad stock; take heed how you trust her." Many a rogue has -wriggled out of well-earned punishment with the aid of his sire's good -name. Many an honest Christian has gone groaning through life under the -burden of a parent's evil reputation. - -With this pride in him Rhoda was unconsciously blending a pride -in herself. "Some eyes," she thought, "are too blind to see their -blessings; I am quick of sight. The Author and Giver of all good things -finds in me a grateful receiver." - -Thus she loudly echoed the Pharisee's cry "Lord, I thank Thee that I -am not as other men." And never, perhaps, is the Divine patience so -severely tried as when that self-complacent voice is heard. How sweet -in Christ's ears must be those other voices--stealing up to Him through -the egotist's loveless _Te Deum_--breathing the publican's old prayer, -"God be merciful to me a sinner!" - -It was a day of sober brightness. A white mist had risen above the -western slopes, and the setting sun shone through it. Brown furrows -had begun to take a rich auburn tinge; tree-shadows crept farther and -farther across the green sod; crows flew heavily homewards. From the -wet thickets came the old fresh ferny scents, sweetening the calm air. -The mallet blows ceased; the farmer had ended his task, and turned -towards his daughter. - -"You are not sorry to get back to our fields, Rhoda?" he said. "You'll -see the primroses showing their pretty faces by-and-by. Ah, it seems -but yesterday that you and Helen were filling your pinafores with -them!" - -"Helen's winter has come before its time, father," answered Miss -Farren, gravely. "Her wicked husband has made her life desolate." - -"And his own too," added the farmer, in a pitying tone. - -"That is as it should be," returned Rhoda, quickly. "He has escaped the -punishment he merited; but there's satisfaction in knowing that God's -justice will surely reach him." - -"Ay," murmured the farmer softly, "God's mercy will surely reach him." - -"God's favour is for those who walk uprightly," said Rhoda. - -"Ah, Rhoda, the mercy is granted before they learn to walk uprightly," -replied her father. "It comes to those who have fallen and are ready to -perish. There are few of us who can see ourselves in every criminal, as -old Baxter did. And there are fewer still who can believe that a man -may come out of the Slough of Despond cleaner than he went in." - -They turned towards the house, walking silently down the green slopes. -Rhoda was angry and perplexed; what was the use of living a respectable -life if sinners were to be highly esteemed? When she spoke again it was -in a harsh tone. - -"Robert Clarris has found defenders, it seems! A man who has committed -such a crime as his should scarcely be so lightly forgiven!" - -"There is one thing I'd have you remember, Rhoda," said the farmer, -patiently, "and that is, the difference between falling into sin and -living in sin. It's just the difference between the man who loves and -hugs his disease and he who writhes under it, and longs to be cured." - -"Even supposing that this is Robert's first fault," continued Miss -Farren, "there must have been a long course of unsteady walking before -such a fall could be brought about." - -"Maybe not," her father responded. "Some men lose their characters, -Rhoda, as others lose their lives, by being off their guard for one -moment. And when you talk of God's justice, recollect that it means -something very different from man's judgment. The Lord hates the sin -worse than we do, but He knows what we can never know--the strength of -the temptation." - -By that time the pair had descended the last slope, and were drawing -near the cottage. The back-door stood open. Rhoda could see the red -glow of the kitchen fire, and the outline of her mother's figure as she -moved to and fro. It was a pleasant glimpse of household warmth and -light, and it charmed her ill temper away. But she did not remember -that there might be wanderers in the world at that moment--driven out -into life's wilderness by sin--whose hearts would well-nigh break at -this little glimpse of a home. She did not think of that awful sense of -loss which crime must leave behind it. Perhaps that open house-door had -suggested thoughts like these to the farmer, for he paused before they -entered. - -"Rhoda," he said, solemnly, "never fall into the mistake of thinking -that sinners aren't punished enough. It's a very common blunder. Many a -man might have hanged himself, as Judas did, if Christ hadn't stepped -in and shown him what the atonement is. It is to the Davids and Peters -and Sauls that He says, 'Where sin abounded, grace did much more -abound.'" - -November came to an end. December set in with biting winds and gloomy -skies, and then followed a sharp, wintry Christmas. - -It was a hard time for the birds. Rhoda would sit at the window -and watch them congregating on the brier-bush in the corner of the -garden. Now it was a plump thrush, puffing out its speckled breast, -and feasting on the scarlet hips; now it was a blackbird, with dusky -plumage and yellow bill. Then a score of finches and sparrows would -alight on the frozen snow, and quarrel over the crumbs that she had -scattered there. All day the sky was grey and clear; but sometimes at -sunset, a flush would rest upon the white fields, tinting them with the -delicate pink of half-opened apple-blossoms. - -On Christmas Eve, Rhoda Farren sat watching the hungry birds no -longer. A little human life was drawing very near to immortality. The -baby--Helen's wee, fragile baby--was hovering between two worlds. - -And then, for the first time, all Rhoda's sleeping instincts started -up, awake and strong. Anger and selfishness were alike forgotten. Let -the solemn feet of death be heard upon the threshold of the house, -and all the petty wranglings of its inmates are stilled. He was -coming--"the angel with the amaranthine wreath"--but Rhoda held the -little one in her arms, and prayed the Father to shut the door against -him. - -We know not what we ask when we pray for a child's life. We are -pleading with the Good Shepherd that He will leave a little lamb in the -wilderness instead of taking it into the fold. We are asking that it -may tread the long, toilsome way home, instead of the short, smooth -path that leads straight to rest. Surely our Lord never loves us better -than when He says nay to such prayers as these. When we become even -as they--the little children--and enter into the kingdom, we shall -understand the infinite compassion of His denial. - -Christmas night closed in; and outside the cottage, the mummers, gay in -patchwork and ribbons, clashed their tin swords, and sang their foolish -rhymes. John went out and entreated them to go away. A glance through -the open door showed Rhoda the clear, broad moonlight, shining over -the snow-waste, and she heard the subdued voices of the men as they -went off to some happier house. Then the door closed again, and she saw -nothing but the little child's wan face. - -"If it were taken," she thought, "they should all feel something as the -shepherds did when 'the angels were gone away from them into heaven.'" -Even she had begun to realize that a babe is indeed God's angel in -a household. Often, like those Christmas angels, it stays just long -enough to be the messenger of peace and good-will, and then returns -to Him who sent it. Like them, it leaves us without an earth-stain on -its vesture; without a regret for the world from which it is so soon -withdrawn. - -But Helen's little one was to remain. The household rejoiced, and Rhoda -learnt to recognise herself in a new character. She became the baby's -head-nurse and most devoted slave. - -"Was there ever such a child?" she asked, as it gained strength and -beauty. "It will be as pretty as Helen by-and-by." - -"It has a look of Robert," said the farmer, thoughtfully. - -Rhoda's smiles fled. She wanted to forget the relationship between -that man and her darling. Nor was she without a fear that it might -have inherited some touch of his evil nature. Her heart never softened -towards him because he was the father of the child. And yet how much -richer her life had grown since she had taken the baby into it! - -The snow lay long upon the ground. It was so lengthened a winter, that -spring seemed to come suddenly. There was a burst of primroses on the -borders of the fields. They lit up shady places with their pale yellow -stars, and spread themselves out in sheets. Every puff of wind was -sweet with the breath of violets; birds sang their old carols--now two -or three clear notes--now a shake--then a long whistle. All God's works -praised Him in the freshness of their new life. Old dry stumps, that -Rhoda had thought dead and useless, began to put forth green shoots. -The earth teemed with surprises; all around there was a continual -assertion of vitality. And so hard is it to distinguish the barrenness -of winter from the barrenness of death, that every spring has its -seeming miracles. The tree that our impatient hands had well-nigh hewn -down may be our sweetest shelter in the heat of summer noontide. - -Not until the high winds had sent the blossoms drifting over the -orchards like a second snowfall, did there come news of Helen's husband. - -The tidings came through Mr. Elton. Clarris had written to him, -enclosing a letter for his wife. He had also sent notes to the amount -of forty pounds to his former employer. From time to time he promised -money should be forwarded until the whole sum that he had taken was -restored. - -"I believe," wrote Mr. Elton to the farmer, "that he will keep his -word. He does not, he declares, hope to wipe out his sin by this -restitution. 'I am not one whit better than any other criminal,' he -writes, 'but I have been more leniently dealt with than most of my -brethren. God's mercy, acting through you, has done much for me.'" - -Helen did not show Rhoda the letter that had been received. She was -paler and sadder after reading it, but she said nothing about its -contents. Rhoda took the child in her arms, leaving its mother sitting -in silence, and went out into the garden. - -The wild winds had sunk to rest. A light shower had fallen in the early -morning, beating out the sweetness of the new-born roses, and the long, -soft grass. The old walks glittered and twinkled in the sunshine. The -sky was radiantly blue, and the clouds were fair. - -"After all," thought Rhoda, looking upward with a sudden lifting of the -spirit, "heaven is full of forgiven sinners!" - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -AN INVITATION FROM SQUIRE DERRICK. - - -As the summer advanced, Helen's spirits rose. She was not the pale, -plaintive woman that Rhoda had found on her return from London. Her -beauty brightened visibly, and more than one neighbour remarked that it -was a sin and a shame for such a pretty creature to be tied up to a man -who was nothing but a cross to her. - -Perhaps Helen herself was of the same opinion. The baby was given up -more and more to Rhoda's care, while its mother went freely to the -villagers' houses. She was one of those women to whom admiration is -as necessary as their daily food. Her pleasure in her own loveliness -amused while it saddened her cousin. There was something in it that -seemed akin to the delight of a child in its fine clothes. Helen's -mind had never grown with her body. But Rhoda and the others had -got into the habit of viewing her weaknesses indulgently. And they -gratified the little fancies that were, as a rule, harmless enough. - -They had their first disagreement at the end of August. There was an -early harvest that year. In the southern counties most of the wheat was -cut and stacked before September set in. The crops were plentiful, and -there was rejoicing on all sides. But it was not always the right kind -of rejoicing. - -"It's a strange way that some folks have got of thanking the Lord of -the harvest," remarked Farmer Farren one day. "He gives them bread -enough to satisfy all their wants, and they must needs show their -gratitude by stupefying themselves with beer! I used to think, when -I was a lad, that 'twas an odd thing for King David to go a-dancing -before the Almighty with all his might. But there's more sense in -dancing than in drinking for joy." - -Father and daughter stood side by side, leaning against the garden -wall; for it was evening, and the farmer's work was done. Just before -he spoke, some drunken shouts disturbed the quiet air. Labourers were -roystering in the village tavern, and many a wife's temper was sorely -tried that night. - -"O Uncle, I am glad you don't think it's wrong to dance!" cried Helen, -coming suddenly out of the house. "Here's good news! Squire Derrick is -going to give a feast in his park next Friday. I know that John can't -go, because of his sprained ankle; but William Gill will drive us to -the park in his chaise. There'll be room for Rhoda and me and Mrs. -Gill." - -"But, Helen, I don't go to merry-makings," said Rhoda, gravely. "We -have never taken part in anything of that kind. And as to father's -remark, King David's sort of dancing was very different from the -waltzes and polkas and galops that there will be on Friday night." - -Helen's face clouded like that of a disappointed child. - -"O Uncle, would there be any harm in my dancing?" she asked. - -"No harm exactly, my girl," responded the farmer uneasily, as he picked -a piece of dry moss off the wall. "But even when things are lawful, -they are not always expedient. You are a married woman, you see, and -your husband's under a cloud, and miles away--poor fellow!" - -"Ah!" sighed Helen, "I'm always doomed to suffer for his sins! I -thought that perhaps a little bit of fun would help me to forget my -troubles." - -Poor Helen was still grovelling at the foot of her mountain. - -Large tears stood in her soft eyes. The farmer gave her a quick glance, -then looked away, and busied himself with the little cushion of moss -that still lay in his broad palm. At heart he was more than half a -Puritan, and hated jigs and feastings as lustily as did the Gideons -and Grace-be-heres of Cromwell's day. But he was far too tender-natured -a man to bear the sight of a woman's tears. - -But for that unfortunate allusion which her father had made to Robert -Clarris, Rhoda would have set her face as a flint against going to -the fête. But his tone of pity stirred up all her old resentment. -Why was this young wife, lovely and foolish, left without her lawful -protector? Had she not said truly that she was doomed to suffer for -his sins? After all, it was scarcely her fault, perhaps, that she was -not elevated by her trial. To "erect ourselves above ourselves" is a -bliss that we do not all reach. And it is a bliss which bears such -a close relationship to pain, that one has no right to be hard on a -fellow-mortal who chooses the lower ground. - -Thoughts like these were passing through Rhoda's mind, while Helen -still wept silently. But it did not occur to Miss Farren that the -truest kindness that can be done to another is to raise him. She forgot -that it is better to stretch out a hand and say, "Friend, come up -higher," than to step down to his level. At that moment she thought -only of pacifying Helen. Of late her cousin had grown very dear to -her, partly, perhaps, for the sake of her little child. Her whole soul -recoiled from the harvest-feast. She hated the clownish merriment, and -the dancing and drinking; and yet, to please Helen, she was willing to -endure much that was distasteful. - -"If you would promise not to dance, Helen," she began, hesitatingly. -Her father looked up in undisguised astonishment. - -"Why, Rhoda," he said, "I didn't think anything in the world would have -made you go!" - -"O Rhoda, how good of you to give way!" cried Helen, brightening. -"Of course I'll promise. It's just like her, Uncle: she was always -the most unselfish girl on earth! She doesn't despise me because I'm -weak-minded, and like a little bit of pleasure. Ah, how kind she is!" - -The farmer said no more. He had a great reverence for his daughter, and -would not take the matter out of her hands. But he went indoors with a -grave face; and Helen followed him in a flutter of delight. - -As Rhoda lingered that evening in the dewy twilight, she began to -charge herself with cowardice. It would have been hard to have held out -against Helen's desires. And yet--for Helen's own sake--ought she not -to have been firm? Most of us suffer if we stifle our instincts; and -hers had told her that this feast was no place for her cousin. - -"It shall be the last time that I am weak," she thought, hoping to -atone for the present by the future. "I will let her have her way this -once, and then I will set myself to guide her in a better path." - -The grey, transparent veil of dusk stole down, and the clear stars -shone through it. A little wind came creeping up the garden like a -human sigh. One or two white moths flitted past, and a bird uttered -a sleepy, smothered note. For a minute she loitered in the porch, -listening to the pleasant, household stir within. Helen's laugh mingled -with John's cheery tones and the clatter of supper-plates. - -"Where is Rhoda?" she heard her mother say. - -The jessamine, which grew all over the porch, swung its slender sprays -into her face. The sweet, chill blossoms kissed her lips as she passed -beneath them; but she went indoors with an unquiet mind. