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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79005 ***
+
+Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "Uncle Chetwynd, she's only fainting. Don't you see
+ she's only fainting? She will come to herself again directly.
+ Mother—mother!"]
+
+
+
+                        MADGE HARDWICKE;
+
+                              OR,
+
+                   THE MISTS OF THE VALLEY.
+
+
+                              BY
+
+                         AGNES GIBERNE
+
+                          AUTHOR OF
+
+             "IDA'S SECRET," "FLOSS SILVERTHORN,"
+                      "WILL FOSTER," ETC.
+
+
+                    "O Lord, I cannot see;
+                       Vouchsafe me light:
+                     The mist bewilders me,
+                       Impedes my sight:
+            Hold Thou my hand, and lead me by Thy side,
+            I dare not go alone; be Thou my Guide."
+                                              _The Dove on the Cross._
+
+
+                         New Edition.
+
+
+                           _LONDON:_
+                      JOHN F. SHAW AND CO.
+                   48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
+
+
+
+                   STORIES BY AGNES GIBERNE.
+
+                        [Illustration]
+
+
+           IDA'S SECRET; or, The Towers of Ickledale.
+               _Large Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d._
+   "The characters are made to live, and there is a wholesome and
+refreshing tone running through it all."—_Record._
+
+           WON AT LAST; or, Mrs. Briscoe's Nephews.
+    _Large Crown 8vo, cloth, with Illustrations, 3s. 6d._
+   "The treatment is so admirable we can understand Miss Giberne's
+ book being a help to many."—_Athenæum._
+
+                      TOO DEARLY BOUGHT.
+              _Crown 8vo, price Eighteenpence._
+
+                  THE OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY.
+           _Crown 8vo, with Illustrations, 2s. 6d._
+
+           HIS ADOPTED DAUGHTER; or, A Quiet Valley.
+           _Large Crown 8vo, Illustrated, price 5s._
+   "It is really a good tale, in the author's best style."—
+_English Churchman._
+
+                  WILL FOSTER OF THE FERRY.
+        _New Edition. Crown 8vo, Illustrated, 2s. 6d._
+   "A story well written, fully illustrated, and with a golden thread
+ of Christian teaching."—_Bookseller._
+
+                  THE EARLS OR THE VILLAGE.
+        _Crown 8vo, cloth, with Illustrations, 2s. 6d._
+   "A pathetic tale of country life, in which the fortunes of a family
+ are followed out with skill that never fails to interest."_Scotsman._
+
+         MADGE HARDWICKE; or, The Mists of the Valley.
+           _Crown 8vo, cloth, Illustrated, 2s. 6d._
+   "An extremely interesting book, and one that can be read with
+ profit by all."—_Schoolmaster._
+
+     FLOSS SILVERTHORN; or, The Master's Little Handmaid.
+               _Crown 8vo, cloth, Illustrated, 2s. 6d._
+   "A really beautiful story, telling how even a child can do and
+ suffer for Christ's service."—_The Rock._
+
+                       ——————————————————————————
+
+         LONDON: JOHN F. SHAW & CO., 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
+
+
+
+                        [Illustration]
+
+                           CONTENTS.
+
+                             ————
+
+CHAP.
+
+    I. UP ON THE HILL-TOP
+
+   II. THE HOME-COMING
+
+  III. DOWN UNDERGROUND
+
+   IV. MADGE AND THE DOCTOR
+
+    V. GATHERING MISTS
+
+   VI. NANNIE
+
+  VII. NAT TYRRELL'S NOTIONS
+
+ VIII. QUESTIONINGS
+
+   IX. MADGE HARDWICKE'S FAITH
+
+    X. A LETTER
+
+   XI. AWAITING THE MASTER'S WILL
+
+  XII. THE "FLYING ALBATROSS"
+
+ XIII. THE DOCTOR'S PROHIBITION
+
+  XIV. GOD'S MYSTERIES
+
+   XV. THE DINGLE
+
+  XVI. NAT'S COTTAGE
+
+ XVII. A FOG
+
+XVIII. THE DRIVE HOME
+
+  XIX. A BLOW
+
+   XX. SUNSET CLOUDS
+
+  XXI. "O THOU OF LITTLE FAITH"
+
+ XXII. WARNING
+
+XXIII. THE WISDOM OF THE WISE
+
+ XXIV. HOME!
+
+                        [Illustration]
+
+
+
+                        [Illustration]
+
+                        MADGE HARDWICKE;
+
+                              OR,
+
+                   THE MISTS OF THE VALLEY.
+
+                             ————
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+UP ON THE HILL-TOP.
+
+"FIVE o'clock!"
+
+The strokes pealed slowly through the calm gray air of dawn, from the
+square tower of old Alyn Church. It was a morning of almost oppressive
+stillness, with mist-wreaths nestling in every hollow, and a hazy
+uncertainty about the horizon-line giving promise of a sultry day
+to come. And as the five deep-toned vibrations went rolling up the
+hill-side, Madge Hardwicke came out of her cottage on the summit of the
+cliff, and stood in the doorway to listen.
+
+Two little cottages were built there side by side; each with its tiny
+vegetable-ground behind, bounded by a tangled growth of trees and
+brushwood; and each with its tiny flower-garden in front, bounded by
+a broad belt of level grass which extended to the narrow path running
+along the edge of the cliff.
+
+But whereas Madge Hardwicke's home was a model of trim and dainty
+neatness, Amos Ackman's exhibited signs of falling to decay. And
+whereas Madge Hardwicke's garden had every square foot occupied by
+flower or vegetable, Amos Ackman's showed a large and flourishing
+assortment of weeds, amongst which a few cabbages here and there reared
+their unsightly heads, or a half-wild rose-tree struggled for a languid
+existence amidst the ruthless growth of meaner plants.
+
+Not twenty yards distant from Madge Hardwicke's garden railing, the
+cliff went down in a sheer descent of three hundred feet to the beach
+below. Rough masses of rock and shingle lay there, with a coating in
+some parts of slimy green. The sea was wont to play strange antics
+among those rocks at times, in no harmless mood of frolic. But this
+morning, it was placid as a lake, unbroken by the faintest ripple,—in
+its glassy repose almost like a gigantic mirror reaching to the
+horizon. And the blue of the sky overhead was pale in hue, fading
+into white lower down, where some long clouds stretched lazily, each
+catching a reflection of rose-colour from the coming sun.
+
+Madge Hardwicke herself, standing before her doorway, with her
+dark-blue under-skirt, and looped-up black print gown, and little red
+handkerchief, and general quaint simplicity of appearance, formed not
+the least picturesque item in the scene. She must have been between
+forty and fifty years of age, and her smooth brown hair showed a faint
+sprinkling of silver threads. A very quiet, self-possessed demeanour
+was hers, while she had a face, the deeply-traced lines and shadows
+of which told of a far from facile nature, and of certain tempests in
+bygone days. Not that there was anything about her just then suggestive
+of storm or emotion. The blue depths of the sea below were not more
+absolutely calm than the gray depths of Madge Hardwicke's eyes. And
+though both alike were capable of being stirred up, it needed a strong
+external force in either case to work the change.
+
+Just so quietly reposeful lay also the town below. Standing there in
+her doorway, and looking down through the clear morning air, Madge
+could distinguish each separate door and window, alike in the broad
+streets, where closed shutters hid the plate-glass panes of usually
+busy shops, and in the rows of villas stretching away to the west
+and north. Here and there a faint blue wreath of smoke went curling
+upwards, but generally speaking, Alyn seemed to be asleep. Down on
+the shingle beach of the little bay, where a row of bathing-machines
+stood looking like the contents of a child's toy-box as seen from
+this height, the blue jackets of one or two early-rising sailors were
+visible.
+
+This was the East Cliff, on which Madge made her home; and her cottage
+stood sideways to the edge, with Amos Ackman's on the other side.
+Down in front, the hill sloped steeply with a scattering of houses
+beginning about half-way to the bottom. It was a fan-shaped town that
+lay below, converging to the shingle bathing-beach, and widening out as
+it extended inland. Beyond the beach, the cliffs rose sharply again,
+and a wild headland of bare rock, reaching far out into the sea, stood
+up in massive grandeur against the sky—West Point, or The Point, as it
+was usually called, though more correctly Lion Point by name, from some
+real or fancied resemblance in its shape to a lion's head and mane. It
+was high tide now, and the narrow rugged ridge of rock which united the
+Point to the mainland, was deeply covered with water.
+
+On just such another morning as this, and on the same day of the
+same month, exactly ten years earlier, the darkest cloud of Madge
+Hardwicke's life had gathered over her. And so like now were the gray
+stillness of the dawn and the deep repose of sea and land, the sleepy
+twitter of some waking birds and the cheery singing of their livelier
+companions already awake, the smoke-wreaths over the town and the
+mist-wreaths over the country, to what they then had been, that Madge
+stood living over that past scene once more, as if it were actually
+present.
+
+Ten years! No more than ten! It seemed such a little while to Madge.
+Just at this same hour she had risen, and come out of her cottage-door,
+and stood within her garden-gate. She had not been a lonely widow then,
+but a light-spirited happy wife. She seemed almost to hear again the
+manly step which followed her out, and to feel again the hearty kiss,
+and to see again the fine blue-jacketed sailor, her pride and joy,
+striding carelessly away towards the path.
+
+Just those few yards—those few steps. The sound of his clear whistle
+had come back to her, and she had seen him standing at the edge of the
+cliff, with his brown hand upraised to shelter his eyes, as he scanned
+the horizon-line. And Madge had turned back into her cottage, thinking
+pleasantly of the busy day's work before her, and of the welcome he
+should have on his return. Thinking,—but little dreaming that never
+again should she speak word of welcome to him.
+
+It was only the giving way of a foot of brown earth, overhanging the
+cliff, bound together by entangled roots, all loosened with previous
+rains. One minute Ned Hardwicke stood there, a very model of manly
+strength. The next, he lay a shattered corpse, three hundred feet below.
+
+And Madge, to this hour, knew nothing of what took place after. She
+had no recollection of his one death-cry; no recollection of her own
+wild rush to the edge; no recollection of Amos Ackman's struggles
+to withhold her, when, in her mad agony, she would fain have flung
+herself over likewise; no recollection of the help sought and too late
+obtained; no recollection of aught else which had happened on that
+day. It was as if a black curtain had been drawn over every bodily and
+mental sense, shutting out even the consciousness of pain,—drawn there
+in tender mercy, for otherwise Madge Hardwicke's reason would scarcely
+have held its balance.
+
+This lasted till after the funeral. And then, while Madge Hardwicke's
+friends were talking in subdued tones over her state, and marvelling
+what would become of her and the child, Madge put aside the curtain,
+and bravely came forth to meet her sorrow. It was a lonely path which
+lay before her, but Madge would tread it with unfaltering steps. It was
+a heavy cross which her God had laid upon her, but Madge would bear it
+firmly. No broken-down and selfishly-hopeless mourner would she be; but
+one who had learnt to bear chastening in the spirit of a child, living
+her appointed life, and working her appointed work, until the end came.
+
+"Madge!"
+
+A soft little girlish voice spoke, and Madge looked down, with
+something of a smile, at the tiny barefooted damsel, about ten years of
+age, who had pattered softly out of the neighbouring cottage, and now
+stood with one hand grasping Madge's blue petticoat, and a wistful face
+upturned, as if in questioning.
+
+"What is it, Nan, you're wanting?"
+
+Nan looked hard without a word, and Madge went back to the quiet
+landscape.
+
+"That's it," said the child unexpectedly. "You're thinking something,
+ain't you, Madge?"
+
+"Ay," responded Madge. "I'm thinking, just this minute,—what if the
+Resurrection-morning was to look like it does to-day?"
+
+Nan caught up another fold of the blue skirt, and enclosed it tightly
+in her fingers, with a sudden gesture, as if of fear. "O Madge! Don't
+you, please, now."
+
+"Why? 'Twill come," said Madge calmly. "My talking 'll bring it no
+sooner, Nannie, though my praying may."
+
+"Madge, do you think it'll be to-day? Do you think it'll be a day like
+this, Madge?" demanded the child eagerly, as if the fate of the world
+hung upon the answer of her friend.
+
+"It'll be in 'such an hour as we think not,'" said Madge. "That's
+pretty nigh all we're told clear about the time. Maybe He'll come in
+storm, and not in calm; only there's a look to me to-day like the world
+asleep before its last awakening. I'm only fancying, Nan," she added,
+with a sudden smile at the child's awestruck look.
+
+"And you won't go and pray it may come sooner 'n need be, Madge," said
+Nannie, with a catch in her breath.
+
+"Why, Nannie, what of the prayer we're told to pray, 'Thy kingdom
+come'? You're surely not fearsome of seeing the Master Himself as loves
+little children so?"
+
+Nan shook back her long dark hair with an expressive gesture. "Father
+ain't ready," she said. "He ain't, Madge."
+
+Madge had nothing to say to that at first. After a moment, she spoke:
+"We'll pray he may be, and put the two prayers together, Nannie."
+
+Nannie's face showed assent as well as understanding this time.
+
+And the next minute, Madge's attention was drawn by the sight of a
+man's head appearing up the hill. It came rapidly, borne on by long
+vigorous strides, as of a messenger who felt himself on an errand of
+life and death.
+
+Madge knew the tall broad-shouldered figure, even before she could
+recognise the face. It was a good face—good in feature, that is to
+say, and good also in a certain natural kindliness and benevolence of
+expression. You certainly would not have said, to look upon him, "What
+a good man Mr. Chetwynd must be!" speaking in the highest sense. But
+you would undoubtedly have said, "What a kind-hearted man," as well as,
+"What a clever man he seems."
+
+That it was something unusual which had brought the doctor up the
+hill at this hour of the morning, Madge knew directly. She would have
+known it by his mere speed and manner, apart from the paleness of
+his face, and the drops standing thickly on his brow. She put aside
+little Nannie, and went out to the garden-gate, asking no questions,
+but quietly waiting till he came close, and chose to speak. His first
+words were in a sharp breathless tone, with a forced affectation of
+cheerfulness.
+
+"Where's your hood, Madge? Quick, and come with me, for I want your
+help."
+
+"I'll come, sir."
+
+She turned back into the cottage, and was out again immediately—not too
+soon for Mr. Chetwynd.
+
+"Come,—quick," he said. "My chaise will be waiting by the time we get
+down. There's not another woman in the town so helpful as you, or I
+wouldn't have risked losing two minutes by calling you."
+
+"Sir, has it aught to do with my Neill?"
+
+"Neill! No. There has been an accident in the tunnel; trucks slipped
+and left there by some extraordinary blunder, and a passenger-train
+allowed to run into them. I don't know how much damage is done. One may
+allow a good margin for exaggerated reports."
+
+Madge gave one look up at his strangely pale face, as they sped
+together down the hill-side. His home was one of the first in sight—a
+many-gabled roof peeping out from a nest of surrounding trees,—and
+they could see the chaise waiting at the garden-gate. That he had some
+especial and personal cause for distress, Madge did not doubt. He was
+not a man of keen sympathies, though of real kindness. But she put no
+questions, and it was not till the chaise was starting, with Madge
+seated by the doctor's side, that he said briefly—
+
+"My sister and her child were to arrive by this train."
+
+Madge understood then, and her full heart went out in silent compassion
+for the fearful weight of anxiety which must, she well knew, be
+pressing upon him. He was a man of few ties and strong feelings. But
+she only said—
+
+"They are in the Lord's hands, sir. He can have kept them safe."
+
+And Madge looked for no response in her companion's face, being fully
+aware that she should there find none. The faintest shadow of a sneer
+curled his usually pleasant lips, like the mist-wreath floating over a
+distant landscape. And then they drove on quickly, wasting no breath in
+words.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+THE HOME-COMING.
+
+SUCH a long tedious journey it had been, as the train sped ever wearily
+onwards, hour after hour, from the further north to the further
+south of England. But the gray dawn was brightening now, and sleepy
+passengers were rousing themselves to sit upright, and to mark how
+nearly they had approached the end. And Mona Clyde, waking suddenly
+from a quiet night's rest amid noisy surroundings, lifted her bright
+child-like face—singularly child-like, for her nineteen summers—from
+the blue-cushioned arm, and cried—
+
+"O mother! Are we almost there?"
+
+"Almost there, Mona," her mother said.
+
+"And you are tired, while I have had such a long lazy sleep," said
+Mona, kissing her mother's hand, for they had a compartment to
+themselves. "Are you not mother, dear?"