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -HELEN UNDER A NEW ASPECT. - - -On Friday afternoon, Helen's chamber-door chanced to be left open, and -Rhoda caught a glimpse of a delicate silk dress lying on the bed. She -went straight into the room and examined it. Bodice and sleeves were -trimmed profusely with costly lace; the rich lilac folds might have -stood alone, so thick was the texture. It was not the sort of dress -that should have belonged to the wife of a merchant's clerk. Rhoda was -perplexed. - -"Isn't it handsome!" asked Helen's voice behind her. - -"I hope you are not thinking of wearing it this evening," said Rhoda. -"It's a most unsuitable dress for a country merry-making. Do put on -something plainer, Helen." - -"O Rhoda," she pleaded, "I am not like you; I can't abide browns and -greys! I want to be dressed as the flowers are! You loved the lilacs -when they were in bloom; why may I not copy them?" - -"Their dress costs nothing," said Rhoda, "and the silk is a poor -imitation of them. Even Solomon in all his glory wasn't arrayed like -the lilies of the field. This gown must have been very expensive, -Helen." - -"It is the best I have," answered Helen, flushing slightly. "I should -like to give it an airing, Rhoda. I own I am fond of fine clothes, but -you are so kind that you won't be angry with a poor silly thing like -me!" - -Again Rhoda's strength was no match for her cousin's weakness. She -went out of the room without saying another word about the lilac -silk. An hour or two later William Gill's chaise stopped at the gate, -and Helen came downstairs. She was enveloped in a large cloak which -completely hid her dress from the eyes of her uncle and aunt. Her face -was flushed; she was in high spirits. William Gill--a prosperous young -farmer--looked sheepishly pleased as she seated herself by his side. - -Rhoda sat on the back seat with Mrs. Gill. It was a still, sultry -evening. The languor of the waning summer seemed to have stolen upon -her unawares, and the good woman found her a dull companion. Mrs. Gill -was proud of her son, proud of his fine horse, a fiery young chestnut, -proud of the chaise, which had been newly painted and varnished. But -these subjects had little interest for Miss Farren. And the worthy -matron became convinced that she was giving herself airs on the -strength of her annuity. By the time they had reached the foot of -Huntsdean hill, she was as silent as Rhoda could desire. - -The church clock was striking seven as they turned in at the gates of -Dykeley Park. Groups of people were scattered about under the trees. -The hall door of Dykeley House stood open, and the sound of music -swept forth into the evening air. Out of doors there was the crimson -of sunset staining the skies, reddening the faces of the countryfolk, -and lighting up the west front of the old mansion, till its red bricks -seemed to burn among the dark ivy and overblown white roses. Quiet -pools, lying here and there about the park, glittered as if the old -Cana miracle had been wrought upon them, and their waters were changed -to wine. The colour was too intense, too fiery. It made Rhoda think of -burning cities, or of the glare of beacons, blazing up to warn the land -that the foe had crossed the border. - -Squire Derrick's old banqueting hall had been cleared out for the -dancers. The squire himself, a bachelor of sixty, received his guests -as Sir Roger de Coverley might have done. Rhoda saw his eyes rest -on beautiful Helen in the lilac silk, and his glance followed her -wonderingly as she went sweeping away to a distant part of the great -room. Other looks followed her too. - -Nor could Rhoda keep her own gaze from dwelling on her companion. -When the long cloak had been laid aside, and Helen appeared in the -lighted room, her cousin could hardly restrain an exclamation. There -were jewels on her wrists and bosom, jewels on the white fingers that -flashed when she took off her gloves to display them. A miserable -sense of shame and confusion overwhelmed Miss Farren. Here was Helen -bedizened like a Begum, and here were many of the Huntsdean folk who -knew her husband's story! The air seemed full of whispers. Rhoda grew -hot beneath the broad stare of eyes. Yet few glanced at her; the brown -wren, reluctantly perched beside the glittering peacock, was sheltered -from observation. - -The musicians struck up a lively tune, and then Rhoda saw that there -were several gay young officers in the room. They had come, by the -squire's invitation, from the neighbouring garrison town, and were -evidently prepared to enjoy themselves. - -She was scarcely surprised to see two or three of them bearing down -upon Helen, bent on securing her for a partner. She heard their -entreaties, and Helen's denials--very prettily uttered. But at that -moment an old friend of Farmer Farren's crossed the room, and gave -Rhoda a hearty greeting. Then followed a score of questions about -herself and her parents, and in the midst of them Rhoda heard Helen's -voice saying-- - -"Only one dance, Rhoda; you'll forgive me, I know." - -Rhoda started, and half rose from her seat. Such a distressed and angry -look crossed her face that the old farmer was astonished. Helen had -gone off on her partner's arm. It was too late to call her back. She -must take it as quietly as she could, and avoid making a scene. - -"Who is that lovely young woman? Any relation of yours, Miss Farren?" -asked the old man by her side. - -"My cousin," Rhoda answered. - -Several persons near were listening for her reply. Rhoda hoped that -her questioner would drop the subject, but he did not. - -"Let me see; didn't I know her when she was a child in your father's -house?" - -"Very likely," Rhoda said. "She used to live with us when she was a -little girl." - -"And did I hear that she had married?" he persisted. - -"She is married," said Rhoda, desperately. "Her husband is in -Australia." - -Obtuse as he was, the old gentleman could yet perceive that he had -touched upon an awkward topic. Poor Rhoda was a bad actress. Her face -always betrayed her feelings. She sat bolt upright against the wall, -looking so intensely uncomfortable that her companion quitted her in -dismay. - -There she remained for three long hours; sometimes catching a glimpse -of the lilac silk among the dancers. From fragments of talk that went -on around her, she learned that Helen was the centre of attention. And -at last, when a galop was over, and the groups parted to left and -right, she caught sight of her cousin surrounded by the officers. - -She now saw Helen under a new aspect. Her looks and gestures were those -of a practised coquette, who had spent half her life in ball-rooms. -People were looking on--smiling, whispering, wondering. The squire -himself was evidently amused and astonished. Even if she had been less -beautiful, Helen's dress and jewellery would have attracted general -notice. It was, perhaps, the most miserable evening that Rhoda had ever -passed. "Am I my brother's keeper?" was the question that she asked -herself a hundred times. Was she indeed to blame for suffering Helen -to come to this place? The music and dancing and flattering speeches -had fired Helen's blood like wine. The gaiety that would have been -innocuous to many was poisonous to her. - -At last a loud gong sounded the summons to supper. The repast was -spread in a large tent which had been erected in the park. Out swept -the crowd into the balmy August night, Helen still clinging to the arm -of her last partner, and carefully avoiding a glance in her cousin's -direction. Rhoda strove in vain to get nearer to her; the press was -too great. But she contrived to reach William Gill, and to say to him -earnestly-- - -"We must go away as soon as supper is over, Mr. Gill. I promised father -that we would come back early." The moon had risen, large and red, and -the night was perfectly still. Chinese lanterns illuminated the great -supper-tent from end to end. Flowers and evergreens, mingled with wheat -ears, decorated the long tables. The light fell on rows of flushed and -smiling faces. Rhoda, pale and sad, sat down on the end of a bench -close to the tent entrance. - -"I'm 'most worn out," said Mrs. Gill's voice beside her. "I'm downright -glad that you're for going home early, Miss Farren. Old women like -me are better a-bed than a-junketing at this time o' night! Mercy on -us, how your cousin _has_ been a-going on, my dear! And brought up so -strict too!" - -The words cut Rhoda like a knife. There she sat, lonely and miserable, -amid a merry crowd. The golden moonshine flooded the park, and the -sweet air kissed her face as she turned it wearily towards the -tent-entrance. Once a sudden rush of perfume came in and overwhelmed -her. It was the breath of the fast fading roses that hung in white -clusters about the squire's windows, and shed their petals on the -ground below. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -"THE MASTER IS COME, AND CALLETH FOR THEE." - - -Rhoda seized upon her cousin as she was passing out of the tent. She -was resolved that Helen should not go back to the dancing-room. What -was done could not be undone. But she would take her away before the -crowd had begun to disperse. - -"Come, Helen," she said, "I have your cloak and hat; you needn't go -into the house again. Mr. Gill will get the chaise ready at once." - -"O Rhoda, the fun is only just beginning," pleaded Helen. "And I have -promised to dance----" - -"Then you must break the promise. It won't be the first that you have -broken to-night," added Rhoda, sharply. - -She wrapped Helen in her cloak, and tied her bonnet strings with -her own hands. As they stood there, in the strange mingling of -lamplight and moonlight, she could see that the lovely face looked -half-frightened and half-mutinous. In an instant Rhoda repented of her -momentary harshness; somehow she had never loved Helen better than she -did at that instant. - -"I'm sorry to spoil your pleasure, darling," she whispered; "but what -will the father say if we are late?" - -Helen's brow cleared. Without a word she walked straight to the place -where the chaise was standing, and climbed up into her seat. William -Gill, assisted by one of the squire's stable helpers, proceeded to -harness the chestnut horse, and in a few moments more they had driven -out of the park. - -It was such a relief to Rhoda to be going homewards, that for some -moments she could think of nothing else. The cool night air soothed and -refreshed her. The rattle of wheels and the quick tramp of hoofs were -the only sounds that broke the silence. Cottages by the wayside were -dark and still. The firs that bordered the road stood up rugged and -black; not a tree-top rocked, not a branch rustled. The level highway -was barred with deep shadows here and there. Overhead there was a soft, -purple sky, and the moon hung like a globe of gold above the faintly -outlined hills. - -As they drew near the end of the three-mile drive, Rhoda's troubled -thoughts came flocking back. All Huntsdean and Dykeley would be talking -of Helen Clarris to-morrow. Her dress, her jewels, her levity, would -give the tongues of the gossips plenty of work for months to come. The -Farrens were a proud family in their way. They were over-sensitive--as -such people always are--and hated to be talked about. Rhoda knew that -the village chatter could not fail to reach her father's ears, and she -knew, too, that it would vex him more than he would care to say. As -Mrs. Gill had said, Helen had been strictly brought up. She had lived -under her uncle's roof in her childhood, and had gone to school with -her cousin. All that had been done for Rhoda had been also done for her. - -And then the jewels. Little as Miss Farren knew of the worth of such -things, she had felt sure that they were of considerable value. -Moreover, they were new and fashionable, and could not be mistaken -for family heirlooms. Had Robert Clarris purchased them in his doting -fondness for his wife? Were they love-gifts made soon after their -marriage? Anyhow, Helen ought not to retain them. It was plainly her -duty to dispose of them, and send the proceeds to Mr. Elton. Rhoda -determined to speak to her about this matter on the morrow. - -Just as she had formed this resolution, they turned out of the highway -and entered the lane leading to Huntsdean. The road dipped suddenly; a -sharp hill, overshadowed by trees, led into the village. - -"Nearly home," said Mrs. Gill, rousing herself from a doze. The words -had hardly passed her lips, when the chestnut horse started forward -with a mad bound. It might have been that William Gill's brain was -confused with the squire's strong ale. A buckle had been carelessly -fastened, and had given way. The horse's flanks were scourged and stung -by the flapping strap. There was a wild plunge into the darkness of the -lane, a terrible swaying from side to side, and then a jerk and a crash -at the bottom of the hill. - -For a few seconds Rhoda lay half stunned upon the wet grass and bracken -by the wayside. She rose with a calmness that afterwards seemed the -strangest part of that night's history. Mrs. Gill was sitting on the -sod staring around her in a helpless way. The other two, William and -Helen, were stretched motionless upon the stony road. - -Still with that strange composure which never lasts long, Rhoda ran to -the nearest cottage. Its windows were closed, and all was silent; but -she beat hard upon the door with her clenched hands. A voice called to -her from within, but she never ceased knocking until a labourer came -forth. - -"Hoskins," she said, as the man confronted her, "my cousin has been -thrown out of Farmer Gill's chaise. You must come and carry her home." - -The man came with her to the foot of the hill, and lifted Helen in his -strong arms. Other help was forthcoming. The labourer's wife had roused -her sons, and Mrs. Gill had collected her scattered senses. - -They were but a quarter of a mile from home, but the distance seemed -interminable to Rhoda as she sped on to the house. The familiar way -appeared to lengthen as she ran; and when at last her hand touched -the latch of the garden gate, her firmness suddenly broke down. She -tottered as she reached the door, and then fell into John's arms, -crying out that Helen was coming. - -The farmer sat in his large arm-chair. The Bible lay open on the table -before him, for he had been gathering the old strength and sweetness -from its pages. He had not guessed that the strength would so soon be -needed. But it was his way to lay up stores for days of sorrow, and -there was a look of quiet power in his face that helped those around -him. - -They carried Helen upstairs, and laid her on her bed. The lilac silk -was dusty and blood-stained, the fragile lace soiled and torn. With -tender hands Rhoda unclasped her glittering necklace and bracelets; -the rings, too, slipped easily from the slight fingers. When those gay -trinkets were out of sight, Rhoda's heart was more at ease. Helen was -their own Helen without them; the jewels had done their best to make -her like a stranger. There was little to do then but to wait until the -doctor arrived. - -As it will be with the day of the Lord, so it often is with the day of -trouble. It comes "as a snare." Frequently, like the stag in the fable, -we are looking for it in the very quarter from which it never proceeds. -It steals upon us from another direction--suddenly, swiftly, "as a -thief in the night." - -But the children of the kingdom are "not in darkness, that that day -should overtake them as a thief." They sleep, but their hearts wake; -and there is light in their dwellings. Let the angels of death or -of sorrow come when they will, they are ready to meet them. To the -watchful and sober souls the Master's messengers are never messengers -of wrath. Ay, though they come with dark garments and veiled faces, -they bring some token of Him who sends them. The garments "smell of -myrrh, aloes, and cassia;" the glory of celestial love shines through -the veil. - -When Helen opened her eyes and looked round upon them all, they knew -that there was death in her face. They knew it even before the doctor -arrived, and told them the hard truth. She might linger a day or two -perhaps, just long enough for a leave-taking, and then she must set -forth on her lonely journey. But how were they to tell her that she -must go? - -"What did the doctor say?" she asked, faintly, after a long, long -silence. The day was breaking then, but they were still gathered round -her bed--still waiting and watching with that new, calm patience that -is born of great sorrow. - -"Nelly," said the farmer, bending his head down to hers, "'The Master -is come, and calleth for thee.' The call is sudden, my dear, very -sudden. But it's the Master's voice that speaks." - -First there was a startled, distressed look, but it passed away like a -cloud. The brown eyes were full of eager inquiry. - -"Must it be?" she whispered. "Ah, I see it must! Oh, I'm not ready--not -nearly ready. There's so much to be forgiven; if I could only know that -He forgives me, I wouldn't want to stay." - -"Nelly!" answered the farmer in a clearer tone, "the Lord has got love -and pardon for all those who want it. It's only from those that don't -want it that He turns away. His blood has washed out the sins of that -great multitude whom no man can number, and it will cleanse you too. -Do you think He ever expects to find any of His children who don't need -washing? Ay, the darker they are in their own eyes, the fairer they -seem in His!" - -As Rhoda listened to her father's words, and to her cousin's low -replies, she began to realize that poor, weak Helen had felt herself to -be a sinner for many a day. She had felt it, and had tried to forget -it. But this was not the first time that she had heard the Master's -call, and yearned to follow Him. Yet the weakness of the flesh had -prevailed again and again, and her feet had gone on stumbling on the -dark mountains. They would never stumble any more. The great King had -come Himself to guide them over the golden pavement to the mansion -prepared in His Father's house. - -All that day Rhoda's mother was by the bedside. Rhoda herself went to -and fro, now ministering to the baby's wants, now hanging over her -cousin's pillow. Once she stayed out of the room for nearly -half-an-hour, and on entering it again, she saw her mother strangely -agitated. Helen's head was on her aunt's bosom, and her pale lips were -moving. But Rhoda could not hear what she said. - -[Illustration: "She tarried with them until the breaking of another -day."--Page 7] - -She tarried with them until the breaking of another day. The sun came -up. Shadows of jessamine sprays were drawn sharply on the white blind; -a glory of golden light fell on the chamber wall. Towards that light -the dying face was turned. To Rhoda, at that moment, came a sudden -impulse. Clearly and firmly she repeated the familiar lines that she -and Helen had learnt years ago,-- - - "The wide arms of Mercy are spread to enfold thee, - And sinners may hope, for the Sinless has died." - -For answer, there was a quick, bright smile, and then the half-breathed -word-- - - "Forgiven." - -Only an hour later, Rhoda was walking along the grassy garden-path with -Helen's child in her arms. Was it yesterday that they were children -playing together? Had ten years or sixty minutes gone by since she -died? If she had come suddenly out of the old summer-house among the -beeches--a gay, smiling girl--Rhoda could scarcely have wondered. There -are moments in life when we put time away from us altogether. - -And yet one had to come back to the everyday world again--a very fair -world on that morning. Newly-reaped fields lay bare and glistening -in the sun; thistle-down drifted about in the languid air, and the -baby stretched out her hands to grasp the butterflies. She looked up, -wonderingly, with Helen's brown eyes, when Rhoda pressed her to her -bosom and wept. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -DISPOSING OF HELEN'S JEWELS. - - -A month went by. The household fell back into its old ways. The little -child laughed and played, and grew dearer and dearer to them all. - -Mrs. Farren had taken upon herself the task of looking over Helen's -things. She performed this duty without any aid from Rhoda; and not one -word did she say about the jewels. The farmer had written to Australia, -breaking the sad news to Robert Clarris as gently as he could. How -would he receive it? Rhoda wondered. They had left off speaking of -him in her hearing. They were aware of all the bitter dislike that -she cherished, but they never sought to soften her heart. They were -content--as the wisest people are--to leave most things to time. We do -not know how often we wrong a friend by hotly defending him, nor how -we help an enemy by running him down. - -Now that Helen was gone, Rhoda was harassed by a new fear. She dreaded -lest Robert should take away the child. - -It was more than probable that he would marry again one day. A -hard-natured, selfish man--such as she believed him to be--would need -a wife to slave for him. Then he would send for Rhoda's ewe lamb, and -there would be an end to her dream of future happiness. She did not -realize that God seldom makes us happy in our own way. Blessings, like -crosses, nearly always come from unexpected quarters. We search for -honey in an empty hive, and find it at last in the carcase of a dead -lion. - -The Gills, mother and son, were little the worse for that night's -catastrophe. Like all tragedies, Helen's death was a nine days' wonder. -There was plenty of sympathy; there were condolences from all sides. -And then the excitement died out; the small topics of daily life -resumed their old importance. And so the time went on. - -At the end of October, the farmer received a reply to his letter. Rhoda -refrained from asking any questions, and they did not tell her how the -widower had borne the blow. She saw tears in her mother's eyes, and -thought that a great deal of love and pity are wasted in the world. -Long afterwards, her opinion changed, and she understood that money is -often wasted--love and pity never. Thank God, it is only the things -that "perish in the using" which we ever can waste! - -On the very day after the Australian letter came, the black mare -was put into the light cart. The farmer dressed himself in his best -clothes, and carefully examined the harness. These were signs that he -was going to drive to the town. - -"Maybe it would do you no harm to come, Rhoda," he said, suddenly. "Put -on your bonnet, and bring the little one." - -Rhoda ran up into her room, and dressed herself in haste. Little Nelly -crowed with glee when her small black pelisse was buttoned on. She was -quite unconscious of the compassion that her mourning garments excited. -And even when she was fairly seated in the cart, her shrill cries of -delight brought a smile into the farmer's grave face. - -It was one of the last, peaceful autumn days. The early morning sky had -been covered with a grey curtain, whose golden fringes swept the hills -from east to west. As the sun rose higher, the clouds were lifted, the -bright fringes broadened, and there was light upon all the land. - -Rhoda and her father did not talk much. Her instincts told her that he -was disposed to be silent; and there was a great deal to occupy eyes -and mind. The bindweed hung its large white flowers across the yellow -hedges. The wild honeysuckle, in its second bloom, was like an old -friend who comes back to comfort us in our declining fortunes. They -reached at length the brow of the great chalk hill that overlooks the -harbour. There lay the sea--a waste of soft blue-grey, touched with -gleams of gold and dashes of silver. There, too, lay the Isle of Wight -in the tranquil sunshine. The mare trotted on, down hill all the way, -till they entered the noisy streets of the busy seaport, and left peace -and poetry behind. - -The farmer stopped at last before a silversmith's shop. He put the -reins into Rhoda's hand, took a little wooden box from under his seat, -and descended from the cart. For a few seconds his daughter was utterly -bewildered. The stock of family plate was limited to a cream-jug and -spoons. And even if they had made up their minds to part with those -treasures, the proceeds would hardly have recompensed them for the -sacrifice. Yet what could be the contents of the wooden box that her -father had carried into the shop? The truth flashed upon Rhoda. He was -disposing of Helen's jewels. He had obtained her husband's permission -to sell them. - -He came out again with a sober face. The silversmith came too, rubbing -his hands as if he were not ill satisfied with his bargain. He wished -the farmer good day, and the mare jogged steadily back to Huntsdean. - -But Rhoda learnt, long afterwards, that the money for which the jewels -were sold did not go to Mr. Elton. It went towards the maintenance of -Helen's child. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -THE FARM PURCHASED BY ONE RALPH CHANNELL. - - -Eight years passed away. In Huntsdean churchyard the grass had grown -over Helen's grave, covering up the bare, brown earth, as new interests -cover an old sorrow. - -Little Nelly had never realized her loss. It contented her to know that -her mother had been laid to rest in a sweet place, and would rise again -some day when the Lord called her. She always hoped that Helen might -rise in the spring, and find the primroses blooming round her pretty -grave. She might have fancied that, like Keats, her mother could "feel -the flowers growing over her." Children and poets often have the same -fancies. - -November had come again; and with it came a new anxiety. - -The small farm, rented by Farmer Farren, had passed into new hands. -Squire Derrick was dead, and "another king arose, who knew not Joseph." -The heir was a needy, grasping man. Old tenants were nothing to him, -and he was in want of ready money. - -He had made up his mind to sell the little farm. It was more than -likely, therefore, that the Farrens would be turned out of the old -nest. For the young, it is easy to build new homes, and gather new -associations around them; but for the old, it is well-nigh impossible. -Their very lives are built into the ancient walls. When they leave a -familiar dwelling, they long to go straight to "a house not made with -hands, eternal in the heavens." - -John was now bailiff to a rich landowner in Sussex. He had a wife and -child; but he was not unmindful of other ties. "Come to me," he wrote, -"if you are turned out of the old place." But the parents sighed and -shook their heads. They had not greatly prospered in Huntsdean, yet no -other spot on earth could be so dear to them. - -"Whatever the Lord means me to do, I'll strive to do it willingly," -said the farmer, bravely. "Oftentimes I'm mighty vexed with myself for -clinging so hard to these old bricks and mortar, and those few fields -yonder. If I leave them, I shan't leave my Lord behind me; and if I -stay with them, He'll soon be calling me away. But you see, an old man -has his whims; and I wanted to step out of this old cottage into my -Father's house." - -In this time of uncertainty, a new duty suddenly called Rhoda from -home. Her father's only sister--a childless widow--lay dying in -Norfolk, and sent for her niece to come and nurse her. - -It was decided that she must go. Her aunt had no other relatives, and -could not be left alone in her need. But it was with a heavy heart that -Rhoda said farewell to the three whom she loved best on earth, and set -out on her long, solitary journey. - -It was a keen, clear morning when she went away. A brisk wind was -blowing; the brown leaves fled before it, as the hosts of the Amorites -before the sword of Joshua. In dire confusion they hurried along over -soft turf and stony ground. It was a day on which all things seemed -to be astir. Crows were cawing, and flying from tree to tree; magpies -flashed across the road; flocks of small birds assembled on the sear -hedges. And far off could be heard the clamour of foxhounds and shouts -of the huntsmen. - -Rhoda wondered, with a pang, how it would be when she came back. Do we -ever leave any beloved place without fearing that a change may fall -upon it in our absence? It is at such times as these that the heart -loves to rest itself upon the Immutable. "Lord, Thou hast been our -dwelling-place from all generations." "Thou art the same, and Thy years -shall not fail." - -It was a weary sojourn in Norfolk. The widow's illness was long and -trying. But God has a way of making hard work seem easy; and He -lightened Rhoda's labour with good news from home. - -Two months passed by, and her aunt still hovered between life and -death. Mrs. Farren's letters had not given any definite reason for -hope; and yet hopefulness pervaded every line, and clung to every -sentence like a sweet perfume. Rhoda felt its influence and rejoiced. -And at last, when January came to an end, the mother spoke out plainly. - -The farm was purchased by one Ralph Channell. He was a prosperous man -who had come from Australia, and had been settled in England about -a year. He was quite alone in the world, and had proposed to take -up his abode with the Farrens in the old cottage. The farmer was to -manage everything as usual. No change would be made in any of their -household ways. Mr. Channell had been acquainted with Robert Clarris in -Australia, and it was through Clarris that he had first heard of the -Farrens. What he asked of them was a home. They might have the old -house rent-free, if they would let him live in it with them. - -Thus, a heavy burden was lifted from Rhoda's heart. Mrs. Farren's -letter was a psalm of thanksgiving from beginning to end. "In the day -when I cried, Thou answeredst me, and strengthenedst me with strength -in my soul," she wrote, in her gladness. And Rhoda's spirit caught up -the joyful strain. Yet she once found herself wishing that Mr. Channell -had not been one of Robert Clarris's friends. True, Clarris had long -ago restored the three hundred pounds, and had regularly sent money for -his child's support. But was not the old taint upon him still? - -Rhoda could never get rid of the notion that he had been too leniently -dealt with. Hers was a mind which always clings to an idea. Moreover, -her life, from its very beginning, had been a narrow life. She had -never been called upon to battle with a strong temptation. But, like -all whose strength has not been tried, she believed that she could -have stood any test. It is easy for him who sits in peace to cry shame -on the soldier who deserts his post. There are few of us who cannot -be heroes in imagination. And most of our harsh judgments come from a -narrow experience. - -We can only learn something of the power of Divine Love by knowing the -evil against which it contends. Those who want to see what God's grace -can do must look for its light in dark places. - -When February and March had gone by, Rhoda found herself free to go -home. She went back to the sweet lights and shadows of April; to the -glitter of fresh showers, and the scent of hyacinths and wall-flowers. -Her mother's arms were opened to her. Nelly clung to her neck, -half-crying for joy. Her father and Mr. Channell were out in the -meadows, they told her; they would come indoors for tea. It was Nelly -who had most to say about the stranger. - -"You never knew anybody so kind, Rhoda," she said, earnestly. "He makes -us all happy, and he's taken me to see mother's grave every Sunday -while you were away." - -Rhoda was standing at the back-door when she saw them coming from the -fields. Nelly, with her pinafore full of kittens, still chattered by -her side. Just in front of the door was the old cherry-tree, covered -with silvery blossoms and spangled with rain-drops. It looked like a -bridal bouquet hung with diamonds. Men were sowing barley in the acres -beyond the fence. Rhoda was watching the blossoms and the sowers, and -yet she saw those two figures. - -The first glance told her that Mr. Channell was a strong man. In his -younger days he might have been almost handsome, but he was one of -those men who had lost youth early in life. It was a face with which -sorrow had been very busy, and hard work had put the finishing touches -to the lines that sorrow had begun. Rhoda did not know what it was -in this man that made her think of Luther. But when she looked at him -she saw the same kind of peace that the reformer's features might -have worn. It may be that there is a family likeness among all God's -Greathearts. For all those who have fought the good fight must show -"the seal of the living God" on their foreheads as well as the scars -of the conflict. Even our dim eyes may see the difference between the -marks that are got in the devil's service and those that have been won -in the battles of the Lord. - -From that very day there was a change in Rhoda's life. Some of us, -in looking back on our lives, can remember the exact spot where the -old straight road took a turn at last. It had run on so long in the -same even line, that we thought there would never be any change at -all. Other roads had always been crooked--full of twists and ups and -downs; ours never varied. But at last, when it looked straightest and -smoothest, the turn came. - -Rhoda began to think that the world was widening, as we all do when an -expanding process is going on within ourselves. - -First she found out that the old cottage was a much pleasanter place -than it used to be, and that the parents seemed growing younger -instead of older. Mr. Channell discovered all their little likings -and dislikings and carefully studied them. Some folks think they have -done wonders if they scatter flowers in a friend's path, but Ralph -Channell's work was the quiet removal of the thorns. Perhaps the best -labourers in the world are those who have striven to undo evil rather -than to do good, but they are not those who have had the most praise. - -He had brought a goodly number of books to Huntsdean, but Rhoda learnt -more from the life-histories that he told her than from the printed -volumes. They helped her to read the books by a new light. - -In his way--and it was a very unassuming way--he had been doing -missionary work in Melbourne. And in listening to him Rhoda first -understood how Christ's love follows the sinner, and hunts him into the -darkest corners of the earth rather than lose him. In this universe, -where wheat and tares grow together, and angels and devils strive -together, mercy never rests. For the prince of darkness is not so -active as He who hath said, "Lo, I am with you always, even unto the -end of the world." If the devil "goeth about as a roaring lion, seeking -those whom he may devour," the Good Shepherd is seeking, too, to save -them that are lost. There is only one power stronger than hate, and -that is love. - -In this strain did Mr. Channell talk to Rhoda. The spring passed away, -summer days came and went, and still no mention had ever been made -by either of them of Robert Clarris. At last, however, his name was -brought up abruptly by Rhoda herself. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -THE CONSCIOUSNESS OF BATTLE. - - -On a Sunday afternoon these two, Ralph and Rhoda, had strayed out into -the old orchard at the back of the house. The summer world was just -then in all its glory. The meadows looked as if a flowery robe had -been shaken out over them; the orchard grass was full of tall, shiny -buttercups and large field-daisies, resplendent in their snowy frills. -A turquoise sky smiled down through the leaf-laden boughs above their -heads; bees were murmuring all around them. - -"Mr. Channell," asked Rhoda, suddenly, "you know Nelly's father, don't -you?" - -He stooped and gathered one of the large daisies. For a moment there -was no reply. The bees filled up the pause while she waited for his -answer. - -"Yes," he said at last, "I know him well." - -"Is he really penitent?" she inquired, doubtfully. "Does he think that -what he has done has blotted out the past? It's easy to whitewash a -dirty wall, but the stains are underneath the whitewash still." - -"There is a vast difference between the stain which is only whitewashed -over, and that which Christ's blood has blotted out," replied Mr. -Channell. "I don't believe that Robert Clarris can ever forget the -past, or think that he has atoned for it. But he knows that the Lord -has put away his sin." - -"How does he know it?" Rhoda demanded. - -"Until he had committed that great crime," Ralph went on, "he knew -nothing at all of the love of Christ. He had been a moral man, -satisfied with his morality. Then came secret sorrows--then much -worldly perplexity, followed by a strong temptation--and he fell. And -when he lay grovelling in the dust, the Lord's voice travelled to him -along the ground. While he had walked erect, he had never heard it." - -"Wasn't Mr. Elton over-merciful to him?" asked Rhoda. "I have often -thought so." - -A sudden light seemed to kindle in Ralph's eyes. - -"There are many," he said, "who pray Sunday after Sunday that the Lord -will raise up them that fall, and yet do all they can to keep the -fallen ones down. Mr. Elton was not one of those. He thought that if -half the blows that were spent upon sinners were bestowed upon Satan, -the Evil One would indeed be beaten down under our feet. God bless him! -He saved a sinner from the consequences of one dark hour!" - -Again there was a pause. This time it was broken by little Nelly, who -came bounding in between them. Ralph bent down and clasped the child -closely in his arms. - -"Oh, my darling," he said, as he held her, "may the Lord make you one of -His handmaidens! May He send you forth to raise up them that fall, and -to bind up the broken in heart!" - -Perhaps it was not the first time that Nelly had heard this prayer. It -did not surprise her as it did Rhoda. Miss Farren watched Ralph's face -earnestly, till it had regained its usual look of peace. - -"Mr. Channell," she began, yielding to a sudden impulse, "I'm sure you -must have suffered a great deal. Forgive me for saying so much," she -added, "but I've sometimes thought that you have the look of a victor." - -He turned towards the house, holding Nelly's hand in his. - -"I must answer you in another's words," he replied. "They are better -than any of mine. 'To me also was given, if not victory, yet the -consciousness of battle, and the resolve to persevere therein while -life or faculty is left.'" - -"The consciousness of battle," Rhoda repeated to herself. "Perhaps that -was what St. Paul felt when he found a law in his members warring -against the law in his mind. And perhaps it's a bad thing to be -conscious of no warfare at all." - -And then she began to wonder if she were anything like Robert Clarris -before he fell. Had she ever really heard the Lord's voice? Were not -her ears deafened by the clamour of self-conceit? Alas, it goes ill -with us when we mistake the voice of self-congratulation for the voice -of God! - -But there came a time when Rhoda reached the very bottom of the Valley -of Humiliation. She grew conscious that she, a strong, self-reliant -woman, had silently given a love that had never been asked of her. When -a man takes a woman by the hand, and lifts her above her old self, it -is ten to one that she falls in love with him. - -We all know what it is to wonder at the change that love makes in a -woman. We have marvelled often what that clever man could have seen -in this commonplace girl, but we admit that he has made her a new -creature. Perhaps, like the great sculptor, he attacked the marble -block with Divine fervour, believing that an angel was imprisoned in -it. And his instincts were not wrong after all. The shapeless stone was -chipped away and the beautiful form revealed. - -But Rhoda had no reason to think that Ralph Channell cared for her more -than for others. In every respect he was above her. The rector (rectors -are great persons in country villages) had found out that Mr. Channell -was a thoughtful and cultivated man. The rector's family said that he -was charming, and they wondered why he shut himself up with the Farrens -in their dull cottage. Nobody ever intimated that he was thinking of -Rhoda. All the country people had settled that she was to be an old -maid. She was too good for the farmers, and not good enough for the -squires' sons. And for many a year Rhoda had been very comfortably -resigned to her fate. - -Bit by bit, however, she had let her heart go, and she awoke one day, -suddenly and miserably, to the knowledge that she had parted with the -best part of herself. There is no need to tell how or when she made the -discovery. A chance word, a trivial incident, may send us to look into -the casket where we kept our treasure, and we find it empty. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE STORY OF THE ONE DARK HOUR. - - -Rhoda tried hard to conceal her loss. Now that the treasure was gone, -she double-locked the casket. No one, she resolved, should know how -poor she was. So well did she play her part, that those around thought -her sterner and harder--that was all. - -Her manner to Ralph changed visibly. She began to avoid his company; -their familiar conversations were at an end. Her whole energy was now -devoted to one endeavour--to keep him in ignorance of that which he had -won. If she were poor, he should be none the richer. And thus, poor -soul, she went about her daily duties, putting on a hard face to hide -her weakness. Even Nelly found that Rhoda was not so pleasant as she -used to be, and the child turned more and more to Mr. Channell. Was he -gaining her too? - -"I am losing everything, and he is getting everything," said Rhoda, to -herself. "Perhaps this is God's way of showing me how small my strength -is. Haven't I lost the very thing that I thought myself best able to -keep?" - -It will always be so with those whom the Lord teaches. In one way or -another the humbling process must be gone through. Sometimes it is seen -of all men; sometimes it is known to Him alone. But as certainly as He -loves us "shall the nail that is fastened in the sure place be removed, -and be cut down and fall; and the burden that was upon it shall be cut -off, for the Lord hath spoken it." In the soul that He makes his own He -will not leave a single peg to hang self-confidence upon. And when our -chamber walls are bare, and the tawdry rags of self-esteem are swept -out, He will enter and fill the room with sweetness. - -One afternoon, in the golden harvest-time, Rhoda and Nelly sauntered up -into the wheat-fields. The reapers were resting under the hedges; in -the largest field nearly all the corn had been gathered into sheaves. -Rhoda tired quickly now; for when the heart is heavy, the limbs are apt -to be weary. She stopped in the middle of the field and dropped down to -rest, leaning her back against a great russet shock. A few stray ears -nodded overhead, and Nelly nestled under their shadow. - -She had always been an impulsive child, one of those children who will -ask any question that comes into their heads, and a good many come. She -had no notion of restraining her curiosity. If anything puzzled her, -she must always have it explained. - -"Rhoda," she said, suddenly, in her clear little voice, "what has Mr. -Channell done to offend you? Don't you like him?" - -The words struck Rhoda like a sharp unexpected blow. Without a moment's -pause she cried out harshly and bitterly-- - -"I wish he'd never come here, Nelly; I wish you and I had never seen -him!" - -Nelly was so startled by the passionate tone that she jumped up from -her seat. As she moved, somebody on the other side of the shock moved -also. It was Mr. Channell. Rhoda turned her head in time to see him -walking away. In an instant she realized that he had heard all, but -she dared not think of the construction that would be put upon her -outburst. Perhaps she had mortally offended her father's best friend; -perhaps he would go away from them all for ever. - -"Oh, what a wretched woman I am!" she groaned, aloud. And then she saw -that Nelly had run off after Ralph Channell. - -She rose slowly, and wandered back again to the cottage. The doors and -windows were set wide open. Her mother sat peacefully knitting in the -parlour, but Rhoda went straight upstairs to her own room. Nobody could -do her any good just then. She wanted to be alone and get her senses -together. Her head ached, and she had a dazed, helpless feeling of -having cut herself off from everything comforting. So she sat down for -a few minutes by the bedside, then got up, and fell suddenly on her -knees. - -In her prayer she did not get much beyond telling God that she was -miserable. It was rather an outpouring of sorrow than a plea for help. -But it was her first heartfelt confession of utter weakness, and -perhaps that was the best way of asking for strength. The stray sheep -that falls helpless at the Shepherd's feet is sure to be folded in His -arms and carried in His bosom. - -She could not go down and sit at the tea-table as usual, and no one -came to disturb her in her solitude. But at last, when the shadows were -lengthening over the fields, and the distant church-clock struck six, -she heard a footstep on the stairs. The door opened softly, and her -mother's face looked in. - -"May I come to you, Rhoda?" she asked, gently. - -"Yes, mother," Rhoda answered. "I know how shocked and hurt you must -be," she added. "But, indeed, I couldn't help it." - -"O Rhoda," said Mrs. Farren, "we've all thought you seemed stern and -strange lately, but we didn't know until to-day that you had found out -our secret. _He_ says that it has been all wrong from the beginning; he -thinks you ought to have heard the truth at once." - -"The truth, mother?" echoed Rhoda. "What is it that you mean?" - -"He says, dear Rhoda, that he ought to have told you who he was," Mrs. -Farren replied. "He sees now that it was wrong to come here under a new -name." - -"A new name!" her daughter repeated. "For pity's sake, mother, speak -plainly. Who is he, if he is not Ralph Channell?" - -"We all thought you must have found out," said Mrs. Farren, in a -perplexed tone. "He is poor Helen's husband--Robert Clarris." - -It was not until some minutes had passed away that Rhoda was calm -enough to hear her mother's story. The two sat hand in hand, nearer to -each other in heart than they had ever been before. Perhaps Mrs. Farren -had always been a little afraid of her daughter; but now that she had -got a glimpse into Rhoda's inner self the reserve vanished. - -"We had always felt sure that Robert was no practised sinner," she -began; "but we did not know what it was that had driven him to a -crime--we only guessed something like the truth. O Rhoda, it's an awful -thing when vanity gets the upper hand with a woman! Poor Helen made a -sad confession to me when she lay dying in this very room. It's hard to -speak of the faults of the dead; but there's justice to be done to the -living." - -"Whatever her faults may have been, they were no worse than mine," -Rhoda said, humbly; "and she has done with sinning now, while I shall -be going on--perhaps for years longer." - -"Helen got deeply into debt," Mrs. Farren continued; "and she used, -I am afraid, to go to balls and theatres without her husband's -knowledge. He was sent away sometimes on business by Mr. Elton. But -don't think her worse than she was, Rhoda--she loved gaiety and -admiration passionately, but she wasn't a bad woman at heart--he always -knew and believed that; yet she got him into terrible difficulties, -poor child! And at last, when her debts had amounted to three hundred -pounds, she flung herself at his feet and confessed the truth." - -Both the women were crying. It was indeed hard to expose the faults and -follies of the dead. They felt as if they had been tearing the soft -turf and sweet flowers from Helen's grave; and yet it had to be done. - -"Robert was not a converted man at that time," went on Mrs. Farren. -"The blow knocked him down, and utterly bewildered him. He saw no -means at all of paying the debts, and he knew they must be paid -immediately. Helen hadn't confessed till her creditors had driven her -to extremities; and he went into the city in a state of despair, for -there was 'no help for him in his God.' Perhaps he would have asked aid -from his employer if Mr. Elton had been the owner of the business. But -old Mrs. Elton was a close woman, and her son did nothing without her -consent." - -Rhoda could almost guess what was coming. She could see now that man's -extremity is often the devil's opportunity. If a soul does not seek -help from God, the prince of darkness steps in. - -"On that very morning," said Mrs. Farren, "he found a note from Mr. -Elton waiting for him in the office. His master told him that he had -been suddenly called off to Ireland to look after some property there. -He should be absent six weeks--perhaps longer. Clarris was to take his -place and manage things, as he always did while Mr. Elton was away. -And just an hour or two later a sunburnt, sailor-like man came in, and -clapped Robert on the shoulder. Robert, poor fellow, didn't recollect -him at first; but when he said that he was Frank Ridley, and that he -had come to pay a debt of long standing, he remembered all about him." - -"Oh! mother, why did he come just then?" sighed Rhoda. - -"The Lord suffered it to be so," Mrs. Farren answered. "Christ's hour -was not yet come. That was the devil's hour, and a dark hour it was." - -She went on with the story in her own straightforward way. Frank Ridley -and Mr. Elton had been schoolfellows and dear friends. But while Elton -was steady and painstaking, even in boyhood, Frank was a never-do-well. -One chance after another slipped through his fingers; situations were -got and lost. At last some new opening offered itself; but money was -needed, and Frank was at that time almost penniless. He came to Elton -in his strait, and asked for the loan of three hundred pounds. - -To everybody's surprise, Mrs. Elton lent him the sum. She had a liking -for handsome young Ridley, and opened her purse with a good grace for -his sake. But Frank's undertaking was, as usual, a dead failure, and -the money was hopelessly lost. Ridley himself was lost too. For eight -years he was neither seen nor heard of; and then he turned up again in -Elton's office with a pocket-book stuffed with bank-notes. - -"I've found out my vocation at last," he shouted, in his hearty tones. -"I'm captain of a trading vessel, and I've traded on my own account to -good purpose. Here's the three hundred, and I'm downright sorry that I -must be off again without seeing your governor, Clarris." - -Robert received the money--all in notes--and gave a receipt; and then -the sailor went