+
+"A little tired, but I shall soon rest now, Mona."
+
+Was she thinking of the last time she had come this road, with her
+infant Mona in her arms, and her husband by her side, so many long
+years before? Mona fancied so, and waited quietly, holding down her
+own gay delight at the prospect of all that lay before her. Dear kind
+uncle Chetwynd, whom she knew so well, and uncle Chetwynd's pretty
+house which lay so far in the background of her memory that she had no
+recollection of it, and beautiful Alyn which had been her mother's home
+in childhood, and the glorious blue sea which she had never yet seen,
+and all the attendant pleasures of a six weeks' happy change.
+
+"O mother, isn't it nice to be almost there?" she said at length. "How
+soon shall we see Alyn?"
+
+"When we are through the tunnel, Mona. It is pretty here, but this is
+nothing to the view which bursts upon us there. A sunny mid-day is
+the time to have it in perfection. I remember so well how, as a child
+going home from school, I used to love the feeling of getting nearer
+and nearer, seeing one land-mark after another, passing into the dark
+tunnel, and then coming out into a blaze of sunshine and beauty, to
+find myself in one moment 'at home.' For Alyn itself was home, and once
+out of the tunnel, you are in Alyn."
+
+"Mother, you often told me about that, when I was a little girl."
+
+"As a picture," Mrs. Clyde said, smiling, while Mona's bright face had
+grown serious. "My favourite thought, darling; it is so like the last
+Home-going. So often there seems to be darkness at the close of life,
+with those who love the Master, but I think it is only that the glory
+coming after may shine the brighter. But for the dark tunnel first,
+Alyn could never burst upon us with half such a wonderful glow of
+beauty."
+
+"O mother, I do so long to see it," cried Mona eagerly. "Is that the
+tunnel coming now?"
+
+How little knew Mona that the shrill whistle which she welcomed so
+joyfully, was the death-knell of many around her!
+
+One moment's rush of increased noise, and then darkness. And in that
+moment, it was strange how her mother's face was photographed for
+ever upon Mona's memory. She did not consciously mark it at the time.
+Afterwards, it came back to her, in all its calm sweetness. She was
+thinking of nothing but counting the seconds, and awaiting the view
+which lay beyond.
+
+One moment more! And then—
+
+Ah, "then!"
+
+It was only a little mistake or accident. Something had been forgotten,
+or somebody was careless. Only just such a slight mistake as one
+may make a hundred times a day, letting it pass unmarked, and never
+dreaming the terrible consequences with which a little matter may be
+fraught. There had been a break-down of some heavy luggage-vans, and
+there was just a little too long delay in removing them, or word had
+been telegraphed just a little too late, or the express had arrived
+just a little too early. Nothing worse. But then—
+
+Down there in the darkness underground, they could not see the loaded
+trucks in the way. On and on with undiminished speed rushed the train,
+so near at last to its journey's end. Only a moment more—and then a
+crash so fearful that the very earth above and below trembled with the
+fierce concussion, and the mighty engine was twisted and crushed like
+a bit of tin in a man's hand, and carriages were heaped up one upon
+another, or flung to right and left in masses of shattered fragments,
+as a child might scatter a pile of bricks. And the fierce hiss of the
+boiling water that rushed from the engine, and the crashing turmoil
+of the collision, mingling with the wild tumult of groans and shrieks
+which followed, echoed back and forth from the low vaulted roof,
+till it seemed as if the din of sound must go on for ever and ever
+ceaselessly.
+
+But in that moment of direst anguish and fear, there were some who
+went quietly Home. Quietly, all in an instant, breaking out from the
+darkness underground to the glory far above. The anguish and fear were
+not for them, but for those who remained behind. The Master calls
+sometimes in sunshine and sometimes in storm, to those whom He will
+have to be with Him where He is; but so long as it "is" the voice of
+the Master and not of the Judge which calls, what matter how they go?
+Whether lingeringly in sunshine, or suddenly in storm, it signifies
+little, so that once they are safely landed.
+
+And some were landed all in a moment that day, who had looked for a
+longer voyage. Just as the disciples on the lake had a toilsome way
+before them, till the Master stepped on board, and then,—"suddenly they
+were at the land whither they went."
+
+Suddenly, all in a moment. Perhaps if the choice had been given them,
+they might have found it hard to decide whether they would go, or
+whether they would stay. But once there, they would doubt no more.
+None ever yet looked upon the unveiled Face of the King in glory, and
+turned back to wish for the shadows of earth again. So for those of
+the dead who died in Christ that day, it was a peaceful Home-going—all
+the brighter and sweeter maybe, from the contrast of the darkness and
+anguish behind, out of which the Master had gently withdrawn them.
+
+This was the scene upon which Madge Hardwicke and her companion
+entered. The first mad terror and excitement of the accident had
+subsided, yet it was a strangely weird picture which lay before them,
+as they left the early daylight behind, and went deep into the tunnel's
+blackness. The tumult of shrieks had died gradually away into gentler
+moans, and in many cases into silence, broken here and there by a
+pitiful call for help. Some of the dead and dying had been already
+extricated, and busy hands were still hard at work among the heaped up
+masses of débris, which concealed yet many a crushed and mangled form.
+There was little leisure for attendance on those only wounded, and they
+waited for the most part in patient endurance, lying or sitting upon
+the damp ground.
+
+Some of the shattered fragments of woodwork had been piled together,
+and two or three small fires burnt brightly, sending up wreaths of
+smoke into the darkness, and casting a red glow upon the scene of
+confusion around. Lanterns were borne backwards and forwards here
+and there, and long ill-proportioned shadows of men, sometimes hazy
+and large, sometimes clear and small, went passing along the dark
+moist walls. And mingling with the busy sound of pick-axe and of
+crowbar, came the sound of men's voices in sharp direction or subdued
+consultation, and the groans of the injured, and the frightened sobbing
+of little children, clinging to their no less terrified mothers and
+nurses.
+
+Mr. Chetwynd's face turned towards Madge Hardwicke for an instant, but
+her quiet eyes met his steadfastly, and her lips were only trembling a
+little with unspoken words of prayer.
+
+"You can stand it?" he said, in a half-questioning tone. "I don't want
+to have you on my hands, in a screaming and fainting condition, Madge."
+
+For all the man's self-command and would-be carelessness, she knew the
+deadly fear which lay at his heart.
+
+"Sir, I never did either in my life," she answered.
+
+"Did you ever see a scene like 'this' in your life?" he asked, with a
+sudden change of manner. "Madge, it is awful."
+
+"I think nothing can be darker to me than that which I have borne
+already, sir."
+
+And borne on that very morning—only ten years before. But that was
+past, and this was present, and Mr. Chetwynd had no thought to give to
+aught save what lay before him.
+
+They went on threading their way over the masses of ruin scattered far
+and wide. There were other helpers, and two more surgeons already on
+the scene. But there were not too many for the work, and Mr. Chetwynd
+was at everybody's beck and call. He refused no one, and gave attention
+to each in turn who claimed his aid, though all the time his set lips
+and anxious eyes told Madge Hardwicke the subject of his thoughts. She
+made many inquiries for him about his expected relatives, but could
+learn nothing. Those who were busy had no leisure to talk, and those
+who were not busy seemed, in the majority of cases, to have lost, for
+the time being, all memory and self-possession.
+
+Throughout Mr. Chetwynd's doings, he kept Madge persistently near his
+side, when she would have wished to go about and help more actively.
+She had learnt obedience, whatever else her lessons might have been,
+and made no protest. And, in truth, there was work enough for her to do
+on any spot where she might take her stand.
+
+"Sir, they're taking off some of the well folk, and them that's not so
+badly hurt, to Alyn," Madge remarked at length, speaking unaddressed
+for the first time. "They've told me to tell you. Will this lady go?"
+
+Mr. Chetwynd looked up from the case in hand, finished what he was
+doing, and stood erect once more.
+
+"Ay, the sooner the better. Madge—no news of 'them?'"
+
+"I can hear none, sir."
+
+He sighed heavily, and then, with a hasty movement, walked a few paces
+away.
+
+"Look here, Madge."
+
+A poor mother was sitting, pale and still, upon the ground, with one
+arm hanging helplessly, and the other clasping a wee white-faced baby.
+She gazed up in mute appeal at the doctor. But when Mr. Chetwynd would
+have lifted the little one from her grasp, she held it more tightly,
+and uttered a sharp cry of anguish.
+
+"No use yet," he said, in a low tone, to Madge. "She will not believe
+the child is dead. Better so, perhaps, for a while. See there too."
+
+Another scene of the same description: a poor young wife kneeling in
+silent misery beside a prostrate figure, with an older lady weeping
+bitterly on the other side.
+
+"Is he dead, too?" Madge asked, from her full heart.
+
+"Not far from it. Ha, there is Mr. Prior."
+
+She did not recognise the name. A man of middle age and slender build
+came up and paused beside the little group, bearing a lantern in his
+hand. There were a few low-toned words, and then he knelt quietly down,
+and sounds of prayer for the departing soul came softly across to where
+Madge stood. What a scene for an artist that group would have made,
+in the red flickering light, with the gloomy tunnel-walls lowering
+overhead, and the calm reverent face of the man of prayer contrasting
+with the subdued grief of the weeping women, and the ashen features of
+the dying man.
+
+But Madge saw all with a deeper sense than that of an artist merely
+watching for "effects," and would fain have knelt down likewise to join
+in the petitions, but for the companion by her side.
+
+"That's your style, Madge," he said briefly. "Much good may it do the
+poor fellow."
+
+"Ay, may it, sir, indeed," responded Madge softly.
+
+"Mr. Prior is setting to work early. Well,—'tis his vocation."
+
+"Mr. Prior?" Madge repeated.
+
+"The new Rector. He only arrived on Monday. Stay, there is a man
+calling me."
+
+He came back with a hasty step.
+
+"It may be nothing—I don't know,—but it sounds like—. Come and see,
+Madge."
+
+Following, as he hurried away, she came with him to a sheltered corner.
+And there, behind a broken carriage, hidden away in the darkness,—lying
+quietly where they had first been flung by the rude shock of the
+collision,—there they were. Mother and daughter together, not only side
+by side, but clasped firmly in one another's arms, as if, in the single
+instant of conscious danger, the instinct of each had been to shelter
+the other.
+
+Travelling in the same carriage, bound for the same home, flung out
+by the same rough shock, lying on the same damp spot of earth. But
+one was there, and one was "not" there. One was living, and one was
+dead. One was left to wander in earth's shade, and one had reached the
+everlasting light.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+DOWN UNDERGROUND.
+
+MR. PRIOR came upon this group quietly, with his lantern in his hand,
+as he had come upon the other. He paused as he had done before, and
+made a sixth in the scene. But beyond the show of deep compassion in
+his face, what could he do for them?
+
+They were all silent. From the moment of Mr. Chetwynd's first
+exclamation, not a word had passed his lips. He stood now with bent
+head and folded arms, the swelling veins in his forehead telling
+something of the thoughts below. The man who had called him to the spot
+remained slightly behind, holding in his hand a roughly improvised
+torch, which flickered drearily, sending black curls of smoke upward
+and stray sparks downward.
+
+Madge Hardwicke's gray eyes shone full of unshed tears. And Mona Clyde,
+just awakened from her death-like faint, had sprung to her mother's
+side before they dreamt her purpose, and now hung caressingly over her.
+
+She did not know the truth, and how could they tell it to her? She
+thought it was such a swoon as her own had been. It was almost more
+than they could bear, to see the slender girl kneeling there, all
+unconscious of her loss, tremblingly chafing the mother's cold hands,
+and trying in fond tones to coax her back to sense. Madge Hardwicke
+turned away and sobbed aloud. Mr. Chetwynd lifted his head, and meeting
+Mr. Prior's look, spoke suddenly in an impatient husky tone—
+
+"Look here—see here! I know all the talk about mysterious
+dispensations. What have you to say to this?"
+
+Whatever he had expected, he had not looked for the reply—
+
+"'God is love,' Mr. Chetwynd."
+
+"And this—an act of love!" he said bitterly.
+
+"If you know Him, you will be able to trust His loving mercy through
+even this," was the gently-uttered answer.
+
+"Mercy!" Mr. Chetwynd laughed hoarsely. "A mercy that she should be cut
+off! Ay, she has thought and talked like the rest of you, times without
+number. And now—this is the end of it all."
+
+This the end! The end of all her loving trust in a merciful Redeemer?
+Ah but neither Mr. Prior in his faith, nor Mr. Chetwynd in his
+unbelief, could catch one note of the grand triumphant chorus, with
+which the gathering in of another saint to the City of God had even
+then been welcomed by those already at home. It was the end indeed of
+faith, but the beginning of unclouded joy, and of pleasures at the
+right hand of God for ever and for evermore.
+
+Mr. Chetwynd checked himself when about to continue, for Mona had
+turned to listen, with a face of stony whiteness, and dilated terrified
+eyes.
+
+"Mona, dear child," he faltered.
+
+"Mother is fainting. Why don't you bring her round?" demanded Mona, in
+an unnatural voice.
+
+Mr. Chetwynd groaned, and covered his face with his hands.
+
+Madge Hardwicke laid a light grasp on the girl's arm, looking down on
+her tearfully.
+
+"You'll help me," Mona went on in a pleading tone. "I don't know who
+you are, but I think from your face that you are kind. And they are
+leaving mother without doing anything—leaving her to die."
+
+The word uttered by herself seemed to rouse her to a sudden agony of
+fear, and with a cry she turned again to the motionless figure,—
+
+"Mother! Mother! Oh, won't you look up? Mother! Mother, darling!"
+
+"Miss Mona, I'm going to take you away from this place," said Madge
+Hardwicke, feeling that something must be done, and the truth must be
+told. "Dear Miss Mona, you are not fit to stay here any longer."
+
+"Mona, my dear, you 'must' come," said Mr. Chetwynd, as she resisted
+Madge Hardwicke resolutely. "We can do no more for—for her."
+
+"No more!" Mona looked up in ghastly bewilderment. "Why you've done
+nothing at all yet. Keep off. I am not going to leave mother. What do
+you mean?"
+
+Child as she looked for her age, shaken and trembling with all she had
+gone through, her gesture made them desist from any attempt to draw her
+away.
+
+"What do you mean? I don't understand," she went on hurriedly. "Uncle
+Chetwynd, you are a doctor. Don't you know what to do for a person in a
+faint? Mother has often fainted before, and I have brought her round,
+but there's nothing here to do it with. Why don't you fetch me some
+water, and help me to fan her, and rub her hands? What has come over
+you all?"
+
+Even as she spoke, the truth was fighting its way slowly into her mind,
+though she struggled to keep it out.
+
+"Uncle Chetwynd, she's only fainting. Don't you see she's only
+fainting? She will come to herself again directly. Mother—mother!"
+
+Mr. Chetwynd turned away with an uncontrollable sob.
+
+"Mr. Prior, this is part of your rightful work. Tell her the truth if
+you can. I can't. Is there none among you that can comfort her?"
+
+He looked up half-fiercely as he spoke, but the appeal had met with
+instant response, and Mr. Prior was already by the side of the
+white-cheeked shuddering girl.
+
+"Mona, dear child, you must come away with me," he said gently, as if
+he had known her all her life.
+
+Mona gave him a startled look.
+
+"It is very dark," he went on. "I am going to take you away, Mona. It
+is very dreary here, but there is daylight beyond."
+
+Her gaze had grown piercing in its intensity.
+
+"How do you know? What do you mean?" she muttered. "Did you know mother
+had said it?"
+
+"Had said what, my poor child?"
+
+"About the sunshine beyond—the darkness and then the light—and about
+its being like—like—the last Home-going! O mother!"
+
+"It is like that for her. God has taken her out of the darkness into
+His glorious light. Mona," he said pityingly, "poor child—it 'is' the
+last Home-going."
+
+She knew the truth now, and the cry with which she sank over her
+mother, though not loud, was terrible in its broken-heartedness.
+
+"And this—this, you say, is mercy," Mr. Chetwynd murmured huskily, as
+he helped Mr. Prior to lift the half-unconscious girl.
+
+"Ay, to those who are God's own," Mr. Prior made answer. "What do you
+and I understand of His secret purposes? I know only this—how very
+precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints!"
+
+"She was a saint, if there ever was one upon earth," said Mr. Chetwynd.
+"I don't know that the word means the same to me as to you, though. It
+doesn't much matter after all. Thank you, Mr. Prior,—you mean well, but
+such doctrines are beyond me. Madge, you will come home with us for a
+few hours. Hush—don't try to rouse the poor child. Better get her away
+as she is. She understands at last."
+
+"God give her strength to bear it," murmured Madge.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+MADGE AND THE DOCTOR.
+
+"SO here you be at last," said Amos Ackman, in a discontented growl.
+"Get back, Nan." It was in the evening, less than a week later.
+
+The sun had just sunk behind West Point, lending a framework of golden
+light to the dark massive centre, which stood out with its sharply-cut
+profile against the clear sky. And the sea was all one sparkle of
+dancing ripples, which broke softly with murmuring splashes among the
+rocks below.
+
+Amos Ackman sat on a bench in his doorway, looking upon his goodly
+growth of garden weeds. He made no unfit foreground to the very untidy
+surroundings. A man, not tall, but formerly an athlete in strength,
+he had been bent and shrunk and twisted, by long years of acute
+rheumatism, into a half-helpless querulous invalid. The greater part
+of his time he spent on his little wooden bench, working laboriously
+with his swelled yet bony hands at trifling articles or childish
+knick-knacks for sale, helped by little Nan, as she crouched on the
+ground at his feet. A sour-spirited and unlovable man was Amos Ackman,
+yet Nannie loved him, and Madge Hardwicke pitied him and often did him
+a kindly turn.
+
+For all Amos Ackman's crustiness, he was not without a friend in the
+world—a real fast personal friend, who held to him through thick
+and thin, and would not be repelled by any amount of cross-grained
+speeches. Nat Tyrrell was a carpenter in a small way, living close to
+the foot of the hill, up which, in common with a goodly number of Alyn
+folks, he was wont to take his airing on a summer evening. He stood
+now, leaning in his favourite position against Amos Ackman's crooked
+crab-tree, looking, in his contrast to Amos, as if the theory of convex
+and concave friendship were here to receive full proof.
+
+For Amos Ackman was stooping and high-shouldered, with long uncouth
+arms, and neglected growth of straggling gray hair, and narrow
+forehead, and sharp deep-set eyes. And Nat Tyrrell was broad and stout
+in build, with frank straightforward bearing, and plenty of sense and
+intelligence in his honest face.
+
+A good man too, was Nat Tyrrell, not indeed rising to any great height
+of Christian experience, and having had his eyes but lately opened
+to see the worth of things spiritual. He was only groping his way as
+yet through early dawn, and making many a mistake concerning matters
+of weighty import in that dim light. No fear that, if he groped on,
+honestly seeking for more light, it would not be granted. Only the
+curious thing was, that he hardly realised yet how much he needed
+clearer sight; and he was therefore not a little disposed to lay down
+the law upon many matters, which, all unknown to himself, others in
+brighter daylight could mark in their more just proportions. There are
+no popes more determined in their would-be infallibility than those
+good men who utterly mistake their own glimmering light for the blaze
+of noonday. And with such, the dawn often brightens but slowly, lasting
+it may be almost through a life-time. Still, Nat Tyrrell was a good
+man—a man of Christian principle, earnestly desirous to serve God, and
+needing chiefly to be raised in his knowledge of Christ, and lowered in
+his estimation of self.
+
+"So here you be at last," was Amos Ackman's surly greeting, as Madge
+Hardwicke's quiet face, with the little red handkerchief below it,
+stopped at his gate. "Get back, Nan. Always in the way, yer are."
+
+Nan went down quickly on the ground, but ventured to smile a welcome,
+as Madge came a step nearer.
+
+"Yes, I'm come back," Madge said. "How have you been all day?"
+
+"Same as always," said Amos shortly. "Where 've yer been?"
+
+"More places than one," said Madge. "I'd a mind to be present at the
+funeral."
+
+"What the poor lady as was killed in the tunnel?" asked Nat Tyrrell.
+"The doctor's sister?"
+
+"Joe Whilly telled me there was to be six buried together," said Amos,
+hitting out at Nan, when she ventured to creep a little nearer to
+Madge. "Get out o' the way then! Six buried together, says he, all o'
+them killed on the spot. And a lot more to be buried to-morrow. Well,
+the gentlefolks has it this time an' no mistake."
+
+"Has what?" demanded Madge.
+
+"Their turn at trouble an' bother," said Amos sourly. "I've enough an'
+to spare, till I'm 'most sick o' my life. I ain't got no objection to
+see rich folks bearin' a bit o' the same."
+
+"Come now, don't you go and be spiteful, Amos," interposed Nat Tyrrell
+good-humouredly. "Rich folks has their plenty of trouble, though it
+don't always come in the money line."
+
+Amos struck out again savagely, as if little Nan were the impersonation
+of wealthy ease, and he wanted to demolish it on the spot. "What 're
+yer after there, a-wastin' all your time? Get into the cottage."
+
+"Nannie's coming along with me into my garden, to help pull weeds,"
+said Madge, as the child cowered silently beneath the blow. "You'd
+ought to be ashamed of yourself, Amos Ackman, to treat a little girl
+like that worse than if she was a dog."
+
+Amos scowled, but allowed Nannie to spring past him without a protest.
+
+"Well," Madge said, when they had reached her little garden, leaving
+the other two just out of ear-shot, "I've scarce had a word with you,
+Nan, these days past. What's angered your father, child?"
+
+Nannie looked thoughtful. She was spare, and small, and pinched for her
+age, but there was no lack of intelligence in her little thin face,
+with the framing of gipsy-black hair. "Madge," she said, under her
+breath, "d'ye mind what you said the morning of the tunnel accident?
+'Twasn't the Resurrection-day, after all."
+
+"No, it's to come yet," said Madge, pulling up a bit of groundsel, and
+then looking across to the fading rim of golden light which lingered
+round Lion Point.
+
+"I've prayed a deal that it mayn't be long, and that father 'll be
+ready," said Nan softly. "But he don't seem like it now. I wanted to
+say to him my Sunday text this morning, Madge, and it's that has made
+him be hittin' at me all day since."
+
+"I'd pray on," said Madge, continuing her work. "Maybe 'tisn't the
+Master's time yet. Only take care your father don't anger ye, Nan."
+
+"I've had to smother it down ever so," said Nannie, with a little sob.
+"O Madge, it's so hard, you don't know. Look here."
+
+The black bruises on the little arm, covertly bared, told their own
+tale. "It 'is' hard," said Madge. "I wish I could shield you, child.
+Maybe if I was to speak to him, and get Nat Tyrrell to speak too—"
+
+"No, no, he's worse after, if he keeps in a bit," said Nannie, speaking
+cheerfully, as she covered up the poor little discoloured arm. "I'll
+bear it, Madge, 'cause, if I made a fuss, father 'd maybe think I was
+angry, and then he'd be longer learning to love God; don't you think
+so, Madge?"
+
+It seemed to Madge like something of the old martyr-spirit shining in
+the child's face; but she only said, "Ay, Nannie, you're right, 'on'
+doubt. Come, and I'll put you something on the bruises."
+
+Amos Ackman's voice, calling imperatively in harsh tones, made Nannie
+run away the moment they again left the cottage. Madge moved forward
+a trifle faster herself, for Mr. Chetwynd was standing outside the
+garden, leaning on the palings.
+
+He looked sad and weary enough, though he greeted her with a
+half-careless smile. "Good evening, Madge. I have come up here for a
+breath of fresh air. The town is oppressive to-day."
+
+"How's Miss Mona, sir?" asked Madge.
+
+He shook his head. "I don't know. Never sheds a tear. Never speaks
+of—of 'it.' I can't begin, or it might be better. I am not sure. But
+it is hard to see her look like that. It is not the way girls usually
+meet sorrow. There seems no way of bringing comfort to her, poor little
+Mona."
+
+His eyes were moist, and his voice was unsteady.
+
+"God can comfort her, sir," Madge said, in her quiet way.
+
+He shook his head again, in dreary dissent this time.
+
+"I tried to get her out, but she will see no one yet, and seems to wish
+for nothing but to be left alone. Madge, I like Mr. Prior, though he is
+of your way of thinking. You two would suit marvellously. He knows when
+not to talk, which most men don't know, particularly your good folks.
+His shake of the hand to-day said more than any words could have done.
+If all professors of religion were like him and you, now—"
+
+"Sir, a man's slips oughtn't to make you condemn his religion."
+
+"One naturally judges of a man's profession by his actions. What were
+you talking about so earnestly to that child, as I came up the hill,
+before you both disappeared into the cottage?"
+
+Madge thought a moment, and then spoke out steadily, "Prayer to God,
+for one thing, sir."
+
+"Ha! Quite your subject."
+
+"No,—everybody's," said Madge.
+
+"What are you praying for now, eh?"
+
+He asked the question lightly, not quite contemptuously.
+
+Perhaps there was something in Madge Hardwicke's calm confidence which
+kept him in check. Also, he had himself no objection to prayer, as
+a necessary and respectable form. Possibly, he looked upon the said
+form as something of a concession to the weakness of others; but, at
+all events, in his opinion, it could do no one harm, if not likely
+to do any one good. He was regularly to be seen in his pew on Sunday
+mornings, where his manner, if not reverent, was decorous; and he had
+never yet broken through the habit of family prayers, however brief and
+dry in kind. As for anything beyond—as for making a particular request
+to God, and looking for a particular answer from God—Mr. Chetwynd's
+feelings were simply those of utter incredulity. He had no objection to
+the form of prayer, as a habit, as an institution, as an act of worship
+to a Supreme Being, but he had no faith whatever in the power of prayer
+as a living working reality. There was the barrier at which he stopped,
+and there, he well knew, Madge did not stop; whence his question.
+
+Madge hesitated again, not that she did not know what to say, but that
+it was always an effort to her to speak of her own feelings. But Madge
+never shrank from showing her colours when occasion called.
+
+"For the Master's coming," she answered reverently.
+
+He was watching the red sunset clouds at that moment, floating in
+the blue sky, but he turned to look her in the face, in no pretended
+astonishment.
+
+"Madge, do you literally mean to say—you who believe in the Second
+Advent, as men understand it in the Bible—do you mean to say you dream
+of your prayers having any influence in an event of such moment as
+that, supposing it were really coming upon us?"
+
+"I'd put aside the supposings, sir, and let's take for granted it
+really is,—as we know to be," Madge could not help adding, in her calm
+exultant faith, ranking herself with those who know the truth indeed,
+and were not blind as he was. "I do believe my praying 'll hasten it,
+sir."
+
+"Then you don't believe it to be a day fixed from all eternity? Madge,
+Madge, what of your faith in Bible teachings now?" demanded the doctor.
+
+"Maybe 'tis fixed. Any way, God knows the day. What then, sir?" asked
+Madge simply, in her turn.
+
+"How can your prayers by any possibility affect a fixed event?"
+
+"I don't know, sir. God knows, and that's enough."
+
+"But I tell you, Madge, the two things are incompatible. They can't
+both be true."
+
+"Maybe you can't explain 'em, sir," said Madge. "They're none the less
+true for that. You've a deal more of this world's wisdom than I have,
+and I'm but a poor ignorant woman. But 'the wisdom of this world is
+foolishness with God.' Tisn't wisdom, but faith, that's needed to get a
+man into the kingdom of heaven."
+
+"Then, if you were to read in the Bible that black was white, you would
+believe it, Madge?"
+
+He laughed as he spoke.
+
+But Madge answered solemnly,—so solemnly that he too grew grave:—
+
+"Sir, the Bible says nowhere at all that black is white. The Bible
+don't ask us to believe anything of the kind, and I can't see that I've
+any call to be fancying how I'd feel if the Bible said things which it
+doesn't say. But what's put plainly in God's Word, I do believe. And
+where I can't understand, I know 'tis only because I am but a little
+child before God; and I just take the truths He gives me, and believe
+them still."
+
+He looked away again towards the fading light in the west—looked sadly,
+standing there in his lonely sorrow, smitten by the hand of God in his
+tenderest affections, and haughtily putting aside the sweet comfort
+wherewith God would fain, in His pitying love, comfort all who are cast
+down. Mr. Chetwynd knew nothing of all this—knew not, because he would
+not know.
+
+"Look here, Madge," he said huskily,—"did none of those passengers the
+other day pray for a safe journey before their setting out, do you
+suppose?"
+
+"I've a notion that they did, sir. And wasn't God's hand over them,
+preserving many a one from death?"
+
+"According to that, all praying travellers should be safe, and only the
+non-praying ones ever meet with injury or death."
+
+Madge looked up with a sudden shining in her eyes.
+
+"Ay, sir, 'twould be so, surely, 'if' God's wounding isn't often a
+deal better than to be left whole, and 'if' this life is better than
+heaven's glory. I'd find it hard to choose about that last, if you was
+to put it to me."
+
+"You would! You, Madge?"
+
+"I don't wish for death, till it's my Lord's will," said Madge very
+quietly. "But when He calls, I'd think you right cruel to keep me
+back—only you couldn't!" added Madge, with genuine thankfulness.
+
+"That's not mere weariness of life," muttered the doctor.
+
+"No, sir," Madge answered. "I'm not weary of life, so long as my Lord
+wants me to live here for Him. And I'd like to see Neill again, too."
+
+"And you think Neill will come back some day?"
+
+"I do, sir."
+
+"And that his return will be in answer to your prayers?"
+
+Madge's gray eyes were burning with a mother's tears. "I do, sir," she
+repeated.
+
+"And how if he does not come back, after all your prayers?"
+
+"Then it's because I'm blind, and can't see what's good for him nor me."
+
+"Ha! So you would not call that unanswered prayer! You are a clever
+woman at twisting things about, Madge."
+
+She turned straight to look him in the face, as he had done to her.
+
+"Sir, true prayer is never unanswered, though sure enough God don't
+always give us the very things we pray for. My Bible tells me, 'If
+we ask anything "according to His will" He heareth us.' If 'tis not
+according to His will, He keeps it back, and well for us He does. Seems
+to me oftentimes that He don't give me just the thing I ask for, only
+because He has something else a deal better in store. But any way, I
+wouldn't dare wish aught, save what He wills to grant me.
+
+"I'm right sure that no prayer of faith, put up with the 'If it be Thy
+Will' running all through it, was ever left unanswered, though maybe
+the answer sent was a different one altogether from what was looked for
+by him who prayed. And it's like enough to be so with me. I wouldn't
+wish to shut my eyes to the truth. Maybe Neill will not come home at
+all, but I'll meet him safe in heaven. I'd sooner have an Eternity with
+him there, than only a few years with him here, if both couldn't be."
+
+"Isn't that 'couldn't' rather limiting God's power, Madge?"
+
+"No, sir. There's many things which God sees in His wisdom mustn't be,
+and we don't know the reason now, and won't till we get to heaven.
+It'll be joy to see the meaning of things then, but it's joy to trust
+my Lord now."
+
+Mr. Chetwynd was silent. He would have given something for the
+absolute repose of this woman's faith. He would have given almost
+anything,—short of laying aside his pride, and his earthly wisdom. But
+he could not part with these. He could not, and would not, stoop to
+become a little child. The portals of the Kingdom of Heaven are low,
+and Mr. Chetwynd, with his lofty crest of self-confidence, could not
+enter therein.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+GATHERING MISTS.
+
+"WHAT are you going to do with yourself to-day, my dear?" inquired
+the doctor one morning, as he sipped his coffee, and glanced down the
+columns of the "Times," with an abstracted air.
+
+"I don't know, uncle. Anything."
+
+"Because I am called away to a distance, and—a—don't know exactly—when—"
+
+Mr. Chetwynd's voice died into a murmur as he became more engrossed
+with his subject. Presently, however, he folded up the paper, threw it
+to a side-table, and looked across at the quiet pale face opposite,
+with purple rings round the sad dark eyes.
+
+"I beg your pardon, my dear. It is very unsociable to treat you in this
+fashion. What will you do with yourself while I am away?"
+
+"I don't care, uncle."
+
+"I shall hardly be home before evening—to dinner at six, if possible.
+But you will be lonely."
+
+Lonely, yes, with the great blank which she had borne about with her
+for weeks. But his presence made no great difference either way in that
+respect, and she only said passively, "I shall do very well, thank you."
+
+"Don't you think, now, you would be happier, if I could get some young
+lady to spend the day with you, Mona?" he asked kindly.
+
+"No—no, please, uncle Chetwynd."
+
+"It would be better for you, my dear child."
+
+"No, I can't have it indeed," said Mona decidedly.
+
+"Or if you would go somewhere—say to the Rectory. Mrs. Prior is an
+invalid, to be sure, but she is a bright one, and she has often pressed
+me to bring you to see her."