his way. After that the enemy came in like a flood, and -the deep waters rushed over Robert's soul. He did not cry, "Lord, save, -or I perish!" Alas! he thought of everything rather than of Him who is -able to save to the uttermost. Here was the exact sum that was needed. -Frank Ridley was off on his voyages again, and would never, perhaps, -return. Robert had only to put the notes in his pocket, and make no -entry in the ledger. Of course there was a certain risk in doing this; -but it was very unlikely that anything would be found out. And here was -the sum--the very sum that was wanted--within his grasp. He would pay -it all back; he would work night and day to do that. He caught at that -honest resolution, and clung to it as a man clings to a frail spar when -the ship goes to pieces. - -This was Apollyon's hour of triumph. Robert went out and paid Helen's -bills on that very night. But the burden that he had taken up was far -heavier than that which he had thrown off. It was on a Monday morning -that he had received Ridley's money; and the succeeding days dragged -on as if each day were weighted with iron fetters, till Saturday came. -Robert wrote to his master daily, entering into all the details of -business as minutely as usual. Then on the Sunday morning--that last -Sunday that he ever spent with Helen--he went upstairs after breakfast, -and laid down upon his bed. The sense of sin and shame was upon him; he -would not mock God by going to church and looking like a respectable -man. His wife did not know what ailed him. He had told her that the -debts were paid--that was all. - -Monday came again, the anniversary of his sin. And there, on the -office-desk, lay a letter addressed to himself in his master's -handwriting. It had been written on Saturday, and was dated from Dublin. - -"I find I am at liberty to come home at once," Mr. Elton wrote. "I -have found a friend here who will look after the property for me. -Strangely enough, I ran against Frank Ridley yesterday, and could -scarcely believe my own eyes. He had come to Dublin in quest of an old -sweetheart. He told me that he had called at the office, and had paid -his old debt. He showed me your receipt when I looked incredulous. I am -rather surprised that you did not mention this in your letters." - -Robert Clarris put on his hat and coat and went quietly into the outer -office. - -"Blake," he said, calling the eldest of the under clerks, "I am not -well, and must go home at once. I leave the keys in your charge, for I -know you may be trusted." - -Blake--an honest fellow--looked into Clarris's face, and saw that he -spoke the truth. - -Then followed the last miserable interview with Helen, and the hurried -preparations for flight. His wife entreated that she might go away to -her old home, under her uncle's roof. She had brought him nothing but -trouble, she owned piteously; and he would get on better without her. -Alas, poor Helen! a sorry helpmeet she had been to the man who had -loved her! These two had not asked the Lord to their marriage-feast, -and had never drunk of the wine of His love. And so they parted, never -to meet again till they should meet at the marriage supper of the Lamb. - -In Melbourne there was one Ralph Channell, who had been the friend -of Robert's father, and the miserable man found him out. He told Mr. -Channell his whole story. Nothing was concealed. The sin, in all its -hideousness, was exposed to Ralph Channell's sight. And yet he took the -sinner to his heart. - -But he tested the young man patiently. He let him scrape and save to -pay back the money that he had stolen; he would not give him a single -farthing. Every shilling of the restored sum was fairly earned in Mr. -Channell's service, and paid out of a small salary. And all that time -he saw that a mighty work of grace was going on in Robert's soul. - -When Mr. Channell lay dying, a lonely, childless man, he called Robert -to his side. "All my property is yours," he said; "you are my sole -heir, and you must take my name--ay, and you must make it loved and -honoured in the old country." - -So Robert came to England, full of yearnings for the child whom he had -never seen. From John Farren he learnt that Rhoda's heart was hardened -against him. And yet, how could he help loving her for the love that -she bare to Nelly? He knew all about Rhoda from her mother's letters. -And he wanted, more than he ever acknowledged, to see this woman who -could be so hard and yet so tender. The opportunity came. He bought the -farm, and gave it to Farmer Farren; only stipulating that it should -go to Rhoda at her father's death. And he came to dwell amongst the -Farrens as Ralph Channell. - -This was all that the mother had to tell. Rhoda got up, when the tale -was ended, and went quietly out of the house. - -The sun had just gone down; but there was light in the west, where rosy -cloud-islands floated in a golden sea. And there was a light in Rhoda's -face that gave her a new charm. - -She knew, by some subtle instinct, where she should find Robert -Channell. She ascended the steep, winding lane, that led to the old -churchyard. How did she guess that one woman's harshness would send -him to the grave of another? How is it that women go straight -to a conclusion which a man could only reach by a circuitous route? - -He neither saw nor heard her coming. His head was bent over that -flowery mound, and the grass deadened the sound of her feet. She had -been very brave until she found herself by his side. And then all her -strength and courage suddenly fled. She had no words to plead for -forgiveness; she could only touch his arm with her trembling hand, and -call him by the name that she had hated all these years,-- - -"Robert!" - -There was very little said just then. The last glow was dying out -of the skies, and the dews were falling on Helen's grave. But the -Lord lifted up the light of His countenance upon them, and gave them -peace. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -NELLY CHANNELL. - - -The little village seemed to lie asleep in the August sunshine. From -the upland where she stood Nelly could see the columns of pale smoke -going up from cottage chimneys, but nobody was astir in the gardens. It -was noon. Scarcely a flake of cloud relieved the intense blue overhead; -not a breath of wind fanned the thick leafage in the copse behind her. - -Nelly Channell was not sorry that the morning was over. Like most -people who have a great deal of time on their hands, she was often -puzzled about the disposal of it. When she had diligently practised -on the piano indoors, and had paid a visit to the little step-brother -and sister in the nursery, there was nothing more to be done. She used -sometimes to say that this part of her life was like an isthmus, -connecting the two continents of schoolgirlhood and womanhood. - -On this morning she had carried a book out of doors, and had read it -from beginning to end. It was a book that had been recommended to her -by Mrs. Channell. Nelly had a great reverence for her stepmother's -opinion; but the story had not pleased her at all. It was directly -opposed to all her notions of right and wrong. She even went so far as -to say to herself that it ought never to have been written. - -Nelly was a girl who generally spoke her mind;--a little bluntly -sometimes, but always with that natural earnestness which makes one -forgive the bluntness. As the distant church clock struck twelve, and -the stable-clock repeated the strokes, she turned and went into the -house. - -It was a large handsome house, which her father had built soon after -his second marriage, about twelve years ago. But although they had -coaxed the creepers to grow over the red bricks, and wreathe the doors -and windows, Nelly always maintained that it was not so charming -a place as the little vine-covered cottage where she was born. The -cottage was still standing; she could see it from her father's -hall-door. And she had only to cross two fields and an orchard when she -wanted to visit the dear old man and woman who had sheltered her in her -childhood. - -On the threshold of the house stood Mrs. Channell with a light basket -on her arm. - -"I am going to the cottage to see mother," she explained. "I have been -making a new cap for her,--look, Nelly." - -She lifted the basket-lid, and afforded Nelly a glimpse of soft lace -and lilac ribbons. - -"Why didn't you let me make it, mamma?" the girl asked. "I think you -ought to use these idle hands of mine, if you want to keep them out of -mischief." - -"I gave you a book to read this morning," Mrs. Channell replied. - -"Yes. I have read it, and I don't like it," said candid Nelly, stepping -back to lay the volume on the hall table. "I will go with you to the -cottage, and we can talk it over." - -Arm-in-arm they walked through the sweet grass, keeping under the -shadow of the hedges and trees. Mrs. Channell waited for the girl to -speak again. - -"I don't like the book," Nelly repeated, after a pause. "The writer -seems to have strange ideas. The hero--a very poor hero--is false to -the heroine. After getting engaged to her, he discovers that he can -never love her as he loves another girl; and of course she releases -him from the engagement when she finds out the truth. But instead -of representing him as the worthless fellow that he was, the author -persists in showing us that he became a good husband and father. He -begins his career by an act of treachery; and yet he prospers, and is -wonderfully happy with the wife of his choice! It is too bad." - -"Lewis Moore was not a treacherous man," said Mrs. Channell, quietly. -"He made a great and terrible mistake. But sometimes it is not easy -to distinguish between a blunder and a crime. The heroine--Alice--had -grace given her to make that distinction. She saved him and herself -from the effects of the blunder by setting him free. She bade him go -and marry Margaret, because she saw that Margaret was the only woman -who could make him happy." - -"He didn't deserve to be happy!" cried Nelly. "He ought to have been -sure of himself before he proposed to Alice. If I had been in Alice's -place I would have let him depart, but not with a blessing! She took it -far too tamely. I would have let him see that I despised him." - -Mrs. Channell thought within herself that the young often believe -themselves a thousand times harder-hearted than they are. Those who -feel the bitterest wrath when they think of an injury that has never -come to them are the most patient and merciful when they actually meet -it face to face. But she did not say this to Nelly. - -The book was talked of no more that day; and for many a day afterwards -it stood neglected on Mrs. Channell's shelves. Nelly had forgotten -it after a night's sleep, and the next morning's post brought her a -surprise. - -When she entered the breakfast-room her father was already seated at -the table looking over his letters. He held up one addressed, in a -legal-looking hand, to Miss Ellen Channell. - -"Who is your new correspondent, Nelly?" he asked. "This is something -different from the young-ladyish epistles you are in the habit of -receiving, isn't it?" - -"I don't know the writing," she said, opening it carelessly. But in the -next minute she laid it hastily before him. - -"Read it, father," she cried. "Old Mr. Myrtle is dead, and has left -me three thousand pounds! You remember how he made a pet of me in my -school-days?" - -Mr. Channell read the letter in silence; and then he looked up quickly -into his daughter's face, and put his hand on hers. - -"I hope no one is defrauded by this legacy," he said, gravely. "You -will have quite enough without it, Nelly. Had Mr. Myrtle any relations?" - -"He used to say that he was quite alone in the world," she answered. -"His house was next to our school, and the gardens joined; that was how -I came to see so much of him. No one ever went to stay with him, and he -seldom had even a caller." - -"I wish he had left the money to a poorer girl," remarked Mr. Channell. -"Well, Nelly, you will now have a hundred and fifty pounds a year to do -as you like with. I hope you'll spend it wisely, my dear." - -It was generally known throughout the county that Nelly was the -daughter of a rich man. She was very pretty too, although not so -beautiful as her mother had been; and at nineteen she was not without -would-be suitors and admirers. But not one of these was a man after -Robert Channell's own heart. They were hunting and sporting country -gentlemen, who talked of dogs and horses all day long. He wanted a man -of another stamp for Nelly. He did not care about long pedigrees, nor -did he hanker after ancestral lands. He desired for his child a husband -who would guide a young wife as bravely up the hill of Sacrifice as -over the plain called Ease. - -It might have been that Robert Channell thought too much of what the -husband should be to the wife, and too little of what the wife is to -the husband. There are moments in the life of the strongest men when -only the touch of a woman's hand has kept them from turning into a -wrong road. But it is not easy for a father, anxious for the safety of -his girl's future, to think of anything beyond her requirements. Nelly -was a prize; and Mr. Channell could but daily pray that she might not -be won by one who was unworthy of her. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -MORGAN FOSTER, THE NEW CURATE. - - -In the golden harvest time, just after they had celebrated Nelly's -nineteenth birthday, a new face appeared in Huntsdean, and a new -influence began to work among the villagers. The rector, who had grown -old and feeble, was at last induced to secure the services of a curate. -And Robert Channell, having been a good friend to the people for many a -day, felt almost disposed to look jealously upon the stranger. - -But before a month had passed by, Mr. Channell and the curate had -found out that they were of one mind. The new-comer did not want to -upset any of the old plans, but he showed himself capable of improving -them. He was no shallow boy, inflated with vast notions of his own -self-importance, but a thoughtful, active man, whose wisdom and -experience were far beyond his years. And Robert liked Morgan Foster -all the better because he was the son of poor parents, and had worked -hard all his days, first as a grammar-school boy, and then as a sizar -at Cambridge. - -Nelly liked his sermons, which were never above her comprehension; and -yet she liked him none the less, perhaps, because her instincts told -her that he could have soared higher if he had chosen. She fell into -the habit of comparing him with all the men she had ever known, and -found that he always gained by the process. - -Even in person this son of the people could hold his own against the -descendants of the old county families. He was a tall, broad-shouldered -man; and Nelly, whose stature was above middle height, secretly took -a pleasure in feeling that she must look up to him. They were seen -walking side by side along the Huntsdean lanes, and folks began to say -that they were a fine couple. - -Those calm autumn days were very sweet days to Nelly Channell. The -summer lingered long; no wild winds suddenly stripped the trees, and -so the woods kept their leafiness, and stood, in all their gorgeous -apparel, under the pale blue skies. Nelly thought it must be the peace -of this slow decay and tranquil sunshine that made her life so happy at -this time. She did not own to herself that every bit of the old scenery -had become dearer because Morgan Foster was learning to love it too. -Her father and mother discovered the secret long before she had found -it out; and they smiled over it together, not ill-pleased. - -She had more than one offer just at this period. The neighbouring -country houses were full of men who had come to Huntsdean for the -shooting. They admired Nelly riding by her father's side, and looking -vigorous and blooming in her habit and hat. They met her now and then -at a dinner-party, and straightway fell in love with her chestnut -hair and brown eyes, and were not unmindful of the handsome dowry -that would go with these charms. She was wont to say, long afterwards, -that her unconscious attachment to another was a safeguard of God's -providing. Many a woman speaks the fatal Yes, because her heart -furnishes her with no reason for saying No. - -Robert Channell encouraged the curate to come often to his house; but -no one hinted that he thought of him as a possible son-in-law. It was -too absurd to suppose that he would give his Nelly to a man who had -only a hundred-and-fifty a year, and was encumbered with an old father -and mother, living in obscurity. Some of the disappointed suitors -remarked that Channell was a fool to have the parson hanging about the -place;--there was no counting on the whims of a spoiled beauty, who -might take it into her head to fling herself away on a curate. But -this notion was not generally entertained, and the intimacy increased -without exciting much notice. - -Christmas had come and gone. It was the last