+
+"Not yet," said Mona.
+
+"You would not see Mr. Prior when he came to call yesterday."
+
+"I—couldn't. I don't know him."
+
+"But suppose he wants to know you?"
+
+Mona put up her hand to still the throbbing in her throat. "I can't see
+any one; I can't, indeed, uncle. I only want to be quiet."
+
+"Well, you must take your own way, my dear," said the doctor, with a
+half-sigh. He wanted much to understand the young girl, thus thrown
+upon him for care and comfort, yet he found it impossible to penetrate
+the veil of sorrowful reserve in which she had wrapped herself. "I
+don't want to tease you, Mona, only I think a little change would be
+good for your spirits."
+
+"I'll go for a walk," said Mona with an effort, feeling secure, if she
+went alone, of meeting no one with whom she was acquainted, or, at
+least, of being able to escape in time.
+
+"Ah, yes, that will do you good. And you won't have a companion?"
+Mona shook her head. "Suppose you find your way up the hill to my old
+friend, Madge Hardwicke."
+
+Mona made up her mind to avoid that direction studiously, but only
+said, "I'll see."
+
+"I should like you to know her better. She is a good woman—practically
+most excellent. Theoretically—well, she has your dear mother's ideas
+upon religion. None the worse for that, maybe, eh, Mona?" added Mr.
+Chetwynd, with a certain lofty condescension towards the weak, yet
+enviable and even beautiful credulity of those who thought thus, which
+Mona, girl though she was, appreciated to the full. He thought her
+sudden shiver was caused by the allusion to her loss, and continued
+hastily, "But I really should like you to see more of Madge. I don't
+know a more worthy creature, or one who lives more entirely for others."
+
+"And you don't think that speaks for her religion?" asked Mona, in a
+low voice.
+
+"My dear child, I don't think you and I had better enter on that
+question," said Mr. Chetwynd pleasantly, handing up his cup for a fresh
+supply of coffee. "I do not suppose that, whatever Madge Hardwicke's
+religious views might have chanced to be, she could ever have been
+otherwise than kind-hearted, and unselfish, and capable." For Mr.
+Chetwynd, in common with many others of his way of thinking, seemed
+to make it his rule to ascribe all the blemishes of a Christian's
+character to his or her religion, and all the beauties of it to
+unassisted nature. "But I should be sorry to have any discussion with
+you about it, Mona. I would not for worlds unsettle your mind with
+regard to those things, in which your poor mother taught you to put
+faith. We did not agree in all matters of theory, but you are quite
+right to think like her—as long as you can—and I assure you, dear, you
+cannot admire more heartily than I do, the loveliness of such a life as
+hers. I only wish there were more like her."
+
+Such a Christian life as hers! And such a Christian life as Madge
+Hardwicke's! And such a Christian life as Mr. Prior's! And such a
+Christian life as that of his own mother in the past! But Mr. Chetwynd
+preferred to ignore that fashion of looking upon the question. The
+beauty of their lives he could not deny, but the cause, he would have
+allowed to be anything rather than heart-religion.
+
+Did he in very truth dread to unsettle the once happy trust of the
+young creature before him? Did he really desire in his heart to act
+faithfully by the known wishes of his lost sister, and to train up her
+child as she would have had her trained? Theoretically no doubt he did,
+or imagined he did. Practically, he exercised small self-control in the
+matter.
+
+Not that he ever made any direct attacks upon Mona's faith. He would
+have said he believed a great many things that she believed. And for
+the rest—he set himself, in love to his sister's memory, and almost,
+as a point of honour, to avoid discussion on mooted points. But had
+he no idea of the awful power over the mind of a young and simple
+yet intellectual girl, of those slight innuendos and brief passing
+sneers on the subject of heart-religion, in which he was so prone to
+indulge himself? They escaped him often, it is true, undesignedly and
+by mere force of habit. Not the less dangerous were they for that. And
+not the less terrible was the weight of responsibility incurred by
+Mr. Chetwynd, in daring thus to tamper with the faith of one of the
+Master's "little ones."
+
+For the barbed arrow had taken root—flung by his reckless hand.
+
+Poor gentle Mona Clyde! Hers had been such a happy life up to that
+fatal journey. She had literally never known trouble. The loss of
+her father lay back in the far distance, too dim and hazy to cause
+her grief, unless for her mother's sake. All her love and hope and
+abounding joy in life had been centred in that one sweet being—her
+mother—a mother, so pure and tender, so saintly and sweet, that Mona
+had no wish for aught of earthly pleasure beyond her companionship.
+They were all in all to each other, those two!
+
+And Mona had for years believed herself to be a child of God. She could
+hardly have told the time when first her mother's gentle teaching had
+drawn her to the love of heavenly things. She had known, indeed, no
+great depths of lowly repentance, or grand heights of holy joy, and
+had experienced few intense spiritual longings. Some in the flock are
+near to the Shepherd, and some are farther away; and Mona had not been
+one of those who cling ever to His side, looking out each step of the
+way for His guiding hand and loving touch. Still, she had felt her
+sinfulness, and had sought her Saviour's forgiveness. She had lived a
+simple child-like life of simple child-like faith and service, gliding
+placidly down the stream of life, playing with each joy as it came to
+her hand, and seeming to pass unscathed through all the world's pain
+and sorrow.
+
+And now this fearful blow had come, taking away at one stroke all that
+she loved on earth, and leaving her mute, crushed, and desolate. And it
+was the Hand of God which had done this!
+
+The Hand of God! The Hand of her Heavenly Father! Ay, and Mona might
+have trusted that Father's love through all, but for the words of the
+man who heartlessly lent himself to the work of unsettling her peace.
+
+Did he ever dream how it was not the mere loss of her mother, precious
+though that mother had been to her, but his own ill-advised utterances,
+which had shattered Mona's happiness? Did he ever realise that it was
+his own hand which had drawn so black a pall over her once clear sky?
+Did he ever imagine the stormy grief, and the wild questionings about
+God and His dealings, which raged beneath that girlish face?
+
+He did not dream, or realise, or imagine the truth. But none the less,
+heavily weighed upon him the unfelt load of responsibility before God.
+"Whoso shall offend one of these little ones, which believe in Me, it
+were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and
+that he were drowned in the depth of the sea."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+NANNIE.
+
+MONA went that afternoon for her walk, as she had promised, caring
+little as she went whither her steps might tend. West Point was her
+first idea, but she had a certain dread of being caught and imprisoned
+by the returning tide. So she turned aimlessly in the opposite
+direction, not climbing, but skirting the East Cliff Hill, by the
+winding path which ran round it at the bottom.
+
+To reach the little shingle cove beyond, took nearly an hour of steady
+walking, but once set going, Mona kept it up mechanically. She had
+never suffered from weakness before, and felt some surprise at her own
+failing strength and aching limbs when the hour was ended, not knowing
+the exhausting effects of such grief and seclusion as hers during the
+past month.
+
+The path leading straight up the hill, and along the edge of the cliff,
+was evidently a much shorter cut homewards than the road by which she
+had come, and Mona decided to follow it, though doubtful whether the
+steepness of the ascent might not more than counter-balance its greater
+directness. She pressed steadily for a while up the stony way, with
+trailing brambles on her left and right, till she found herself panting
+to a degree which made a respite necessary. A little grassy niche close
+to the cliff-edge attracted her, and she sat down to rest.
+
+It was a clear October day, fair and mild, and free alike from
+boisterous breeze or glaring sunshine. Everything seemed clothed in a
+neutral tint, and the very blue of the sea had a gray hue about it.
+There were no waves beyond a lazy heaving to and fro of the water, but
+Mona could catch the sound of the distant splash, as the tide crept
+sleepily in, washing round one rock after another.
+
+How long she sat there, with her cheek on her hand, and her eyes fixed
+dreamily on the line of the horizon, she could not have told. She was
+scarcely thinking so much as sinking into a tangled maze of doubt and
+speculation, after her habit of late. Why this? What of that? How
+possible the other? And this could not be reconciled with that; and
+that was a belief incompatible with this; and life altogether was one
+sad confused mystery; and sin and sorrow seemed so to flourish under
+the permission of the God of holiness and love; and revealed truths
+were so utterly bewildering in their varied aspects.
+
+And Mona, poor weak child, striving feebly to penetrate mighty
+mysteries which the very angels may not fathom, setting herself up
+to question the eternal purposes of the King of kings, before whom
+the sinless cherubs veil their faces—what wonder if she found herself
+baffled on every side, and closed in by a darkening threatening cloud
+of unbelief? As well might she have sought to gauge the depth of the
+Atlantic Ocean with the little six-inch ruler in her desk at home,
+as have dreamt of measuring God's mysteries by means of her own puny
+intellect. Ay, and of the most brilliant powers on earth, ever seen in
+living man, the same must still be said. The finite can never compass
+the infinite.
+
+How long Mona would have gone on sitting there but for an interruption,
+it is hard to say. Down in her heart of hearts she knew she was wrong
+to give way to these questionings—knew herself to be playing with edged
+tools of deadly sharpness. But it seemed to herself that she had no
+power to draw back from the contest, no power even to seek help from
+above. What was the good of praying, she asked bitterly, when doubts as
+to the power of prayer thronged round every word she uttered? If once
+she could settle these terrible questions which so disturbed her peace,
+she would feel again the peace and joy she had known so short a time
+before.
+
+If once! Little did she know that she was bearing fast towards a reef
+of cruel hidden rocks, upon which too many of the brightest human
+intellects have been wrecked for eternity. Well was it for Mona that
+not all her reasonings could prevent the child-like instinct of her
+heart from leading her once and again, through all her doubtings,
+to cry aloud to her Saviour for help. Well was it for her that her
+speculations, though feebly resisted, were no pleasure, but keenest
+pain, and that she was a stranger as yet to the foolish pride so often
+felt in such questionings, as if, instead of being simply a sign of
+imperfect faith, they were a proof of superior mental power. But if
+allowed to hold sway too long, there was no hope that in time the pain
+would not die, and pride creep stealthily in to supply its place.
+
+An unexpected sound struck on Mona's ear, and roused her suddenly
+from her musings. She was not sorry to be so roused. Something of a
+stilled sob in a child's voice, it seemed to her, and she listened
+intently, but for awhile in vain. Then she heard it again, rather more
+distinctly, and rising from her sheltered spot among the brambles, she
+stood in the pathway, waiting.
+
+There it was—an unmistakable sob this time. Mona went straight among
+the bushes away from the cliff, in the direction whence the sobbing
+proceeded, and in her haste, almost fell over the figure of a child
+crouched in the long grass, shivering and moaning under its breath,
+with an occasional sharper sound, as if of pain too keen to be
+repressed.
+
+"Why, you poor little creature, what is the matter?" asked Mona
+compassionately, kneeling down beside her. "What is the matter? Has any
+one hurt you, or are you ill?"
+
+The child only cowered down more closely, and Mona bent over her.
+
+"Poor little thing! You are quite trembling. Has anything happened to
+frighten you? Tell me your name, little girl?" said Mona, with gentle
+authority, finding her questions unanswered.
+
+"Nannie Ackman."
+
+"And where do you live?"
+
+"Up on the hill."
+
+Nannie started and moaned sharply again, and then lifted her
+tear-stained face. "O please,—I can't help it, it does hurt so," she
+whispered, with catches in her breath.
+
+Mona noticed how the child crouched forward, all drawn together with
+pain. She noted too, in a more passing way, the careful mending of the
+little one's short scarlet petticoat, and the neatness of the long
+black hair, and the cleanliness of the small face and hands, unaware
+how much Madge Hardwicke had had to do with the same.
+
+"Nannie, what is it that hurts you so much?" she asked gently. "Tell me
+what it is, dear."
+
+She sat down on the long grass, and lifted Nannie into her lap, but the
+movement, though most tenderly performed, caused almost a scream of
+anguish. "What can be the matter? Nannie, poor child, can't you tell
+me?" Mona asked, in real distress. "Have you had a fall, or has any one
+hurt you? Where is the pain?"
+
+She hardly needed to ask the latter question, after the way in which
+the child's hands were clenched over her chest. "It's here, an' all
+through an' my back," Nannie gasped incoherently. "O please tell
+Madge—I did try—and I couldn't be patient."
+
+"Madge Hardwicke, do you mean?" asked Mona, trying to support Nannie in
+the easiest possible position.
+
+"Yes, and I did try," sobbed Nannie, breaking down, "but it does hurt
+so dreadful, I couldn't keep in no longer."
+
+"Have you had this pain before to-day, Nannie?"
+
+"O no, 'cause father never hit me there before, nor so hard."
+
+"Your father! You don't mean to say he has done this!"
+
+"O I didn't mean to tell, I didn't," cried Nannie, roused to the
+sense of what she had said, by the indignation in Mona's tone. "O
+please—nobody mustn't know—'cause—"
+
+She had tried to raise herself in her excitement, and another scream
+cut short the words. "Hush, Nannie, hush; you must lie down and keep
+still," said Mona gravely. "What made your father treat you in such a
+way? Tell me his name, and where you live."
+
+"He's Amos Ackman, and we live right up on the hill, next door to Madge
+Hardwicke," said Nannie, gasping painfully between her sobs. "And
+nobody mustn't ever know, please,—please,—"
+
+"Nannie, does your father often strike you?"
+
+"He's never done it so bad before, and he didn't think to make me fall
+over this time, he didn't. Poor father! Madge says it's all along
+'cause he's so cross with the rheumatiz, and so it is. He don't know no
+better."
+
+The words, in their eager forgiveness, brought a rush of tears to
+Mona's eyes. "Knows no better?" she repeated mechanically.
+
+"No, 'cause he don't love God," whispered Nannie, under her breath.
+"And Madge and I've settled I'd better bear, and not grumble at
+nothing; 'cause, if I do, father 'll mayhap be longer learning to
+love Him. And if he's too long, maybe he won't be in time for the
+Resurrection-day."
+
+The tears overflowed, and came dropping down on Nannie's brow so fast,
+that Nannie looked up in wonder to see what made the strange young lady
+cry. "Nannie, where is your father?" asked Mona, unheeding her surprise.
+
+"Down yonder, picking of blackberries. He don't know I'm here,"
+whispered Nannie, shrinking. "He's a deal angered, 'cause you know I
+couldn't go to sell blackberries on Sunday. And he said he'd make me
+to-morrow; and I said it 'ud be wrong, and then—he didn't mean to more
+than push me neither. He don't know it's so bad."
+
+"If he does not know, he 'ought' to know," Mona thought. And in one
+of those bursts of burning indignation, to which the gentlest natures
+are sometimes prone, she did that which she would have been incapable
+of even attempting in her cooler moments. Without saying a word to
+Nannie, and without even being clearly aware of her own intentions, she
+took the child in her arms, and walked straight down the hill, in the
+direction pointed out by Nannie.
+
+Whether or no Nannie guessed her intentions, she offered no objection.
+Perhaps she saw a resolution in Mona's flushed cheeks and firmly-set
+lips, which would not be easily overcome. Perhaps the motion caused by
+Mona's walk caused suffering too acute to admit of any thought beyond
+that of self-control. At all events, neither of the two spoke, till
+they came suddenly upon the ragged uncouth figure, whose identity was
+made plain to Mona, alike by his half-filled blackberry basket and by
+Nannie's shiver of fear.
+
+"Is your name Amos Ackman?" Mona inquired, presenting herself abruptly
+before him, and dashing in fearless fashion straight to the point.
+
+"Be!" said Amos surlily, the former part of the sentence being merely
+an inarticulate growl.
+
+[Illustration: "And is this your little girl?"
+ "That's Nan," said Amos. "Idle little hussy she be,
+  wastin' of her time, an' doin' nought but play."]
+
+"And is this your little girl?"
+
+"That's Nan," said Amos. "Idle little hussy she be, wastin' of her
+time, an' doin' nought but play."
+
+"Play!" repeated Mona indignantly. "She is in no state for play, or
+work either. Do you know that you might be severely punished for your
+cruelty?"
+
+"Eh?" said Amos.
+
+The tone was sullenly non-comprehensive. "Look here," said Mona. "See
+what you have done to her."
+
+Amos stared stolidly, and repeated, "Eh?"
+
+"Do you know you have hurt her so terribly that she cannot stand or
+walk? If you go on in this way, you will end by becoming a murderer!"
+said Mona, in her warmth. "You, a father, to behave so to your poor
+little child!"
+
+"Can't walk, eh? She's all a humbuggin'," growled Amos. "Get down, will
+yer, Nan?"
+
+Mona held the little helpless figure more closely. "You are
+heartless,—wicked," she said, hardly able to find words for her
+passionate indignation and pity, while Nannie burst into tears, and
+sobbed out,—
+
+"O father, I didn't mean to tell! I'm sorry."
+
+"Dare say yer didn't, too," said Amos, with an unmistakable scowl this
+time. "Sorry, are yer? I'll make yer sorry, an' no mistake, afore yer a
+day older."
+
+"You shall not dare. You would kill her," cried Mona. "You shall not
+lay a finger on her again. I will take her home with me."
+
+"Take her away, will yer? Yer 'd just better!"
+
+Mona quailed before the ferocity of those shaggy eyebrows.
+
+"I don't want to go, father," said Nannie, more calmly than she had yet
+spoken. "I'd a deal rather stay with you."
+
+"I shall tell my uncle, Mr. Chetwynd, about it all, and see what he
+will say," Mona answered. "I can't think how you could dare to treat a
+poor little helpless girl in such a cowardly brutal way. I wonder you
+could dare."
+
+"Nan's not a-going to go away from home," was the only response.
+
+"I shall take her up to Madge Hardwicke. My uncle will settle the
+matter by-and-by."
+
+Mona could not trust herself to say more. She turned hastily away, and
+walked again up the hill.
+
+Glancing back once, she saw Amos Ackman shuffling down the path in
+the opposite direction. Not till he was out of sight, did she find
+how unfitted was her own strength for the task she had undertaken.
+At any time, unless under the strongest excitement, her slender arms
+were unequal to the bearing of such a burden, and now the reaction
+from her interview was a fit of nervous trembling from head to foot.
+She struggled on a few more paces, and then sank down on the grass, so
+completely spent that there was nothing for it but to await a renewal
+of strength, or the help of a passer-by. Not many people, however, went
+up and down the path on this side of the hill.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+NAT TYRRELL'S NOTIONS.
+
+"YOU'RE a good woman, Madge. I don't know a better. And my little girl
+is main grateful to you, for taking so much trouble with her. Seems to
+me, though, that you've got a wrong crank or two into your brain."
+
+"Maybe," said Madge placidly. She was standing outside her
+cottage-door, that same Saturday afternoon, having just seen the last
+of nearly a dozen little barefooted damsels, who were wont to run up
+the hill once a week, for half-an-hour's Bible reading with Madge, as
+a preparation for the Sunday following. "I've taken many a crank into
+my head, and been set right in it, before now, and I dare say I'll take
+many another. We're none of us gifted with over-clear sight."
+
+"A man holding the Word of God for his rule, needs never to go wrong,"
+said Nat Tyrrell decisively.
+
+"No, he don't need, and a man walking in full daylight needs never
+to stumble, but there's no doubt he often do and often will, in both
+cases," responded Madge. "What's the crank I've hold of now, Nat?"
+
+Nat's answer was another question: "What's your reading been about
+to-day?"
+
+"Asking God for what we want."
+
+"Thought so," said Nat.
+
+"Yes, you had your head against the lattice, last part of the time,"
+said Madge in her quiet way.
+
+Nat laughed, half inclined to blush also. "Well, you see, I knowed
+you'd have no objection."
+
+"Not a bit. Have out with your say, Nat. I'm waiting to be set right."
+
+"Well, look you here," said Nat, noways unwilling to assume the
+pleasant office of mentor, "I didn't just like all you was telling of
+the children, to go and pray for everything they wanted, and they'd get
+it."
+
+"No, I didn't promise that neither," said Madge. "I told them they'd
+get it, if 'twas God's will."
+
+"Yes, and nothing was ever too small to pray about, you said—not even
+if 'twas a bit of food, or a wish for something you couldn't get."
+
+"Well," said Madge. "Don't the Bible say, 'In everything . . . let your
+requests be made known unto God . . .'¹?"
+
+   ¹ Phil. iv. 6.
+
+"Yes, but it don't mean everything of that kind," said Nat.
+
+"What does it mean?" Madge wanted to know.
+
+"It don't mean that," repeated Nat Tyrrell. "It means seeking pardon
+and forgiveness, and God's glory, and man's salvation."
+
+"And they're great things to pray for, sure enough, but you can't say
+they're just quite 'everything' to us in this life," responded Madge.
+"I'd like to know the texts you have found in other parts, to make the
+meaning of this clear to you in that light, Nat."
+
+"'Tain't one text in partic'lar," said Nat, sheering off from an
+awkward request. "Seems to me, Madge, you forget that God is the mighty
+Creator of the whole universe, when you talk of troubling Him with your
+little fidgets. Asking Him about such foolish matters as a hard lesson,
+or a broken toy, or a sharp word from another, as I heard you telling
+the children—why, 'tis downright profanation."
+
+Madge looked across to the wide blue waste of water, heaving and
+tossing ceaselessly in its boundless power, then glanced at the bushes
+by her side, where a bright-breasted robin, on an early autumn visit,
+hopped daintily from twig to twig.
+
+"I don't know," she said at length. "I'm thinking, Nat, that if you'd
+been at a bedside once, where a little child was called from the dead,
+and the next thing the Lord did, was to tell them to give her a bit of
+food—I'm thinking you'd have stepped forward, and said, 'Master, isn't
+it profanation to think of anything so poor as meat and drink, after
+you've been working so mighty a miracle?'"
+
+Nat looked rather at a loss.
+
+"And then He cares for the sparrows," Madge went on, after a little
+break. "And we're of more value yet. And the very hairs of our heads
+are all numbered. It don't seem to me that the Lord's measure of great
+and little is the same at all that ours is. I'm quite sure of one
+thing, and that is, that whatever has aught to do with our happiness,
+isn't too small for Him to attend to. Besides, don't He tell us plainly
+to ask for all we want?"
+
+"Yes, but you don't seem to remember, Madge, that all them promises are
+to be taken in the spirit, and not in the letter."
+
+"And that's what I try to do, too. There's that verse—'Delight thyself
+also in the Lord, and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart.' ¹
+
+"Don't I know well enough it means only if the desire of my heart
+isn't for anything against His will. And it's the same with another
+promise—'Ye shall ask "what ye will," and it shall be done unto you.' ²
+But taking them in the spirit don't mean putting them aside altogether,
+Nat."
+
+   ¹ Ps. xxxvii. 4.   ² John xv. 7.
+
+"'Ask what ye will' of spiritual good, it means, Madge. The 'desire of
+your heart' hadn't ought to be for anything but spiritual benefits, and
+if you delight in God, He'll give you those, sure enough."
+
+"I don't find it so in my Bible," maintained Madge stoutly. "I've
+a love for taking Bible words as they are, and not adding my own
+explainings. Didn't Mr. Prior tell us to take care of that very danger,
+only last Sunday?"
+
+"I didn't take him to mean exactly that," said Nat.
+
+"I'd ask him if I was you," said Madge securely. "But about those words
+now—if you was to come to me, Nat, and say, 'Ask what you will, Madge,
+and I'll give it you,' I'd take you at your word, and ask many a thing,
+supposing of course it was in your power to give. And when my Lord
+says, 'Ask what you will, Madge,' mayn't I take Him at His word too,
+or am I to make out that He don't speak my language, or that His words
+has a scantier meaning than if you or I was to use them? Why, I tell
+you, Nat, I've tried Him right often, and tested His promises times and
+again. And He's given me the things I wanted too—given 'em so quick and
+full that I'm like to be half-frightened I can get my wishes so easy.
+And then you'd have me draw back, and never ask again. Seems to me,
+Nat, that while God says, 'Ask,' you go and say, 'Don't ask.'"
+
+"'Tis a terrible responsibility, Madge, to insist on having our own
+will in prayer," said Nat, slipping from one ground of argument to
+another.
+
+"You're right enough there," rejoined Madge, with quickness. "Didn't
+the Israelites do it, and got their wish, when God 'gave them their
+request but sent leanness into their soul'? I've a dread of that, I can
+tell you."
+
+"And yet go on a-doing the same!" said Nat.
+
+"Not if I know it," said Madge temperately. "If 'tis according to God's
+will, He hears me. I'd never dare, Nat, to say more than this—'Lord,
+I've a wish for that thing or the other, and I make a particular
+request to have it, if 'tis Thy will; and if not, Thy will be done.'
+And times are when He don't give me my wish at all, though it's oftener
+He do. If He keeps back the thing I want, He's pretty sure to give me a
+smile to make up for it, though,—and I don't know as I wouldn't rather
+have that of the two," Madge added softly, a gleam breaking over her
+own face the while.
+
+She was getting out of Nat Tyrrell's depth, and because he could not
+understand her, he thought she was running astray. "I'm afeared you've
+a good many more cranks than one in your brain, Madge," he said,
+shaking his head.
+
+"Like enough," said Madge quietly. "Only 'tis no crank I'm telling you
+of now, Nat. I'll not say, though, that you haven't a bit of truth
+either in your thought. Maybe there are some in the world who've so
+given up their will to God, as to have scarce a wish apart from Him.
+That is what David meant, it seems to me, when he said, 'One thing have
+I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after;' and that one thing,
+you know, was to dwell in the House of the Lord, and know ever more of
+Him. I do think, Nat, that to have no will at all of my own for earthly
+things, but only to care to know the will of God, would be a sort of
+heaven on earth. But I haven't reached to that yet,—though I'll strive
+more for it after to-day, so you see you've taught me a lesson, for all
+we don't think just alike. Only so long as I 'have' a strong will, and
+ever so many wishes always rising up, I'll make them all known to my
+Lord, every single one, and leave the answering of them in His hands."
+
+And then, after a thoughtful silence, Madge suddenly turned, and
+exclaimed at the sight of Mona Clyde, seated in an exhausted position
+on the little bench, holding the apparently senseless form of Nannie
+Ackman.
+
+"I could not help sitting still to hear what you were saying, and you
+were talking so busily that you did not see me," explained Mona, with
+a faint smile. "Did you mind, Mrs. Hardwicke? I thought you would not.
+Please take Nannie. I am so tired!"
+
+"Why, poor little lass, some harm has come to her surely!" exclaimed
+Nat, as he lifted the child in his strong arms.
+
+Madge, with her usual habit of never wasting words on emergencies,
+stepped inside the cottage and brought a glass of water to Mona,
+waiting silently to be made acquainted with facts.
+
+"Thank you, I am better now," and Mona sat up, with a sigh. "I thought
+I should never get to the top of the hill, and I stumbled so that I
+think she has fainted with pain. O Madge—Mrs. Hardwicke, I mean—it
+is that wicked father of hers. He has hurt the poor little creature
+dreadfully, and if you let her go back to him, I think he will end
+by killing her. I wanted to take her home with me, but he would not
+consent. What can be done, Mrs. Hardwicke?"
+
+"I'm Madge to everybody, please, Miss Mona," was the quiet answer.
+"There's room for Nannie in my cottage, and her father 'll never dare
+to touch her here."
+
+Voice and manner were alike unruffled, yet Mona felt sure that it
+was no shallow stream of sorrow and indignation which flowed below.
+Madge Hardwicke's first care was to bring forward the one easy-chair
+the cottage contained, and settle in it her weary young visitor, with
+cushion and stool. Mona submitted, from lack of power to do anything
+else, and then lay back silently, watching Madge's further movements,
+through the open bedroom door, with a curious feeling of pleasant trust
+in the calm self-possession and tender motherliness of all that she did.
+
+It did not take Madge long to undress Nannie and lay her in her own
+bed. She came back to Mona when that was done—her face a trifle graver.
+"I'm thinking, Miss Mona, I'll get Nat Tyrrell to call and ask the
+doctor to step up here. Maybe by then you'll be rested enough to walk
+back with him."
+
+"He expected to be home by six," said Mona. "Why, it is nearly that
+now. O yes, I shall soon be rested nicely. But do you think little
+Nannie is much hurt?"
+
+"It is hard to know, Miss Mona. She's come to herself, and she's in a
+deal of pain, poor little one! She tries to make out her father didn't
+mean to hurt her when he struck at her, only she fell over a root, and
+her back came against a sharp stump in the ground. But her poor chest
+is all black and blue with the weight of his hand, and she can scarce
+breathe for the pain."
+
+Madge Hardwicke's own hand stole furtively over her eyes.
+
+"It is cruel—horrible," Mona repeated, sitting up. "It is worse than a
+man would treat his dog. I don't know what uncle Chetwynd will say."
+
+Madge went away to despatch Nat Tyrrell on his errand to the doctor,
+and then returned to watch by the side of the suffering child, while
+Mona sat still in her chair, until the doctor came.
+
+"You ain't going to get father punished now," were the first words that
+saluted Mr. Chetwynd's ears, as he walked to the bedside.
+
+It was a very wan little face that looked up at him from the white
+pillow, over which Nannie's long black hair strayed carelessly. She
+spoke with feverish haste, catching her breath sharply between the
+words, and her small hands were wrung together in a tight clasp. The
+doctor noted all, but merely remarked:—
+
+"Well, I don't quite know, little one. How are you now?"
+
+"He ain't going to be punished," repeated Nannie. "Father ain't. He
+didn't mean no harm."
+
+"Where are you hurt, Nannie?" asked Mr. Chetwynd.
+
+"I'm hurt all over. It wasn't his fault," repeated the child, with
+passionate earnestness, a bright flush coming into her cheeks, and a
+rush of tears to her eyes. "He was only cross, and didn't know it 'ud
+be so bad. And if you go and have him took up, and put into prison,
+it'll be all over. O Madge, it'll be all over."
+
+Nannie sobbed so bitterly, that the doctor's curiosity was roused.
+"What will be over, Nannie?"
+
+"'Cause Madge and I have asked so that father 'd learn to love God,
+and if he goes to prison, he'll have nobody to teach him," said Nannie
+tearfully. "And maybe he wouldn't ever live to come out, or I wouldn't
+live to see him."
+
+It was a little child's fashion of looking on the question, and Mr.
+Chetwynd, detecting the weak point in a moment with his critical eye,
+had a veiled sneer on the tip of his tongue. But Madge was beforehand
+with him, and quietly extracted its sting.
+
+"That don't make no real difference, Nannie. Maybe it's neither you nor
+I that can teach him the great lesson. God can have him taught just as
+easy down in the prison as up here."
+
+Nannie, however, did not seem to find much comfort in that thought,
+and evidently considered, to her great distress, that Madge was siding
+against her father. She sobbed long struggling sobs, which shook her
+all over, and brought on terrible pain. It became hard to decide
+whether the fears for her father were not almost forgotten in those
+sharp cries of bodily anguish, but Mr. Chetwynd could stand out no
+longer, and tried the effect of a consoling, "Well, well, Nannie, it
+shall be as you wish. I will take no steps in the matter at present,
+beyond giving your father a few words on the subject. Only try not to
+cry so, my dear, or you will make yourself worse."
+
+Madge's touch had more effect than the doctor's voice, and Nannie's
+excitement gradually stilled. It was well for her peace of mind that
+Mr. Chetwynd had given his promise before he became acquainted with the
+extent of the child's injuries. He brought his brows together sternly,
+and drew in his breath almost as sharply as Nannie herself in her pain,
+when he saw the deep bruise upon her chest. A careful examination
+followed, during which few words passed the doctor's lips. He beckoned
+Madge into the outer room at the close, leaving Mona to watch over the
+worn-out child.
+
+"What are we to do, Madge?" were his first words.
+
+"About what, sir?"
+
+"Nannie, of course. She can't go back to her father's. It is unsafe,
+and besides, he could not nurse her as she will need to be nursed."
+
+"Do you think her much hurt, sir?" asked Madge.
+
+He made an expressive movement of his head. "Can't say yet to a
+certainty. The blow on the chest is bad enough, but the injury to the
+spine may prove worse in the end. It will be a matter of lying up for
+weeks at all events—months in all probability. I would not speak so
+openly to any one else, mind you."
+
+"No, sir," said Madge, accepting the compliment with her usual
+calmness, which always gave the doctor a certain baffled feeling.
+
+"The only plan is to get her off to the hospital, though how she will
+bear the moving I don't know."
+
+"I doubt but she's as well off where she is now," said Madge.
+
+"Couldn't be better off anywhere than under your wing, Madge. I'm
+willing enough to aid in expenses, and so will Mr. Prior be, I don't
+doubt. But how about trouble?"
+
+"If it's the work put in my way for me to do, I don't see as the
+trouble makes any difference," Madge answered.