day of the old year; -Nelly, sitting alone by the drawing-room fire, was seriously taking -herself to task, and asking her own heart why the world was so very -desolate that day? True, the ground was covered with snow; but the -afternoon sky was bright with winter sunshine. The brown woodlands took -rich tinges from the golden rays that slanted over them, and scarlet -berries glistened against the garden wall. Nelly had wrapped a shawl -round her shoulders, and had laid the blame of her low spirits on a -cold. - -"But the cold is not to blame," owned the girl to herself. "When one -has a friend--such a friend as Mr. Foster--one does not like him to -stay away from the house for a week; and one cannot bear to hear that -he is always at the rectory when Miss White is there! And yet it ought -not to matter to me!" - -It mattered so much that the tears in Nelly's brown eyes began to run -down her cheeks. At that very moment the drawing-room door was thrown -open, and the page announced Mr. Foster. - -The curate advanced a few paces, and stopped in sudden dismay. There -was something so pathetic in Nelly's pale, tearful face, that he was -stricken speechless for a moment. And then he recovered himself, and -began to make anxious inquiries which she scarcely knew how to answer. - -"Nothing has happened, Mr. Foster," she sobbed. "I am only crying -because I am in low spirits." - -"Shall I go away now, and call to-morrow?" asked the bewildered young -man in his embarrassment. - -"No," said Nelly, suddenly looking up through her tears; "I shall be a -great deal worse if you leave me to myself!" - -Her face told him more than her words. In a moment the truth flashed -upon him, and covered him with confusion. A vainer man, or one less -occupied in earnest work, would have seen it far sooner. Morgan Foster -took a chair by her side, and felt his heart throbbing as it had -seldom throbbed before. There was but one thing to be done, and he was -going to do it. - -There is no need to tell what he said. Perhaps it was not a very -impassioned declaration; but it made a happy woman of Nelly. And -only a few minutes later Mr. Channell and his wife returned from a -wintry walk, and found the two young people together. There were no -concealments; Morgan was too honourable, and Nelly too simple-hearted, -to make a secret of what had taken place. It was all talked over -quietly, but with a good deal of restrained feeling; and, then, having -declined an invitation to dinner, the curate went his way. - -He scarcely knew himself in the character of an engaged man. He had -been working so hard all his life that marriage had been a very distant -prospect to him. While there were the dear old parents to be helped, -how could he think of taking a wife? And now, here was a rich girl -willing to marry him; and here was her father actually consenting to -the match with evident satisfaction! But Nelly was something better -than an heiress; she was a very sweet woman; such a woman as any man -would have been proud to win. - -So Morgan Foster, as he walked back to his lodging over the frozen -snow, began to wonder at the good gifts that Heaven had showered upon -him. It was a strange fact that he was more inclined to wonder than to -rejoice. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -WHAT A LITTLE POEM REVEALED. - - -Lovers, like sinners, are nearly always found out; and in a very short -time everybody knew that Nelly Channell was engaged. It is not worth -while to record all the remarks that this affair drew forth. They were -comments of the usual kind; the curate was called a schemer, and the -father was said to have cruelly neglected the interests of his child. -But as none of these observations reached the ears of those whom they -chiefly concerned, nobody was any the worse for them. - -Meanwhile, Morgan took his good fortune in a very tranquil way. He saw -Nelly nearly every day, and she did most of the talking that went on -between them. Her conversation, like herself, was always simple and -bright; it did not weary the listener, and yet it sometimes set him -wondering at the ease with which she opened her heart, and let out -its inmost thoughts. He was conscious that he had never let her get -beyond the vestibule of his inner self; but he would fain have had it -otherwise. It pained him, even while it comforted him, to see that she -was quite unaware of his involuntary reserve. Had she known that he -kept any locked-up chambers, she would have striven to find the keys, -and would most likely have succeeded. But she did not know it. She -possessed no instinct keen enough to tell her that she might live with -this man for years without once getting close to his soul. - -"Read this, Nelly," he said, one February afternoon. He had called -to take her out walking, and they were standing together at the -drawing-room window. All the snow was gone, and in its stead there were -clusters of snowdrops scattered over the brown mould. Here and there -was a group of the golden-eyed polyanthus; a little yellow-hammer, -perched on the garden-wall, piped its small, sweet song. There was -sunlight out of doors, and Nelly, looking bright and picturesque in her -velvet and sable, was impatient to leave the house. - -Morgan had taken a copy of the _Monthly Guest_ from his pocket and was -pointing to a little poem on one of its pages. - -"I can read it when we have had our walk," Nelly answered. Then -catching a slight shade of disappointment on his face, she gave her -whole attention to the verses at once. - -"How pretty!" she said, having conscientiously travelled through the -thirty lines. "How strange it seems that some people should have -the power of putting their ideas into rhyme! The writer has a nice -name,--Eve Hazleburn." - -"Perhaps it is merely a _nom-de-plume_," replied Morgan, returning the -journal to his pocket. - -Nelly thought within herself that she had never found her lover a -pleasanter companion than he was that day. He amused her with little -stories of his college life, and even went back to his grammar-school -days in search of incidents. It was a delightful walk; twilight was -creeping on when they found themselves at the house-door again, but -Morgan came no farther than the threshold. - -"No, thank you," he said; "I cannot dine with you to-night; I must go -home and write letters. Good-night, Nelly dear." - -He went his way through the leafless lanes, past the cottages and -gardens, to the old sexton's ivy-covered dwelling. Then he lifted the -latch and went straight to the little parlour that had been given up -to his use. It was a very small room, so low that the beam across the -ceiling was blackened and blistered by the heat from the curate's -reading lamp. Six rush-bottomed chairs stood with their backs against -the wall, and a carpet-covered hassock was the sole pretension to -luxury that the apartment contained. But a cheerful fire was blazing in -the grate, and on a little red tray stood a homely black teapot. - -"I saw you a-comin' through the lane, sir, and I've boiled an egg for -you," said his good landlady, bustling in. "It's bitter cold still. My -good man hopes you'll keep your fire up." - -She went back to her own quarters with a troubled look on her kindly -old face. Somehow, her lodger did not seem quite so bright as he ought -to have been after taking a walk with his sweetheart. She thought they -must have had a lovers' quarrel; and, woman-like, was disposed to lay -the blame thereof on her own sex. - -"All girls is fond of worritin' men; high or low, rich or poor, they're -all alike," she said, to her husband. "They don't like going on too -peaceable. Nothin' pleases 'em so well as a bit of a tiff now and then. -But if Miss Channell don't know when she's well off, she's a foolish -body;--women are a'most as bad as the children of Israel, a-quarrelling -with their blessings!" - -While the sexton's wife was misjudging poor unconscious Nelly, the -curate sat lingering over his tea-cup. He was thoroughly realizing, -for the first time, that he had made a mistake in asking Miss Channell -to be his wife. It was a little thing that had opened his eyes to the -blunder,--merely her way of reading the little poem in the _Monthly -Guest_. He had been always vaguely hoping that something would bring -them nearer together, and make it possible for him to give all that he -ought to give; and he had thought that the poem would do it. The verses -seemed to have proceeded straight from some human heart, whose feelings -and aspirations were identical with his own. They expressed the same -sense of failure and hope which every earnest worker for God must feel. -They described the peace which always grows out of hearty effort, even -if that effort be not a success. - -Just one word or look of comprehension would have led him on to speak -out of his interior self. But poor Nelly saw nothing in the poem beyond -its rhymes. She was like one who misses the diamond in gazing at its -setting. - -"Thank God!" he said, half aloud, "that I can hide my sense of -disappointment from her! She shall never know that I want anything but -her sweetness and goodness, poor child! What a happy man I ought to be, -and yet what an ungrateful wretch I seem in my own eyes!" - -He sat looking sadly into the red hollow of the neglected fire and -sighed heavily. - -"I am like old Bunyan's pilgrims," he continued. "I remember that they -came to a place where they saw a way put itself into their way, and -seemed withal to lie as straight as the way which they should go. And -now I fear that I have gone out of my right path without knowing it. -Well, so long as the penalty falls upon me only, I can bear it!" - -But his spirit was still disquieted when he went to his little chamber -that night. He lay awake for hours thinking of Nelly, and of the future -which lay before them both. - -Next morning came a letter, in his father's handwriting, which was full -of sad tidings. His mother was dangerously ill;--could he not come to -her at once? - -Morgan went straightway to the rectory, and laid his case before the -rector. The old man had his son, a young deacon, staying in his house, -and readily consented to spare his curate. Then there was a letter to -Nelly to be written, explaining the cause of his sudden departure. -Before noon the train was bearing him far away from the vales and woods -of Huntsdean, straight to the great world of London. And from Euston -Square he travelled to the ancient Warwickshire city where his parents -had made their home. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -EVE HAZLEBURN, POET AND FRIEND. - - -A very humble home it was; but his love had stinted self to obtain -comforts for them. The light of the February day was fading when he -entered the little house, and found his father eagerly watching for him. - -"You are a good son,--a good son," said the old man, in a broken voice. -"She is no worse; and Miss Hazleburn is with her." - -Hazleburn! The name had a familiar sound; but Morgan was too weary and -agitated to remember where he had heard it before. He took his way at -once to his mother's chamber. - -As he went in, a small, slight figure rose from a chair by the bedside, -and quietly glided away. He scarcely looked at it in the gathering -dusk; moreover he had no thoughts, just then, for anybody but the -mother who lay there yearning for a sight of him. - -His coming seemed to do Mrs. Foster good, and give her a new hold upon -life. It was a low nervous fever that had seized upon her, taking away -her strength by slow degrees, until she had grown almost as helpless as -an infant. But God had sent her a friend in Eve Hazleburn. And before -he slept that night, Morgan had heard from his father's lips the story -of Miss Hazleburn's unselfish kindness. - -Eve was one of those friendless beings who are thrown entirely on their -own resources, and often get on better than the more favoured children -of fortune. She had an easy post as governess in the family of Mr. -Gold, a rich Warwickshire merchant;--too easy, as she sometimes said. -For the little Golds had holiday two or three times a week, and were -not on any account to be burdened with long study hours. The house was -in a perpetual bustle; visitors constantly coming and going. But if her -employers were unjust to themselves, they were far from ungenerous -to Eve. They would fain have had her share in all their feastings and -merry-makings, and laughed and wondered at her liking for retirement -and peace. - -There had been sickness in their household. Soon after Christmas the -whole family had gone away to a sheltered watering-place, leaving Miss -Hazleburn in charge of the house, and of the two servants who remained -in it. - -She had not made many friends in the city of C----. Her Sundays were -her own, and her services in the Sunday-school had won gratitude and -approval from the vicar of the parish. She went occasionally, but not -often, to the vicarage. - -The acquaintance between Morgan's parents and herself was nearly a year -old. Their quiet street ran along at the back of the merchant's great -house, and Eve had watched the pair sometimes from her chamber window. -Then there was a chance meeting, a slight service rendered, and the -governess became their friend and frequent visitor. - -The absence of the Golds left her at liberty to nurse Mrs. Foster -in her illness. The servants, being sober and trustworthy, required -little watching, and Eve's time was her own. None ever knew what it -cost her to give up all her leisure to the sick woman; none guessed -that a cherished plan was quietly laid aside for Mrs. Foster's sake. -The manuscript which Eve had hoped to complete in these holidays of -hers was put by. An inner voice told her that God meant her to use -her leisure in another way; and Eve's life was so still, so free from -turmoil and passion, that she could always hear the voices that spoke -to her soul. - -Days went and came. The old rector of Huntsdean wrote kindly to his -curate, bidding him stay in Warwickshire as long as his mother needed -him. Nelly wrote too; such simple loving letters that every word went -like a stab to Morgan's heart. She also begged him not to hasten his -return for her sake. It was good for her, her father told her, to have -this slight dash of bitterness in a cup that had been over-sweet. And -poor Nelly made so great a show of heroism over this little trial of -hers, that those of her own household smiled. - -Meanwhile Eve and Morgan met every day; and he talked to her about -her poem, which was the only production of hers that had as yet found -its way into print. The poem was the starting-point from whence they -travelled on into each other's experiences. Ah, how easily and quickly -people glide into familiar intercourse when there is a spiritual -kinship between them! Poor Morgan's heart opened to Eve as naturally as -a flower uncloses to the sun. Yet he never suspected that this was the -beginning of love. - -The curate had not told his parents of his engagement. He had been -morbidly afraid that it would put a sense of distance between the old -people and himself. Therefore he had said nothing about it in his -letters, but had waited till he should see them face to face. But -now that the time had come, he feared to make the disclosure. His -mother was in no condition to bear any startling news. And as to Miss -Hazleburn--of what consequence could his affairs be to her? So the -intimacy went on. He was too blind to see the injustice that he was -doing Nelly and Eve herself. - -"We are really not very new friends," he said to the governess one day. -"I knew you through your poem. We met in the spirit before we met in -the flesh." - -"Nobody need be solitary nowadays," answered Eve, brightly. "I have -many such spiritual friends, whom I shall probably never see with my -bodily eyes. Don't you think that one of the joys of eternity will be -in finding out what we have done for each other unconsciously? I am -often unspeakably grateful for the printed words that have helped me -on." - -"Do you find many companions in Mr. Gold's house?" he asked. - -"No," she said, frankly. "You know what it is to like people, and -yet have no affinity with them. The Golds' life is a perpetual -pleasure-hunt. Parents and children join in the chase from morning till -night; there is little rest or stillness in the house. I should be -scarcely sorry to leave it." - -"Are you thinking of leaving it?" Morgan inquired. - -"Not yet. Indeed, I have no other home," she answered. "I had a hope, -last year, that one might be provided for me; but that is over now." - -They were sitting together in the Fosters' little parlour while this -talk went on. It was Sunday afternoon; Mrs. Foster, now steadily making -progress towards recovery, was asleep upstairs, and her husband had -ventured out to church. The sun was getting low; a yellow light came -stealing over the roofs of the opposite houses, and shone full upon -Eve's face. Her last words had been spoken in a sad tone; her eyes -looked dreamily out into the narrow street. - -She was very far