+
+So the matter was settled there and then, with few more words about
+it, and little Nannie became for an indefinite time an inmate of Madge
+Hardwicke's cottage.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+QUESTIONINGS.
+
+"UNCLE, have you known Madge Hardwicke a great many years?"
+
+"Just as long as I have lived in Alyn, my dear."
+
+"All that time! And how did you first come across her?"
+
+It was something so unusual for Mona to start anything in the way of
+conversation, that the doctor was delighted. He sat upright, stirring
+carefully the cup of tea which Mona had handed to him, on his awaking
+from a brief after-dinner nap.
+
+"Curiously, rather. She was the first person in the place with whom I
+exchanged a word, if we except porters and cabmen. When I drove up to
+my garden-gate from the station, Madge happened to be standing close
+outside, resting for a moment on her way up the hill. I suppose her
+pleasant face fascinated me, for I was not wont to be particularly
+sociable in those days with strangers. However, she dropped that quaint
+curtsey of hers, and we struck up an acquaintance then and there in the
+road. She has been a regular stand-by of mine ever since. If I happen
+to have a desperate case which nobody else can manage, I send for Madge
+Hardwicke. I don't know how many lives she has saved among my patients."
+
+"Was she a widow then, uncle?"
+
+"Dear me, no. Have I never told you the poor thing's history? Her
+husband was a sailor,—one of those manly open-hearted fellows whom
+everybody likes. I suppose that little cottage up on the cliff was one
+of the happiest homes in Alyn, not to say England. There never were
+husband and wife better suited to each other than Ned and Madge. And
+to make matters perfect, they had one child, about the most splendid
+specimen of small boyhood I ever knew. To see Ned Hardwicke on a summer
+evening in his garden, playing with that child, and Madge standing
+by with her smiling pride in both of them,—I declare it was worth a
+five miles' walk. There wasn't a house in Alyn that I used so to enjoy
+visiting."
+
+"Was Ned Hardwicke a good man?" asked Mona.
+
+"A first-rate husband and father, as brave as a lion, and by natural
+sequence as gentle as a lamb. As religious as Madge herself, which I
+suppose is what you mean. They were quite agreed on all points, which
+of course is desirable in husband and wife."
+
+"How did he die?" asked Mona.
+
+"It was a sudden death," said the doctor, doubting all at once whether
+the tale were a very good one for Mona to hear. He found, however, that
+he had no choice about proceeding. "Just going off to his boat one
+morning, and had said good-bye to his wife. He went to the edge of the
+cliff to look over, stood there whistling a moment, and then the earth
+gave way beneath his feet, and he fell down the sheer three hundred
+feet. He was dead when he reached the bottom."
+
+Mona shuddered, and grew white.
+
+"Madge was like a frantic woman the first few minutes, they said; and
+when she found that all was over, she appeared stunned. I used to
+wonder whether she would ever rally. But when the funeral was passed,
+she seemed to step out into fresh life, grave and quiet as she is now,
+but ready and busy and capable. I suppose Neill was her great comfort
+all that time."
+
+"The baby?" asked Mona.
+
+"He was not a baby then. I ought to have made you understand. Neill was
+eight or nine years old when his father died—the most beautiful child
+I ever saw, and desperately wilful, in spite of all their judicious
+training. The fact is, people spoilt him by too much notice. There was
+no preventing it. Hardly a visitor walked over the hill who didn't make
+friends with Neill for the sake of his handsome face. Artists would
+come, and beg to have him for a subject, and folks talked about him to
+that degree in his hearing, that the boy's head was completely turned.
+It was a great trouble to Madge, poor thing. I think she would almost
+have given all she possessed to have had her boy no better-looking than
+other boys, though she could not help being proud of him."
+
+"Well?" said Mona.
+
+"Well, then came poor Ned's terrible death, and the boy seemed sobered
+down for a time. But, naturally enough, the impression passed off, and
+he grew more wild than ever, and got among a number of bad companions.
+He was always very fond of his mother, and had plenty of penitent fits;
+but he generally went off and did something worse than usual after
+them. The last few months he seemed to grow harder, and his face quite
+lost the pleasant look it used to have."
+
+"And then, what happened to him?"
+
+"He ran away, and has never been heard of since."
+
+"Poor Madge! Poor Madge!" said Mona compassionately.
+
+"Ay, poor thing, it has been a sad trouble to her. Four years ago that
+was, and no one can say now whether Neill is alive or dead. My own
+impression is that he must be dead. Otherwise, I think he would have
+written. But of course I don't try to destroy her faith in his return."
+
+"O no; it would be cruel."
+
+"Though, on the other hand, I don't count it wise to nurse a feeling of
+too great certainty on her part," added the doctor, recollecting divers
+remarks of his own, which had not savoured of over-encouragement.
+
+"How she can look so cheerful, with such a lonely life to live!" Mona
+murmured, half to herself.
+
+"'Tis a marvel, I don't deny. And it is not with Madge, as with some
+people, that she get easily over her sorrow, and takes up other
+interests. Honestly I don't believe a single day ever passes that that
+woman does not pray for Neill's return and set herself to look out
+for his coming in answer to her prayer. I don't understand—I can't
+understand it," repeated the doctor, in genuine perplexity. Nor was
+it possible that he should understand, the said habit of prayer and
+trust being simply an absolute delusion in his eyes. "I can understand
+forgetfulness or long-continued sorrow—either the one or the other—but
+how she keeps on her grief, and yet contrives to live such a happy
+life, is past my comprehension. The woman is a mystery, but a very
+agreeable one."
+
+"I like her—oh, more than I can tell," said Mona. "Only I do wonder a
+little that you and she get on so well together."
+
+"Get on splendidly, I assure you," said the doctor, smiling. "She is
+the most useful woman, and the most unobtrusive creature, in the world.
+O I see,—you mean on account of our religious views."
+
+Mona winced at the air of mild superiority.
+
+"Well, we each leave the other room for our respective opinions to
+enjoy full swing. Madge and I have cracked many a hard nut in the way
+of discussion, and I fancy she has pretty nearly abandoned hopes of
+converting me by this time. Finds me rather a tough subject," added the
+doctor complacently.
+
+Mona's two hands, lying in a careless clasp upon her knee, tightened
+and quivered suddenly.
+
+"That little Nannie, now, is a singular example of the forgiving
+nature of children," observed Mr. Chetwynd, after a pause. "It does
+not seem to occur to her for a moment that she has any real reason for
+resentment against her father."
+
+"Poor little child!" said Mona. "It is very sweet of her."
+
+"There is something particularly charming in a child's innocent ways,"
+remarked the doctor.
+
+For, having had no children or brothers, and but one yielding sister
+of his own, he was quite able to believe that a readiness to forgive
+injuries is the universal characteristic of childhood. Mona knew
+better, through practical experience, but would not risk a discussion
+by saying so.
+
+Conversation flagged thenceforward, from lack of response on Mona's
+part, and the doctor presently, finding himself disposed to yawn,
+advised her to retire to rest after the day's fatigues. Mona accepted
+the hint, and went to her own room.
+
+She was tired enough to be glad to remove her dress, and put on her
+dressing-gown, and let her hair fall loosely about her shoulders. But
+after that stage, advance was slow. According to the habit of years,
+she took out her Bible, sat down in the white easy-chair, with a candle
+by her side, and began to read.
+
+Or rather, she tried to begin. Wearily and listlessly her eyes
+travelled down the lines through the greater part of a chapter. And
+then it struck her that she had taken in the sense of not one single
+verse, so she went over it a second time, with just the same success.
+A third time, but she broke off in the middle hopelessly, and leant
+back in her chair, clasping her hands over her eyes with a bitter sigh.
+Only a few weeks back, she had read those same words to her mother, and
+had seen them full of heavenly peace and joy. And they were nothing to
+her now. Senselessly and drearily, as the dead autumn leaf falls from
+the half-bare tree, fell those cold Bible words on Mona's heart—those
+utterances which had once been instinct with such fervent loving life.
+
+[Illustration: She broke off in the middle hopelessly,
+ and leant back in her chair.]
+
+Why were they so different? In old days, she could scarcely open upon a
+chapter in the Bible, which had not its living lesson for her soul. No
+divinely-sent message of sweet and holy power came ever to her spirit
+now.
+
+How could it come? For even as she read, dark questionings came rising
+in her heart, like a cloud between her and the light. Or, as with the
+Pilgrim Good-Intent, when he fled through bewildering underground
+passages, from the false Philosopher's house, which he had rashly
+entered—as with him, so with Mona, did clouds of winged creatures,
+called Doubts, flap thickly around, hiding with their rustling wings
+the shining of the holy page before her. And Mona had allowed these
+questionings to hold sway, till at last, she had lost all power to set
+them aside.
+
+What to believe, and what not to believe! How to reconcile the
+seemingly conflicting elements of revealed truth! Whether there
+were reality in Madge Hardwicke's faith on the one hand, or in Mr.
+Chetwynd's unbelief on the other! What of prayer and foreknowledge? And
+what of faith and works? And what of election and free choice? And what
+of this, that, and the other? Poor girl, she was tossed sorely to and
+fro, in a very whirlpool of misery. And she ended by pushing the book
+aside, and flinging herself on her knees, with her face pressed down on
+her folded arms, and short sobs breaking through the words which strove
+for utterance:—
+
+   "O if I only knew what to do, and what to believe! If I only had some
+one to tell me clearly what is truth! Mother—mother—surely you cannot
+have been utterly mistaken. Such loving trust as yours was—and I used
+to think I had a little of the same, but it is all gone now. Is uncle
+Chetwynd really wiser than you were? He is clever and kind, and he has
+studied his Bible too. It is not as if he had never learnt what I have.
+I don't know what to do, or who to believe. O mother, it is such a dark
+dark sky over me, and it seems as if heaven and everything were gone.
+O God, save me. O God, please teach me. 'Thou wilt show me the path of
+life.' It is in Thy Word, and Thou hast promised—promised—and Thou must
+not break Thy word. 'Lead me forth to the light, and let me behold Thy
+righteousness. O send out Thy light and Thy truth—let them lead me, let
+them bring me unto Thy holy hill, and to Thy tabernacles.'"
+
+She found herself instinctively falling into Bible expressions, and the
+very sound of the familiar words from her own lips seemed to bring a
+shade of comfort.
+
+   "O God, for the sake of Thy dear Son, leave me not to perish. 'In Thy
+faithfulness answer me, and in Thy righteousness . . . For the enemy
+hath persecuted my soul; he hath smitten my life down to the ground; he
+hath made me to dwell in darkness, as those that have been long dead.
+Therefore is my spirit overwhelmed within me; my heart within me is
+desolate . . . I stretch forth my hands unto Thee; my soul thirsteth
+after Thee, as a thirsty land. Hear me speedily, O Lord, my spirit
+faileth; hide not Thy face from me, lest I be like unto them that go
+down into the pit . . . Cause me to know the way wherein I should walk;
+for I lift up my soul unto Thee . . . Quicken me, O Lord, for Thy
+Name's sake; for Thy righteousness' sake bring my soul out of trouble.'
+
+   "O Lord, I have gone astray—utterly astray—'like a lost sheep.' I can't
+get back. I am helpless—hopeless—all in the dark. 'Seek Thy servant,
+for I do not forget Thy commandments.' O hear me, for my Saviour's
+sake, and have mercy, have mercy upon me."
+
+And then, after those low broken cries for help, she knelt on
+silently—neither struggling nor praying, surrounded still with
+darkness, and unable yet to trust. But down below, one little gleam of
+comfort had reached her. For, in spite of all her questionings, the
+power to pray had not forsaken her; and not all her doubtings could
+entirely do away with the consciousness that One above, of infinite
+power and boundless love, had listened to her cry.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+MADGE HARDWICKE'S FAITH.
+
+"GOOD morning, Amos," said Madge Hardwicke affably, coming out of her
+cottage about half-past twelve on the following day, and finding him
+for the first time seated on his bench.
+
+"Mornin'," responded Amos, with a scowl which did not improve his
+countenance.
+
+"Don't you want to know how Nannie is, poor little lass?"
+
+"Idle little hussy—all a humbuggin' she be," growled Amos.
+
+"There's never a taste of humbug in aught that Nan does," said Madge.
+"She's true to the backbone. Amos Ackman, you'd ought to be kneeling
+down yonder in your cottage, giving thanks to God that He's kept you
+from being a downright murderer, 'stead of doing nothing but sit there
+and abuse folks."
+
+Madge did not often speak so strongly, but her feelings were much
+stirred for Nannie's sake. She checked herself, however, and only
+added—"I've been up with the child 'most all night."
+
+"More fool you!" said Amos.
+
+"'Tis a good thing, seems to me, that I'm not doing it for thanks,"
+said Madge, half-smiling, as she turned away. "Nan's been in a deal of
+pain, but she's just dropped off to sleep the last half-hour."
+
+Asleep, and so soundly asleep, after hours of suffering, that nothing
+served to waken her until nearly four o'clock in the afternoon. And
+when she opened her eyes, it was to see Mona Clyde standing with Madge
+Hardwicke by her side.
+
+Nannie gave one exclamation of pleasure, and then found herself
+forbidden by the careful Madge to enter into conversation, till she had
+had some refreshment. A small basket in their visitor's hand was found
+to contain a supply of calf's-foot jelly, and Mona herself sat down on
+the bed, spoon in hand, to minister to the wants of the little sick
+child.
+
+"It's ever so nice," said Nannie softly. "Was it the doctor sent it?"
+
+"Yes," Mona said, without adding that it was by her own request. "Have
+you had enough now, Nannie? How is the pain to-day?"
+
+"It don't hurt me so to breathe," said Nannie. "But I don't seem as if
+I could hardly move. My back hurts dreadful, if I try."
+
+"I dare say that will be better soon," said Mona. "You must try to be
+patient, Nannie, and not mind lying quiet."
+
+Madge said nothing, and Nannie looked up at her somewhat anxiously.
+
+"I'll try to be patient, and I'm so tired I don't mind keeping quiet.
+But—oh, Madge, you don't think I'm going to die?"
+
+Madge arranged the bedclothes, and stroked Nannie's face with a
+soothing touch. "What's put that into your head now, Nan?"
+
+"I'd a deal rather get well," murmured Nannie, in a sorrowful voice.
+"It ain't wrong, is it, Madge? 'Cause you told us the people in the
+Bible wanted to live to be old, didn't you?"
+
+"Many of 'em," said Madge.
+
+"And I do so want to see father learn to love God," said Nannie. "I
+don't want to go to heaven till I know he's going too. And I'd rather
+wait to see the Resurrection-mornin', than die first. Wouldn't you,
+Madge?"
+
+Not Nannie alone, but Mona also, looked wistfully for the answer.
+
+"I'd like it to be as my Lord wills, Nannie," Madge said. "But if
+you've a wish either way, you've only to tell Him, you know, and He'll
+do the best that can be for you."
+
+Nannie's hands went together in a quick clasp, and her eyes closed, as
+if in prompt following of the advice given. "I've done it," she said,
+looking up presently. "Will I not die now, Madge?"
+
+"I don't think you're like to die just now, no more particularly than
+the rest of us," said Madge quietly. "But if 'twas the Master's will,
+you wouldn't sure grieve to go home with Him, 'stead of waiting on for
+Him here! What sort of a love would that be, Nannie?"
+
+"Maybe I wouldn't," said Nannie thoughtfully. "Only I'd a deal sooner
+not die, Madge, 'cause I want to see the Resurrection-day."
+
+"You'll see it, sure enough, Nannie. Only those that have died 'll rise
+first, and those that's living 'll be caught up second."
+
+"Then maybe that 'ud be best of the two," said Nannie.
+
+"I think either way 'll be best that God chooses for you," said Madge.
+
+"Maybe," repeated Nannie. And she shut her eyes again, and seemingly
+went to sleep.
+
+Madge, after waiting for a minute, made a movement as if to go into the
+other room. It was not observed, however.
+
+Mona was looking at the child's face, and suddenly raising her eyes,
+she said—"I think you and Nannie are very happy, Madge."
+
+"We'd ought to be," said Madge.
+
+"Yes—no. O I don't know," said Mona, with a deep sigh, resting her
+cheek on her hand. "I suppose nothing in the world makes one so happy
+as faith. And yet—if—"
+
+"If what, Miss Mona?" asked Madge, marvelling at the girl's quivering
+lips.
+
+"If there should 'not' be truth in it all?" said Mona passionately.
+"How do we know? How can anything be proved? Madge, don't tell anybody
+what I am saying to you. But do you ever have doubts?—Or is your faith
+always the same?"
+
+"Doubts of my Lord's love?" asked Madge, with some wonder in her tone.
+
+"Not that in particular. Of everything—of
+God—heaven—religion—everything, Madge?"
+
+"I know what they are," said Madge serenely.
+
+"And what do you do when they come?"
+
+"Take 'em straight to my Lord, and ask Him to settle 'em for me."
+
+Mona looked up earnestly without speaking.
+
+"You see it's Satan's work—all that," said Madge. "And when he's too
+strong for me, I just call on my Captain to deal with him, Miss Mona,
+and to keep me safe behind His shield."
+
+"And He does?" said Mona mechanically.
+
+"Try Him, Miss Mona,—that's all."
+
+"But, Madge—you don't understand," said Mona, sitting up with a little
+start, as if waking from a momentary feeling of repose. "You don't
+understand me. That would do for some doubts, but not for all. That is
+prayer, and what if—if—oh, Madge, I'll tell you the truth—what if I
+can't understand or believe in the power of prayer?"
+
+"Understanding's one thing, and believing's another," said Madge. "If
+you don't know the power of prayer, you'd best just try it, Miss Mona,
+if you'll let me tell you so."
+
+"I've tried it—often—and I used to believe in it. But, Madge, now look
+here," Mona went on, clasping her hands feverishly,—"I want to know how
+prayer can be answered. For don't you suppose that God knows beforehand
+all my future life, and everything that will happen to me?"
+
+Madge nodded in undoubting assent.
+
+"And if my life is all lying mapped out before me, how can my prayers
+make any difference? How can they, Madge?"
+
+"Does the Bible say it's all mapped out, Miss Mona?"
+
+"I don't know—no, not, exactly. But then it must be."
+
+"I'd never set up a 'must be' apart from the Bible, if I was you, Miss
+Mona," said Madge. "It says one thing, and that is, that the Lord
+'directeth man's steps.' Well for us that He do, too. But I can't
+remember reading ever a word about our life being all mapped out by
+God, and nothing ever to change it. I do read, how over and over
+again the Lord was going to send awful judgments on them poor sinning
+Israelites, till Moses His chosen stood between, and turned away his
+anger. Where 'd have been the good of Moses praying as he did, if it
+wasn't to gain anything?"
+
+"That is just it," said Mona. "That is it, Madge. I do pray, and I do
+try to believe I shall have an answer. But all the while, I can't help
+feeling that God has arranged everything from all eternity, and that my
+prayers can make no difference."
+
+"They're Satan's whisperings, Miss Mona," said Madge Hardwicke, with
+deeper earnestness than she had yet displayed. "Arranged everything! I
+don't say it isn't so. The Bible don't say whether He has or hasn't,
+and I durstn't be so bold as to set up myself to say it neither. But
+the Bible does say, 'Ask and it shall be given you,' and 'The effectual
+fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.' How could it avail
+much, if it could do nothing? There's where it is! There isn't a
+mightier power in the world than prayer. We don't see much of the
+working of it now, but if we could, we'd be not a little surprised to
+find how the greatest matters on earth come about sometimes, in answer
+to one good man's prayer. I'd look in the Bible and see all the answers
+to prayer if I was you, Miss Mona—Abraham, and Gideon, and Elijah, and
+Moses, and Hezekiah, and all the rest of them."
+
+"But God does know everything beforehand," murmured Mona, half to
+herself.
+
+"Sure enough He does, and it's little chance our prayers would have of
+being answered if He didn't. Haven't I often asked a thing, and it's
+come quick after?—But matters must have been working up for it weeks
+afore, and I didn't know that, only the Master knew, and was keeping
+His promise, 'Before you call, I will answer.'"
+
+Madge was silent a minute, looking pityingly at the troubled face
+before her.
+
+"Knows all beforehand! Of course He do, Miss Mona. He knew beforehand
+you were going to pray, and He arranged beforehand to answer you; or
+He knew beforehand you wasn't going to pray, and He 'didn't' arrange
+beforehand to answer you. Knew it from all Eternity,—and maybe arranged
+it from all Eternity too, only the Bible don't say that, so we can't be
+sure. It wouldn't make no difference as to the truth of the power of
+prayer,—not one bit. But 'tis a grand and awful light to look at it in,
+and I've a fear lest my weak eyes should be dazzled, and the Tempter
+should maybe seize on the moment to snare me somehow. I love a deal
+better to look up straight to God as my Father, giving me day by day
+just what I want, and tending my steps, and looking out for my prayers.
+I'd leave thinking altogether of how the answer comes about, Miss Mona,
+and just pray instead, and wait the answer. No fear but it'll come."
+
+And then there was a tapping at the outer door, and Madge moved
+away. Mona hardly noticed that she was gone, till roused by the
+courteously-uttered words—
+
+"Miss Clyde, I believe."
+
+Mona turned hastily, startled out of her abstraction, to meet the
+thoughtful face and earnest eyes with which she had grown distantly
+familiarised in Church the last few Sundays.
+
+"Mr. Prior is so kind as to come and see Nannie and read to her," Madge
+said quietly, yet with a ring of pleasure in her voice.
+
+And then Mona saw what Madge had been aware of for two or three minutes
+past, that Nannie was wide awake, and ready to bestow attention on
+anybody.
+
+But Mona had never exchanged a word with Mr. Prior since that terrible
+moment in the dark tunnel underground, when his voice had helped to
+awaken her to a sense of her loss; and the association of ideas was
+almost more than she could bear. She strangled back the threatening
+rush of tears, but Mr. Prior seemed to understand all at a glance. He
+had taken her hand in greeting, and pressing it kindly, he said—
+
+"Never mind, don't stay in here just now. I am going to have a chat
+with this poor little maiden. Will you wait in the next room, Miss
+Clyde? I have been wishing to make your acquaintance, and perhaps you
+will let me escort you down the hill."
+
+And Mona did not dream of resistance. She was glad to escape at the
+moment, but waited patiently in the front room so long as he chose to
+stay with Nannie.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+A LETTER.
+
+"I SAY, missus!"
+
+Nat Tyrrell's hearty voice rang through the cottage from the
+suddenly-opened door. Mona rose to her feet, and Nat pulled off his cap.
+
+"Beg pardon, Miss. I didn't know a lady was here. I've summat to give
+Madge that 'll please her mightily."
+
+The inner door opened as he spoke, and Madge came out, following Mr.
+Prior, who nodded pleasantly to the new comer.
+
+"Good afternoon, Tyrrell. I think I have spoken to you before now. How
+are you all at home?"
+
+As there was scarcely an individual in the parish, of any age or
+standing, with whom he had not exchanged at least a few kind words
+during this first month of his residence in Alyn, he was pretty safe
+in making the assertion. It had grown, however, to be a saying in the
+place, that Mr. Prior never forgot a face he had once seen, and Nat was
+highly flattered at the present recognition of himself.
+
+"Thank you, sir; we're all pretty well. Leastways, except that my
+wife's laid up with the rheumatics. I say, Madge, I've a letter here
+for you, right away from Australy. It's come in one from young Ned
+Blayney to his mother, and she's give it to me to bring up to you. I've
+come off as quick as ever I could, for I knew you'd be main glad to get
+it, eh, Madge?"
+
+She had received the letter from him mechanically, and now stood like
+one in a dream, clasping it firmly between two hands, with her eyes
+gazing into vacancy.
+
+"Why, she don't understand," said Nat, coming a step nearer. "I say,
+Madge, I'd open and see, if I was you. It's from Neill himself, and
+'taint bad news, I can tell you too, for Mrs. Blayney said he was all
+right."
+
+"Neill?" repeated Madge.
+
+"To be sure, yes. Why, one 'ud think you didn't care about it, instead
+of being properly thankful for your mercies," said Nat, rather
+scandalised at such an unedifying fashion of receiving the news.
+
+"Hush, Tyrrell, don't tease her," interposed Mr. Prior, in a low tone,
+seeing deeper than Nat could do. "Have a little patience."
+
+"Well, I didn't think she'd have took it so cool, I do confess,"
+muttered the disappointed Nat, while Madge lifted a pair of dim eyes to
+Mona, and said softly,—
+
+"Neill! It's his own hand too. But 'he' wanted me to think I'd never
+hear from my boy again."
+
+"Then he was very wrong," said Mona impetuously, aware who was meant.
+"Madge, don't you want to know if Neill is coming home?"
+
+Madge looked down on her own trembling fingers, as they clasped the
+folded sheet, and then again she glanced up, this time at Mr. Prior.
+
+"Seems to me I'm like Peter's friends, when they wouldn't believe their
+prayer for him was heard,—oft as I've blamed them! I've been thinking
+I'd faith in the power of prayer, and thinking I was looking out,—and
+now it's come, I can't believe 'tis true."
+
+"'Like as a father pitieth his children,'" was the quick and suggestive
+answer. "Like as you pity and love your boy—"
+
+Madge drew one deep breath, half of oppression, half of relief. "Ay,
+and God knows all along," she murmured. "Knew my weakness, didn't He,
+before I found it out myself?—And yet the letter's come. Miss Mona, I
+don't seem as if I could read. Maybe—"
+
+She held out the sheet beseechingly.
+
+Mona opened it, and read aloud the contents in their large scrawled
+handwriting:—
+
+   "DEAREST MOTHER,
+
+   "I've been a bad boy to you, haven't I? But somehow I don't think
+you'll have forgot your Neill by this, though I don't deserve you
+should think of me again. It's a shame I've never wrote to you all
+these years, but when a fellow's going on bad as I have been, he don't
+feel much like writing home, and I've had nothing good to tell you.
+
+   "It is just a few days since I met Ned Blayney. Did not know he was
+out here at all, and had not seen him since we was both at school
+together, and I used to plague him for his red hair. 'Tisn't red now,
+though. He's growed up a fine fellow. And I wish I'd gone to sea, like
+him, 'stead of trying the bush out here.
+
+   "'Twas a mere chance our finding each other out, and my happening to
+be in Melbourne at all when he was. Ned says 'twas no chance at all;
+but all I know is we comed flop across each other in the middle of
+the street, and I'd have passed him by, if he hadn't known me. And if
+I hadn't have met him just then, I'd have gone off next day to the
+diggins with Will Davis,—not the sort of fellow you'd like, mother,—and
+goodness knows where I'd have turned up next.
+
+   "I ain't going to the diggins now, though. Ned's been at me about you,
+till he's brought me round. His ship's a-starting for home again next
+week, and I've promised to come aboard and work my passage. And the
+jolly part of the matter is that it's one of the Messrs. Dundrearys',
+and it'll come straight to Alyn. So mind you keep a look-out, mother,
+for the 'Flying Albatross'—'tis a wonderful slow and dirty-looking sort
+of albatross, too—for your boy 'll be aboard. And if you don't want to
+have me, you've only to say so in a word, and I'll be off to Australia
+again a deal quicker than I come home. So no more now, mother,—
+
+                                "From your affectionate son,
+
+                                           "NEILL HARDWICKE."
+
+"Thank you, Miss Mona," were Madge's first words, and then she added
+softly,—"He's coming."
+
+"Ay, he's coming home to you again, Madge," said Nat Tyrrell. "You'd
+ought to feel a deal of thankfulness."
+
+"He's coming," repeated Madge. "And I'll see him again. He's coming
+home to me."
+
+She put down the letter, and began arranging the few things which lay
+scattered on the table, as if making tidy for her boy's arrival. The
+quick restless movements were unlike Madge's usual composure, and the
+shaking hands and trembling lips showed that the very intensity of joy
+had thrown her off her balance.
+
+Nat Tyrrell looked at her in perplexity, and opened his lips to speak
+again, but he thought better of it, in consideration of Mr. Prior's
+presence, and wisely went into the garden.
+
+"Neill coming! Don't it seem strange now?" said Madge, approaching the
+table.
+
+Mr. Prior sat there waiting in silence for the right moment. He leant a
+little forward now, and simply said:—
+
+"Mrs. Hardwicke, shall we thank God together?"
+
+Madge knelt down instantly. The words following were few in number, but
+Madge was weeping unrestrainedly before three sentences had passed his
+lips, sobbing an inarticulate response to the fervent thanks he offered
+in her name. And when, after a brief pause, they rose, she had her own
+calm face again.
+
+"Thank you, sir, it's just what I wanted," she whispered.
+
+He said good-bye, and shook hands with her kindly. Then offering his
+arm to Mona, he went out of the cottage.
+
+"She will be better alone now," was his remark in the garden. "Ah,
+Tyrrell has gone, I see."
+
+"I am so glad you were there," said Mona. "That man did not understand
+her in the least. Poor Madge! How happy she is!"
+
+"She is a woman of faith," said Mr. Prior, holding open the little
+gate for Mona to pass. "I am glad to have made her acquaintance more
+thoroughly."
+
+"Then you have been to see her before," said Mona.
+
+"Yes,—and heard her history at least half-a-dozen times. The good folks
+of Alyn are extremely communicative. What a pretty view this is, Miss
+Clyde! The outline of that headland is particularly striking."
+
+"You think, then, that Neill is coming home in answer to her prayer,"
+said Mona, as he paused at the edge of the cliff, with evident
+enjoyment of the scene.
+
+"'If ye have faith as a grain of mustard-seed—'" he answered. "But
+Neill has not come home yet. Don't hang your faith on one particular
+answer to one particular prayer, or it may perchance come to shipwreck.
+God does 'not' always see it right to grant His children's desires. You
+must look upon the matter as a whole."
+
+Mona's sigh was so low that he must have had a quick ear to hear it.
+"People sometimes do that," he said, after a pause. "They stake all
+their hope and trust on one single prayer, setting their whole heart
+upon the answer. And if God wills to deny that especial wish, away
+goes all their faith, and nothing remains but a tangle of gloomy
+doubt—doubts of His love, and doubts of His power, and doubts as to the
+use of prayer. What if a child tested his earthly father's affection
+and resources in that fashion?"
+
+What in the world had made him stumble on the very subject, of all
+others, most suited to her present frame of mind? Mona wondered not a
+little how it had come about, forgetting that he must have been well
+acquainted with the views and character of the man with whom the course
+of her life was now thrown. And she did not know how compassionately
+he had often thought of the poor young girl, whose acquaintance he
+had first made in such a singular manner, nor how he dreaded for her
+the meshes into which he too well knew she might be drawn, nor how he
+desired to rescue her. Neither was she aware of the keen intuition, by
+means of which he had already, perhaps almost unconsciously divined
+certain facts concerning the bias of her mind.
+
+If he had not known it before, her startled look up, as he spoke of
+doubts, would have shown him that he was on the right tack.
+
+"I heard of a good piece of advice once given on that subject, by
+the bye," he said, disentangling one spray of bramble from another
+with busy fingers. "A man complained to his friend of troublesome
+questionings on the subject of religion, and asked what he should
+do with them. The answer was, 'Put them aside for awhile. If they
+are worth anything, they will keep, and you can give them fuller
+consideration at some future time. If not, they will die a natural
+death. Put them aside for the present, and take your Bible, and go and
+read to dying men in the hospital about their Saviour.'"
+
+"Was that the best plan?" asked Mona.
+
+"That was one plan," he said, smiling. "Another is to meet and conquer
+them boldly—only, don't attempt it in your own strength. You will not
+get through the battle without some such temptations. Don't be afraid
+of them when they come, but meet the tempter bravely, and cling fast to
+your Lord through all."
+
+"But clinging is faith," said Mona wonderingly. "How can there be faith
+and doubting together?"
+
+"Did you never read a certain prayer, 'Lord, I believe, help Thou mine
+unbelief.' You may doubt with the head, and yet believe with the heart.
+Look here, Miss Clyde." He went a step nearer to the cliff as he spoke,
+putting aside the bramble-bushes. "Suppose you were to slip over this
+cliff, and fall down to that ledge below. Do you see it?" He held her
+hand firmly, while she leant forward to peep over, half shuddering as
+she did so. "How should I save you?"
+
+"I should think you would let down a rope."
+
+"True—or I might prefer to come down with it myself, if there were any
+one else to hold it above. But the simple rope let down by myself for
+you to grasp, is enough for my illustration. Now how much of faith
+would be needful on your part to ensure your safety?"
+
+"Of faith?" said Mona.
+
+"Yes, faith in the strength of the rope, and in my power and good-will
+to draw you up."
+
+"Why, I don't see that faith would have much to do with it, so long as
+I held tight to the rope, Mr. Prior."