from realizing the interpretation that Morgan had -put upon her remark. Nor did she dream of the sudden turmoil that was -working within him, as he sat watching her face. - -She was not a pretty woman. She had the charms that belong to symmetry -of form, and grace of manner and movement. But few of those who were -struck at once by Nelly Channell's beauty would have noticed Eve. They -would have failed to see the noble shape of that small head, and the -play of light and shade on the careworn young face. Yet as Morgan sat -watching her, he was stung by the sharpness of jealous agony. Had some -man wooed this girl, and been an accepted lover? - -He could not endure the idea that those chance words of hers had -conjured up. The grand passion of his life was revealed to him in a -moment. He knew what he felt towards Eve, and knew, too, that this was -what he ought to have felt towards another. This was love. It was but a -poor counterfeit thereof that he had given to Nelly. - -"Some people think nothing of breaking a promise," she continued, still -looking out into the street. "Years ago, when I was a child, and my -father was a prosperous man, his friend Mr. Myrtle came to him in sore -need of money. My father lent him three thousand pounds. The sum was -lent without security, and it was never repaid." - -Morgan breathed more freely; but he thought of Nelly's legacy. - -"When my father felt himself to be dying," Eve went on, "he wrote to -Mr. Myrtle, reminding him once more of the debt. It was for my sake -that he did this, knowing that I should be left quite friendless, and -almost penniless. And Mr. Myrtle promised to leave me three thousand -pounds in his will. He died last year, Mr. Foster, but there was no -legacy for me." - -Morgan's words of sympathy sounded flat and commonplace. He was too -much overcome with shame to be conscious of what he was saying. It was -almost a relief when his old father returned from church and broke up -the _tête-à-tête_. - -When Mrs. Foster was well enough to move from her bed to a couch, the -curate bethought him of returning to Huntsdean. He did not dare to -think much of all that awaited him there. He had lived a lifetime in -the space of a few weeks, and the village and its associations looked -unreal and far away. At this time shame was his dominant feeling. He -forgot to pity himself for the blunder that he had made--he thought -only of his involuntary treachery. - -He did not dream of making any confession to Nelly; she should be no -sufferer through this dreadful mistake of his. And he wrote her as -lover-like a letter as he could frame, telling her that he was coming -home in a few days. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -A CONFESSION OVERHEARD. - - -It was the afternoon of Morgan's last day in Warwickshire. He sat by -his mother's couch, holding her thin hand in his, and wishing, with all -his heart, that she were the only woman in the world who had any claim -upon him. She looked at him with a long earnest look; once or twice her -lips opened, but some moments went by before she spoke. - -They were alone. Mr. Foster had pattered off to the railway station, to -seek for information about the train by which Morgan was to travel. As -he sat there, with the dear old woman who had shared all his early joys -and sorrows, he could not help longing to tell her of his new trouble. -But he knew not how to begin. And then her gentle voice broke the -silence. - -"Morgan," she said, "maybe I am going to do a foolish thing. I never -was a match-maker, for I've always thought that God alone ought to -bring people together. But when I see two who seem to be made for each -other, and one of them so near to me, how can I help saying a word?" - -"Speak on, mother," he answered, drawing a long breath. He knew what -was coming. Well, at any rate it would give him the opportunity of -unburdening his heart. - -"I should like to see you engaged to Eve Hazleburn," she continued, -gaining courage. "She is as good as a daughter to me; but that isn't -the reason that I want her for my son's wife. I want her, because -there's a sort of likeness between you that makes me sure you ought -to be made one. And I've seen your eyes follow her, Morgan, as if you -thought so too." - -"It cannot be, mother," said the curate, almost passionately. "It -cannot be, and yet I know it ought to be! I am already engaged to -another woman; but I love Eve Hazleburn as I shall never love again!" - -"God help us all!" sighed Mrs. Foster, suddenly pressing his hand to -enjoin silence. It was too late. His voice had been raised above its -usual tone; and there stood Eve at the open door. - -He did not care--he was almost glad that she knew all. There had come -upon him the recklessness that often arises out of hopelessness. If he -must wear his chain, she should know what a heavy weight it was! - -"Come in, Miss Hazleburn," he said, rising excitedly; "I am not sorry -that you have overheard me. Perhaps you will pity me a little. Surely -you can spare a grain of compassion for the poor fool who has spoiled -his own life! I think you will, for you are a good woman. Some women -would glory in a conquest of this sort, but you are not of that number. -Ah, I am talking nonsense, I suppose." - -Eve went straight up to him and laid her hand upon his arm. She could -not pretend to have heard nothing, and she would not have told a lie -if she could. Her light touch stopped him in his impatient walk up and -down the little room. - -"Think of your mother, Mr. Foster," she said, softly. "She is not -strong enough to bear a scene." - -He sat down again by the couch, and buried his face in the cushion on -which Mrs. Foster's head rested. It was a boyish action; but Eve knew -that the best men in the world generally keep a touch of boyishness -about them. Her heart ached for him as she stood looking down upon the -bowed head. And then the mother's glance met hers, and both women began -to weep silently. - -"I'm a foolish old body," said poor Mrs. Foster. "It's a mistake to go -knocking at the door of any heart, even if it's that of one's child. I -had better have held my tongue, and left all to God." - -"It is better as it is," Morgan answered raising his head, and -speaking more quietly. "I am less miserable than I was before. And -Miss Hazleburn will understand," he added, with a little pride, "that -although I am an unhappy man, I don't mean to be a traitor. I do not -wish to recall anything I have said. Every word was true; and now that -she knows all, she will pray for me." - -Eve stood before him and held out her hand. - -"I am going now," she said. "God bless you, Mr. Foster. You shall have -all the blessings that my prayers can win for you; and the truest -respect and friendship that a woman can give. Perhaps we shall never -meet again. If we do, I think this scene will seem like a dream to us -both." - -She went her way out of the shabby little house into the narrow -street. Had God nothing better to give her than this? Had He shown -her the beautiful land of Might-have-been only to send her back, -doubly desolate, into the wilderness? These were the first rebellious -questions that arose in Eve's heart, and it was some time before they -were answered. - -Early on the following morning she went to the window of her room, -and looked between the slats of the Venetian blind. It was chill and -grey out-of-doors. The sun had not yet fully risen, and only a faint -pallor was to be seen in the eastern sky. Presently a fly stopped at -the door of that shabby little house which she knew so well. Then the -flyman knocked; the door opened, and he entered, soon reappearing with -a portmanteau. Another figure followed, tall and black-coated. At the -sight of it poor Eve uttered a low cry, and pressed her hands tightly -together. A moment more, and the fly had rattled off down the street, -and had turned the corner on its way to the railway station. - -Was that to be the end of it all? Shivering and forlorn, she went back -to her bed, and lay there for a time, mutely praying for strength and -peace. - -Afterwards, she knew all that Morgan's mother could tell her about his -engagement. And she knew, too, that Nelly Channell was the lady to whom -Mr. Myrtle had left the three thousand pounds. It seemed to her just -then, poor girl, as if Nelly were taking all the things that ought to -have been hers. But this mood did not last long, and she was sorry that -such bitter thoughts should have found their way into her heart. The -Golds came back from the seaside early in March, and the ordinary way -of life began again. - -Morgan, too, had gone back to his work, but it was harder for him than -for Eve. She had no part to sustain--no love to simulate. And she had -the consolation of his mother's friendship, and the sad delight of -reading his letters. In those letters no mention was ever made of her; -but they told of a life of daily struggles--a life whose best comfort -was found in labour. Eve and Mrs. Foster wept over them together, and -clung to each other with a new tenderness. The mother had faith, and -she believed that her son would be set free. She ventured, once or -twice, to say this to Eve, but the girl shook her head. - -"No," she said, "we must not look for that. We ought rather to pray -that the ties may grow pleasant instead of irksome." - -"I don't know," replied Mrs. Foster, thoughtfully. "I almost think it -is best to pray for the freedom. It was not the right kind of feeling, -Eve, that led him to propose to Miss Channell. He was startled into it, -and it really seemed at first as if that were the way that God meant -him to go." - -"He should have stood still, and just have waited for guidance," Eve -remarked, sadly. - -"Yes, I know that," admitted the mother. "But do not most of our -troubles come to us because we will not wait? We all find it easier to -run than to stand still." - -While these other hearts were throbbing with restless pain, Nelly -Channell was serenely happy. She complained at times that Morgan was -working too hard, and wearing himself out, but she never thought of -attributing his wan looks to any cause save that of over-exertion. - -But Robert Channell had a keener sight; and he began to ask himself, -uneasily, if he had been right in letting this engagement come to pass? -In his heart of hearts he owned that he had been secretly anxious to -secure the curate for his daughter. It was the desire of his life that -Nelly should marry a good man, and Morgan Foster was the best man that -had as yet come in her way. Perhaps he, too, had been running when he -ought to have stood still. He began to think that this was the case. - -But how could he undo what was done? In his perplexity he talked the -matter over with his wife. And she admitted that the curate did not -seem to be quite at ease in Nelly's company. There was a shadow upon -him. It might be a consciousness of failing health, or---- - -"Or of failing love," said Mr. Channell, finishing her sentence. "If -that is it, Rhoda, it is a miserable affair indeed! We ought to have -made them wait before we sanctioned the engagement. But you know I -wanted to keep her safe from those selfish, worldly men who have been -seeking her." - -"We are always afraid to trust God with anything dear to us," answered -Mrs. Channell, sadly. "But if Morgan Foster has mistaken his own -feelings, Robert, it will be hard to condemn him, and equally hard to -forgive him." - -Summer came. And early in July all the gossips in Huntsdean were -talking of the rich family who had taken Laurel House. Mr. Gold, they -said, was a retired merchant from Warwickshire, who was as wealthy -as a nabob. His household consisted of a wife and six children, a -governess, and menservants and maidservants. And when Nelly heard that -the governess was a Miss Hazleburn, the name awoke no recollections. -She had quite forgotten the little poem in the _Monthly Guest_. - -The Channells called on the new-comers, and were received by Miss -Hazleburn. Illness kept Mrs. Gold in her own room for some weeks -after her arrival in Huntsdean, and on Eve devolved the unwelcome task -of seeing visitors. The one whom she most dreaded and most longed to -see did not come. She saw him in church, and that was all. She had -determined that her stay in Huntsdean should be as short as possible. -Already she was answering advertisements, and doing her utmost to get -away from the place. It was hard upon her, she thought, that among the -earliest callers should be Nelly Channell. - -Yet when she saw the girl she felt a thrill of secret satisfaction. -This, then, was the woman before whom she was preferred; and Eve's eyes -told her that she could no more be compared with Nelly than a daisy -can be compared with a rose! But the poor daisy, growing in life's -highway, unsheltered from the storms of the world, was loved better -than the beautiful garden flower. She was human, and she could not help -rejoicing in her unsuspected triumph. - -Nelly took a girl's sudden and unreasonable liking to the governess. -She wanted Miss Hazleburn to be her friend; she talked of her to -everybody, including Morgan Foster. - -"Have you seen her, Morgan?" she asked. - -"I have seen her in church," he answered. - -"Then you haven't called on the Golds yet," said Nelly. "Why don't you -go there?" - -"The rector has called," Morgan replied, "and there really is no need -for a curate to be thrusting himself into rich folks' houses unless -they are ill." - -"You didn't mind coming to our house," rejoined Nelly, "and I daresay -we are as rich as the Golds. But you can't judge of Miss Hazleburn -by seeing her in church, Morgan. It is in conversation that you find -out how charming she is. And actually there is something in her that -reminds me of you! I can't tell where the resemblance lies--it may -be in the voice, or it may be in the face, but I am certain that it -exists." - -"It exists only in your imagination," said Morgan, bent upon changing -the subject. - -Before Mrs. Gold had entirely recovered, Nelly had got into a habit -of running in and out of the house. It was about three-quarters of a -mile from her home, and stood on the summit of the green downs which -she had loved in her childhood. The garden slanted down from the back -of the house to these open downs: it was raised above the slopes and -terminated in a gravelled terrace; and so low was this terrace that -Nelly could easily climb upon it and go straying into the shrubbery. -She had done this dozens of times while Laurel House was empty, for the -old garden, with its thick hedges of laurel and yew, had always been -a favourite haunt of hers. Finding that the Golds were free-and-easy -people, who gladly welcomed the pretty trespasser, she chose to keep up -her old custom. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -HOW THE TRUTH CAME OUT. - - -One August evening, when it was too sultry to stay indoors, Nelly -wandered out into the lanes alone. She had told Morgan that she was -going to drive into the nearest town on a shopping expedition, and -should not return till dusk. But one of her ponies had fallen lame, and -she had given up the plan. - -On she went, saying a kind word or two to the villagers as she passed -their cottages. They all loved Nelly well. Her bright face came amongst -them like a sunbeam; even the smallest children had a smile for her as -she went by. She was so young and healthy and beautiful that many an -admiring glance followed her tall figure. She belonged to Huntsdean, -and Huntsdean was proud of her. - -[Illustration: On she went through the village.--Page 191.] - -She made straight for the downs, tripping up the green slopes, and -startling the browsing sheep. She gave a friendly nod to the little -shepherd-boy who lay idly stretched upon the grass. And then, as she -had done often enough before, she mounted the gravelled terrace, and -sat down on a rustic bench behind the hedge of laurels. - -From this spot she could not see Laurel House at all. The high wall of -evergreens completely shut in the view of the residence and its garden. -The gravelled terrace was divided from the grounds by this thick hedge, -and was only approached from the house by one long straight path of -turf. The path terminated in an arch, formed by the carefully-kept -shrubs, and giving access to the platform; and any one walking on the -downs must go up to the middle of the terrace and look through this -archway before he could get a glimpse of the house. - -Nelly knew that Miss Hazleburn liked to walk up and down the turfy path -when the day's duties were done. She meant to rest herself for a few -minutes before entering the garden. - -The bench was at the very end of the platform. She loved the seat -because it commanded an extensive view of the surrounding country. -Beyond the Huntsdean downs she could see other hills lying far away, -softly outlined against the summer evening sky. And nearer lay the -dearer old meadows and homesteads and the long tracts of woodland,--all -familiar and beloved scenes to the girl who had been born and bred -among them. The air was very still; even here it was but a faint breath -of wind that fanned her flushed cheeks; but the coolness on these -highlands was delightful after the closeness of the vale. She sat and -enjoyed it in silence. - -Quite suddenly the sound of voices broke the stillness. The speakers -were hidden from Nelly's gaze, for the tones came from the other side -of the laurel hedge. Eve Hazleburn's accents, clear and musical, could -be recognised in a moment. - -"I am going away next week," she said, "going back to Warwickshire, Mr. -Foster, I wrote to Mr. Lindley, the good Vicar of C----, and he has -found a place for me. I am to be companion to an invalid lady whose -house is close to the street where your father and mother live. They -will be glad to have me near them again." - -She spoke rapidly, and a little louder than usual. Nelly, overwhelmed -with astonishment, sat still, without giving a thought to her position -as an eavesdropper. - -"I have kept away from you--I have tried not to think of you!" cried -Morgan Foster, in irrepressible anguish. "God does not help me in this -matter. I have prayed, worked, struggled, yet I get no relief. What -shall I do, Eve--what shall I do?" - -[Illustration: Eve Hazleburn and Morgan Foster.--Page 194.] - -"You must endure to the end," she answered, with a little sob. "God -will make it easier by-and-by. Oh, I was so sorry to come here, Mr. -Foster; but I could not help it! We will never meet again, you and I. -Yet I am glad that I know Miss Channell. I will go and tell the old -people what a sweet bright girl she is; and they will soon learn to -love her. It will all come right in the end." - -"Ah, if I could believe that!" said the curate. "But I can't. It is -madness to think that a wrong path can have a right ending. Sometimes I -am persuaded it would be best to tell her everything." - -"If you did," cried Eve, sternly, "you would break her heart. And don't -think--pray don't think, Mr. Foster, that I would build my house -on the ruins of another woman's happiness! When I am gone," and the -proud voice trembled, "you will learn to submit to circumstances. We are -not likely to cross each other's paths again; you will be a rich -man----" - -"Oh, the money makes it all the harder to bear!" interrupted Morgan, -bitterly. "That three thousand pounds that Mr. Myrtle promised to leave -to you has been left to her. Did you know this?" - -Nelly did not wait to hear Eve's reply. Swiftly and noiselessly she -sprang from the terrace on to the smooth sod beneath, her muslin dress -making no rustle as she moved. Away she sped down the green slopes; -the sheep parted to left and right before her flying footsteps; the -shepherd-lad stared after her in amazement. She did not take the road -that led through the village. In her misery and bewilderment she -remembered that she could not bear the friendly good-nights of the -cottagers. She struck wildly across the fields, regardless of the wet -grass, and the brambles that tore her thin skirts as she dashed through -the gaps in the hedges, until she came to the side of the brook, where -she was alone in her grief. She was not thinking at all; she was only -feeling--feeling passionately and bitterly--that she had been cruelly -wronged and deceived. - -"Oh those two!" she moaned aloud, as her home came in sight. "The man -whom I loved--the girl whom I would have made my friend!" - -Robert Channell and his wife were sitting together in the library. He -had been reading aloud: Shakespeare still lay open on his knee, and -Rhoda occupied a low chair by his side. They were talking, as happy -married people love to talk, of the old days when God first brought -them together. - -While they chatted in low tones, the day was fast closing in. The -French windows stood open, and the first breath of the night wind stole -into the room. A dusky golden haze was settling down over the garden; -the air was heavy with flower-scents and the faint odours of fallen -leaves. Suddenly a great shower of petals from over-blown roses drifted -through the casement, and Nelly swept in after them. - -She sank down on her knees, shivering in her limp, wet dress, and hid -her face in her stepmother's lap. And then the story was told from -beginning to end. - -An hour later, Rhoda was sitting by Nelly's pillow, talking to her in -the sweet hush of the August twilight. Already the heat of anger had -passed away. The girl's thoughts had gone back, as Rhoda knew they -would, to that winter afternoon when Morgan had asked her to become -engaged to him. - -"Mamma," she said, piteously, "he has never loved me at all. He gave -me all he could give; but it was only the silver, not the gold. It is -very, very humiliating, but it is the truth, and it must be faced. -To-night when I heard him speaking to Eve Hazleburn, I understood -the difference between love and liking. He liked me, and perhaps he -saw--more than I meant him to see! O mamma, I was very young and -foolish!" - -It touched Rhoda to hear Nelly speak of her old self in the past tense. -Yet it was a fact; the youth and the folly had had their day. Nelly -would never be so young again, for sorrow takes away girlhood when it -teaches wisdom. - -"I heard Eve say," she went on, "that she would never build her house -on the ruins of another woman's happiness; and God forbid that I -should build mine on ground that has never rightly belonged to me! But -I wish he had told me the truth. He has done me a greater wrong in -hiding it, than in speaking it out." - -"Nelly," said her stepmother, tenderly, "we believe that Morgan has -been a blunderer, but not a traitor. We have blundered terribly -ourselves. We ought not to have let the engagement take place until -we had tested the strength of his attachment. We wanted to guard you -from unworthy suitors; and in taking you out of danger, we led you into -sorrow." - -"I was very foolish," repeated Nelly, with a sigh. - -"Don't forget," Rhoda continued, "that God can bless those whom He puts -asunder, as well as those whom He joins together. It is better to dwell -apart than to live together with divided souls. He saw we were too weak -and stupid to set our mistake right, and He has done it for us. While -we were gazing helplessly at the knot, He cut the thread." - -It was on a Saturday evening that Nelly's love affair came to an end. -She was in her place in church on Sunday morning, and during the rest -of the day she kept much by her father's side. They had talked the -matter over and over, and had arranged all their plans before the night -closed in. And Nelly thanked God that the anger had gone away from her -heart, although the sorrow remained. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -AN UNLOOKED-FOR RELEASE. - - -Very early on Monday, the Golds' governess took her departure from -Huntsdean. The train bore her away through the pleasant southern -counties while the dew was still shining on the meadows. On and on it -went; past cottages, standing amid fruit-laden trees, and gardens where -Michaelmas daisies were in bloom; past yellow fields, where the corn -was falling under the sickles of the reapers. Hedges were gay with -Canterbury bells and ragged robins. Here and there were dashes of gold -on the deep green of the woods. Eve Hazleburn, quiet and tearless, -looked out upon the smiling country, and bade it a mute farewell. - -Afterwards, two carriages laden with luggage drove out of the village, -taking the road that led to the neighbouring seaport town. The first -contained the two little Channells and their nurses; in the second sat -Rhoda and Nelly. And before the vehicles were out of sight, Robert -Channell had turned his steps in the direction of the curate's lodging. - -He met the young man in the lane outside the sexton's cottage, and gave -him a kindly good morning. - -"I am the bearer of startling news, Morgan," he said, slipping a little -note into his hand. "Let us come under the shade of the churchyard -trees. And now, Morgan, before you read the note, I want to ask you to -forgive my Nelly." - -"Forgive Nelly!" stammered the curate, thinking that if all could be -known it would be Nelly's part to forgive him. - -"Yes," the father answered. "Try to think of her as a dear, foolish -child who has made a grave mistake. She has sent me to break off her -engagement with you, Morgan. She begs you, through me, to forgive her -for any pain that she may cause you. She wants you to remember her -kindly always, but neither to write to her, nor seek to see her again." - -The curate was silent for some moments. No suspicion of the truth -crossed his mind. He concluded, not unnaturally, that he had been too -quiet and grave a lover for the bright girl. That was all. - -When he spoke, his words were very few. Perhaps Nelly's father -respected him none the less because he made no pretence of great -sorrow. His face was pale, and his voice trembled a little, as he said -quietly,-- - -"If you will come into my lodging, Mr. Channell, I will give you -Nelly's letters and her portrait. She may like to have them back again -without delay." - -They walked out of the churchyard, and down the lane to the sexton's -cottage. And then Morgan left Mr. Channell sitting in the little -parlour, while he went upstairs to his room. - -The hour of release had come. He took out a plain gold locket, which -had always been worn unseen, and detached it from its guard. He opened -it, and looked long and sadly at the fair face that it contained. It -was a delicately-painted photograph, true to life; and locket and -portrait had been Nelly's first gift. The smile was her own smile, -frank and bright; the brown eyes seemed to look straight at the gazer. -"O Nelly," he said, kissing the picture, "why couldn't I love you -better? Thank God for this painless parting! No wonder that you wearied -of me, dear; you will be a thousand times freer and happier without me." - -Presently he came downstairs, and entered the parlour with the locket -and a little packet of letters. These he gave silently into Mr. -Channell's hands. - -"Morgan," said Robert Channell, "I am heartily sorry for this. Don't -think that I shall cease to feel for you as a friend, because I cannot -have you for a son-in-law." - -"I shall never forget all your kindness," Morgan answered, in a low -voice. "But I shall soon leave this place, Mr. Channell." - -"Better so, perhaps," Robert responded. "You ought to labour in a -larger sphere. You have great capacities for hard work, Morgan." - -Then the two men parted with a close hand-shake. And Mr. Channell -looked back to say, almost carelessly,-- - -"My family have migrated to Southsea for a month or two. I follow them -to-morrow." - -It would be too much to say that the curate "regained his freedom with -a sigh." Yet certain it is that this unlooked-for release set his heart -aching; it might be that his _amour propre_ was slightly wounded, for -was it not a little hard to find that the girl for whom he had been -making a martyr of himself could do very well without him? He had -climbed the height of self-sacrifice only to find deliverance. The -spirit of sacrifice had been required of him, but the crowning act was -not demanded. - -He read Nelly's note again. It was a very commonplace little letter, -written in a sloping, feminine hand. She used that stereotyped phrase -which, hackneyed as it is, does as well or better than any other, -"I feel we are not suited for each other." This was the sole excuse -offered for breaking the engagement, and surely it was excuse enough. - -How could he know that these few trite sentences had been written in -the anguish of a woman's first great sorrow? We don't recognise the -majesty of woe when it masquerades in every-day garments. It needs -a Divine sight to find out the real heroes and heroines of life. If -Morgan had been questioned about Nelly, the term "heroine" would have -been the very last that he would have applied to her. And yet Nelly, -quite unconsciously, had acted in the true spirit of heroism. - -By-and-by the sense of relief began to make itself felt, and Morgan's -heart grew wonderfully light. He went through his usual routine of -duties, and then took his way to the rectory. He must give the rector -timely notice of his intention to resign his curacy. - -Meanwhile Robert Channell had proceeded to Laurel House. Mrs. Gold -received him in a depressed manner. Her governess, she said, had left -her; and she seemed to consider that Miss Hazleburn had used her -unkindly. She did not know how such a useful person could be replaced. -Nobody would ever satisfy her so well as Miss Hazleburn had done. Yes, -she could give the governess's address to Mr. Channell. She had chosen -to go to Warwickshire, to live with an invalid lady. Mrs. Gold hoped -she would find the post unbearably dull, and return to her former -situation. - -"There is little probability of that," thought Robert Channell, as he -went his way with the address in his pocket-book. And then he thought -of Nelly's face and voice when she had stated her intention of giving -up Mr. Myrtle's legacy to Eve. - -"I won't keep anything that isn't fairly mine," she had said; "let her -have both the lover and the money." - -Eve never ceased to wonder how the Channells had found out that Mr. -Myrtle had owed her father three thousand pounds. - -October had just set in when Eve and Morgan met again. It was Sunday -morning, and she was on her way to that beautiful old church which -is the chief glory of the city of C----. The bells were chiming; the -ancient street was bright with autumn light; far above them rose the -tall spire, rising high into the calm skies. - -They said very little to each other at that moment. A great deal had -already been said on paper, and they could afford to be quiet just -then. Together they entered the church, a happy pair of worshippers, -"singing and making melody in their hearts to the Lord." "A thousand -times happier," Eve remarked afterwards, "than we could ever have dared -to be if another had suffered for our joy." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -WHAT GOD HATH JOINED TOGETHER. - - -About two years ago, a great crowd assembled in one of the largest -churches in London to hear a popular preacher. He had, it was said, -a rare power of touching men's hearts, and of lifting their thoughts -out of the mire and clay of this working-day world. And often, too, -his wife's name was coupled with his; for she, by her written words, -was doing angels' work among the people. Fashionable society knew them -only as preacher and writer; but some of the unfashionable were better -acquainted with them. - -In the crowd were two persons who managed to get good seats in the -middle aisle. They were husband and wife; he a brave soldier, she a -beautiful woman. It would not have been easy to have found a couple -better matched, or better satisfied with each other. They exchanged -a quick glance of intelligence when the preacher ascended the pulpit -stairs, and then composed themselves to listen. - -They were not disappointed in him. As they listened, they understood -how and why he won such a ready hearing; and when the sermon was over, -Nelly turned to her husband again with the old bright look; and he -answered her with a slight nod of satisfaction. Then, and not till -then, did she perceive a familiar face at the top of the pew. - -As Nelly looked once more on Eve, there was revealed to her a strange -glimpse of what might have been if those two had been kept apart, and -she had taken Eve's place. She saw herself a restless, unsatisfied -wife, always craving for a vague something that was withheld. She saw -Morgan crippled, not helped, by her riches; a good man still, but one -who had, somehow, missed his footing, and failed to climb so high as -had been expected of him. And she comprehended, fully and thankfully, -the great love and pity of that Being who had saved them from their -mistake. - -There was a quiet hand-clasp in the crowded aisle; and then these two -women went their respective ways. And a voice seemed to be ringing in -Nelly's ears, as she leaned upon her husband's arm. - -"I am thinking," she said, "of something that was spoken long ago. -It was when I was in great trouble, dear, and felt as if I couldn't -be comforted. 'Don't forget,' my stepmother said to me, 'that God -can bless those whom He puts asunder as well as those whom He joins -together.' And I think I'm realizing the truth of those words to-night." - - - - -Transcriber's Note: - -All variable hyphenation and variant spelling has been retained. -However, obvious printer's errors have been corrected. - -All obvious punctuation errors have been repaired. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Nelly Channell, by Sarah Doudney - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NELLY CHANNELL *** - -***** This file should be named 54596-8.txt or 54596-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/5/9/54596/ - -Produced by Melissa McDaniel, Mhairi and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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