+
+"Would you hold tight, if you were convinced that you could not be
+saved in that manner?"
+
+She understood, and shook her head.
+
+"There are three lines of conduct between which you might choose. In
+the first place, you might feel absolute faith in the strength of the
+rope and in me, and hold to it with cheerful unquestioning firmness.
+Then you would be safe. In the second place, you might be troubled with
+a great many doubts and speculations, as to my possible carelessness or
+indifference, and as to any possible weakness in the rope itself; and
+while tying it round you, and letting yourself be drawn up, you might
+suffer from much giddiness and fear and trembling. But then again, you
+would be safe—not one iota less safe than in the first instance, though
+far less happy. In the third place, you might place no confidence
+whatever in the offered means of escape, and insist obstinately on
+trying to climb up the cliff without its aid. And in that case, you
+would soon be dashed to pieces on the rocks below."
+
+"I think I see what you mean," she said.
+
+"You must 'lay hold on eternal life,' and that 'laying hold,' as you
+truly said, is or implies faith. But there may be faith with assurance,
+or faith without assurance. And there may be doubts with faith, or
+doubts without faith. Your head-doubts will make no difference as to
+your safety, so long as your heart clings by faith to the Saviour,
+though they may and will make much difference as to your peace."
+
+Mona wondered a little whether the pronoun were used in a general or
+personal sense. It was impossible to tell from his manner.
+
+"That is to say, they don't affect your safety, just so long as they
+do not cause you to loosen your hold on the rope," Mr. Prior added.
+And his next move was to hold out a spray of fine blackberries, with a
+pleasant,—"You don't despise country wild-fruit, do you?"
+
+"O no, I like it very much, thank you."
+
+"When are you coming to make Mrs. Prior's acquaintance? She is a
+prisoner to her sofa, or you would have seen her before now."
+
+"I should like to call some day," said Mona shyly.
+
+"Come, and make friends with my little boy too—that is, if you are fond
+of children."
+
+And they chatted so cheerfully while going down the hill, that
+Mona, when she looked back to their conversation afterwards, almost
+reproached herself for unseemly brightness so soon after her mother's
+death. But she was glad she had seen Mr. Prior, and glad he had
+talked to her thus. Her troubles were not indeed cleared away, yet
+on one point she had gained a ray of daylight through the mist. She
+was no longer tormented by the dread that because doubts assailed
+her, all faith on her part must needs have perished; or that because
+questionings rose thickly, she must not dare to pray.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+AWAITING THE MASTER'S WILL.
+
+"IT'S going to be a tremendous gale to-night, or I'm no
+weather-prophet," said the doctor.
+
+He had just stepped inside the house one dark wintry afternoon, and the
+wind, rushing in after him, flung Mona's dress fantastically to and
+fro, as she stood there,—besides threatening to put a speedy end to all
+light from the gas-burner. Mr. Chetwynd succeeded in shutting the door,
+after a short but severe struggle, and began divesting himself of his
+wraps.
+
+"I have been listening to the wind for the last hour," said Mona,
+helping him to disentangle one arm from a rather tight coat-sleeve.
+"Isn't it dreadfully boisterous, uncle?"
+
+"It carried away all my breath, my dear, and I have pretty powerful
+lungs too. It would sweep you off bodily, I suspect. Whew!—It's cold.
+My hands have nearly disappeared, so far as sensation is concerned. I
+hope nobody is going to be taken ill to-night. It's the sort of weather
+to make a man prefer his own fireside."
+
+"I have built up a fine large fire," said Mona, retreating before him
+into the drawing-room. "Don't you call that a splendid glow? What a
+gust! It seems as if it would shake the house down."
+
+"The house was built to withstand a considerable amount of shaking,
+fortunately for us at the present moment," said the doctor, expanding
+himself before the blaze with an air of enjoyment. "Thank you, my
+dear,—you know how to make a man's home comfortable, I see. Better in
+here than out on the sea to-night."
+
+"Ah, I was thinking about the poor sailors."
+
+"I went to see Mrs. Blayney, an hour ago," said Mr. Chetwynd. "Found
+her in a great state of anxiety, poor thing, and no wonder. It seems a
+fast steamer has just come in, which sighted the 'Flying Albatross' a
+few hours back, and it is expected to arrive to-morrow morning."
+
+"The 'Flying Albatross!' What—the ship which is bringing Neill
+Hardwicke home?"
+
+The doctor nodded. "Couldn't be a worse night for a ship to be near
+this coast. I only hope they will have the sense to put out to sea
+again before it is too late."
+
+"O poor Madge! What will she do?" exclaimed Mona pityingly. "O uncle, I
+wish I were with her."
+
+"My dear, you might as well try to fly as to walk up the hill in this
+wind. In fact you would be much more likely to fly than to walk,—after
+a certain fashion!"
+
+"I can't think what she will do all night."
+
+"Stay quietly in her cottage, and go to bed, like a sensible woman. She
+won't be half so excited as Mrs. Blayney."
+
+"You have not seen Madge, have you?"
+
+"Not I. I had had enough of fighting with the elements by the time I
+reached my own door. Just hear that howl round the house now! It sounds
+as if all the furies were set loose together."
+
+"And Madge has nobody to speak to—nobody to cheer her," said Mona, half
+to herself, as she knelt before the fire.
+
+"I declare, I always thought Madge was a pretty good friend of mine,"
+said the doctor with a half-injured air, settling himself comfortably
+in his arm-chair, "but you seem to have run ahead of me. What makes you
+take to her?"
+
+"What made you, uncle?"
+
+"Very discreet on your part. Why, simply and solely because I could not
+help it."
+
+"I suppose it is the same with me. But do you know, I have often
+wondered where she got that pleasant manner of hers, so quiet and
+self-possessed. And I have found out now. She used to be head-nurse in
+Sir Arthur Bolton's family—in that great house, you know, standing in a
+park, which you showed me one day when you took me such a long drive."
+
+"Ay, I know," said Mr. Chetwynd.
+
+"Madge told me she was nursery-maid there from the time she was
+fifteen, and had risen to be under-nurse, and lastly head-nurse for
+two years, when she married Ned Hardwicke. And she says she had only
+been married three months when she first saw you. She was twenty-five
+then, so she had been ten years in the house, and that explains how she
+gained her soft nice sort of manner—just the manner of a very superior
+upper servant in a good family. Did you know that Sir Arthur Bolton
+settled a pension on her, when her husband was killed?"
+
+"I have heard the fact, though I believe I had forgotten it. I knew she
+had a little income of some sort, and that her cottage was her own."
+
+"I had a talk with her only yesterday," said Mona. "And she was so
+happy about Neill's coming home—looking forward so brightly. Poor
+Madge! I wonder what she is doing to-night?"
+
+[Illustration: If Mona could have taken a glance into the little
+cottage, she would have seen Madge Hardwicke steadily engaged in
+washing up her blue cups and saucers.]
+
+Not sitting down to cry, or fluttering about in restless anxiety, as
+many might have done under like circumstances. If Mona could have
+taken a glance up the stormy hill-side, and into the little cottage at
+that moment, she would have seen Madge Hardwicke steadily engaged in
+washing up the blue cups and saucers, used for her early tea. Scarcely
+two hours had elapsed since the news first reached her of the expected
+arrival of the "Flying Albatross" next morning. But beyond a red spot
+on either cheek, and the least possible shaking of her hands, causing
+an occasional and unwonted rattling of the plates, as she rinsed and
+dried them, Madge looked very calm. Much more calm than little Nannie,
+who was lying wrapped up on two chairs and on numerous pillows before
+the fire, watching her friend's face, and listening to the gale with
+a very anxious and excited countenance. Many weeks had gone by since
+Nannie first fell beneath the weight of her father's hand, but it was
+not many days since she had quitted her bed, and she had not yet set
+foot to the ground.
+
+If the wind sounded boisterous down at the doctor's house, it claimed
+fuller attention here. The little cottage fairly shook like a ship from
+"stem to stern," and the fierce rattling of every pane of glass made
+Nannie ask fearfully,—
+
+"Madge, don't you think the windows 'll come to smash?"
+
+"Maybe not," said Madge quietly, putting away the last blue saucer.
+And then she dried her hands, and hung up the cloth, and went to take
+a look through that same little frail transparent shield,—all that was
+interposed between her and the wild blast outside.
+
+"It's an awful night, ain't it?" said Nannie, shivering beside even
+those bright flames. "Madge, I don't seem as if I'd like to go to bed.
+I think I'll be afraid."
+
+"You're just as safe in bed as by the fireside, Nannie," said Madge,
+coming away again. For beyond the low clouds, scurrying wildly past,
+there was nothing to be seen. Even they were but dimly visible in the
+blackness of darkness outside.
+
+And where was the "Flying Albatross?" And where was Neill? How
+joyfully would Madge at that moment have yielded her own life, if
+she might thereby have secured the life of her boy! But she could do
+nothing—nothing except wait. She might not even go out in the fierce
+wind, and watch the waters with her own eyes, as she longed to do.
+Little Nannie could not be left alone in her helplessness.
+
+"Madge, are you dreadful frightened about Neill?" asked the child, with
+bated breath. "Are you thinking a deal about him this evening?"
+
+Was she thinking of anything else? It seemed to Madge that her whole
+being was bound up in that of her boy, and that if her body were
+sheltered in the little cottage, her spirit was away with him, wherever
+he might be, over the mad wild waters. But she only said, "Yes, I'm
+looking to see him safe in the morning, if 'tis God's will, Nannie."
+
+"Do you think God will take care of him, and bring him home all right?"
+asked Nannie.
+
+"I'm hoping it," said Madge.
+
+And then she took out her work-basket, and sat down to sew. But to keep
+that up long was beyond the strength of even her resolute will. She put
+the unfinished seam aside, at the close of half-an-hour, and going to
+the window, stood gazing out again into the darkness.
+
+Nannie lay looking, not at the window, but at Madge. She had a sort
+of notion that it was best to keep silence, and for a while, though
+her lips sometimes moved with a barely-checked exclamation, she did
+not break her childish determination to be still. But the sight of
+that absolutely motionless figure became at length more than she could
+endure, and the little voice said softly,—
+
+"Madge!"
+
+No answer came. Perhaps the word was lost in the angry gust which swept
+at that moment over the hill.
+
+"Madge, I'm ever so frightened. I wish you'd speak."
+
+Madge turned from the window, and came to the table, with a pale face,
+and an unwonted look of dreaminess in her eyes.
+
+"I'm ready, Nannie," was all she said.
+
+"I'm only frightened," pleaded Nannie. "'Cause the wind does make such
+a noise; and if it was to blow away the cottage, we'd maybe get hurt,
+wouldn't we, Madge?"
+
+"I think we'll be taken care of," said Madge, who had no heart to spare
+for any danger to self, though she spoke soothingly for the child's
+sake.
+
+"And don't you think Neill will be took care of too, and brought back
+safe?"
+
+"Maybe," said Madge, resting one hand on the table. "I've been trying,
+and I can't ask it, though."
+
+"Ain't you a-going to pray he may be safe?" asked Nannie wonderingly.
+
+Madge shook her head slightly.
+
+"Not ask?" repeated Nannie. "Why, Madge, if you don't make haste, it'll
+maybe get too late, and the ship 'll be gone down under the waves. I
+wouldn't wait a minute, if I was you," pleaded the child.
+
+"It's never too late for the Lord," said Madge calmly. "He answers
+oftentimes afore we pray. I've put into His hands to do just as seemeth
+best to Him, and I've prayed for my Neill to be safe for ever and ever.
+I can't do more."
+
+"Not do more? Why, Madge, what are ye thinking of?" demanded Nannie
+passionately. "So often as you've asked for little things, and got 'em
+too, and now you won't ask to have Neill brought home!"
+
+"Ay, for my Master's oft spoken to my heart afore now, Nannie, and
+said, 'Ask what ye will, Madge,'" was the answer, in monotonous
+half-absent tones, as if addressed rather to herself than to the child.
+"But He don't say it to-night; leastways, I don't hear His voice. I
+can't pray till He give me strength; and He don't give me strength to
+do more than just lie in His arms, and wait to see His will."
+
+"Madge, do you think it's 'cause the ship won't get safe to shore?"
+asked Nannie, with heaving breath.
+
+"I don't think nothing about that," said Madge, speaking softly and
+slowly still. "I only know He holds 'the waters in the hollow of
+His Hand,' and Neill's there too—Neill's in His Hand—safe in His
+keeping—for I've put him there, and I wouldn't dare to take him out
+into my own again. I've tried and wanted to pray to have Neill back,
+but I can't—seems like as if 'He' was holding me back from it. Maybe
+I'm mistaking; only one thing I'm sure of, and that is, I durstn't
+fight for my own way. 'They' did, and they had it, and the Lord
+'sent leanness into their souls.' Maybe He'd take the shining of His
+countenance from me."
+
+"Wouldn't you bear that awhile, if only Neill might come to ye?" asked
+Nannie.
+
+"I'd sooner have my Lord's smile than aught on earth beside."
+
+But Madge's own sweet smile was tremulous. And when she had spoken, she
+knelt down suddenly, with her hands against the oaken table and her
+face bowed upon them. Was she praying for Neill's return at last?—Or
+only resting on the Mighty Arm which sustained her, and calmly "waiting
+to see her Master's will?"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+THE "FLYING ALBATROSS."
+
+THE tardy dawn of a winter's morning had begun to break, when there
+came a hurried knocking at Madge Hardwicke's door. She had not removed
+her dress, or extinguished her candle, through all the long hours of
+that stormy night, and now she came and stood outside, with the gusty
+breeze blowing about her gown, and her pale face wearing the look of
+one who had passed through no common vigil.
+
+Her early visitors were four in number. Madge glanced from one to the
+other, then singled out the doctor, as he stood with the slight cloaked
+figure of Mona Clyde holding fast to his arm.
+
+"Yes, sir," she said.
+
+"They have sighted the 'Flying Albatross,' Madge."
+
+She knew from his tone that it was not good tidings which he had come
+to bring.
+
+"They've seen it," she said. "Yes, sir."
+
+"Ask Tyrrell. He brought me the news."
+
+She turned to Nat mutely. "She's bearin' down right upon the rocks
+below the Point, Madge," he said huskily.
+
+"Is she in the current yet?" asked Madge.
+
+"'Tis hard to say of a certain in this light, but she's dismasted, and
+seems pretty nigh disabled. If you've a wish to come down in the town,
+Madge, my wife 'll stay with little Nan."
+
+"Thank you. It's good of you both to think of me," said Madge. "I'll
+get my hood."
+
+Quickly, but not hurriedly, she tied it on, and came outside again.
+
+Mona took hold of her for a moment as they were starting. "Madge, don't
+be too anxious; don't give up hope," she said softly.
+
+"Neill's in better hands than mine, Miss Mona," was the response.
+
+Steadily and swiftly she led the way down the steep hill-side,
+faltering not for one instant. At another time, she would have gone
+modestly behind the doctor, but now all minor considerations were lost
+in her overwhelming desire to reach the shore. The force of the wind,
+as it swept past in furious gusts, made the doctor stagger, and caused
+even Nat Tyrrell to pant for breath, but Madge seemed proof against
+the strongest blast, and pressed ever onwards, with scarcely quickened
+breathing, and never a hesitating footstep.
+
+They were down on the shore at last, in the little shingle cove, with
+sailors standing about in groups, and spectators scattered amongst
+them. Away to the left rose the smooth white cliff, on the summit of
+which Madge Hardwicke's little cottage might be seen, standing dimly
+out against the sky. Away to the right stretched the dark outline of
+Lion Point, rearing its massive head in rock-like repose amidst the
+tumult of the elements. And to left and right and front lay the wide
+reach of stormy sea, lashed into a seething mass of dark heaving water
+and snowy foam.
+
+Water, water everywhere. It seemed to Madge that the whole world was
+made of water that morning. The gale had spent the worst of its fury,
+and the wind, in all its strength, was but a breeze compared with what
+had been. But it looked as if nothing ever would or ever could calm
+down that great waste of watery hills, perpetually rising and falling,
+curling their crested summits in giant-play, chasing each other to
+the shore in fierce frolic, and breaking there with a never-ceasing
+roar, made up of crash after crash in unbroken succession. There was
+a clear sky overhead, above all this tumult, and one bright star,
+growing dim in the dawning light, shone placidly through the last bit
+of transparent cloud remaining.
+
+"She's there," Madge was the first to exclaim, as her quick eye caught
+the faint outline of the dismasted ship, floating, to all appearance
+helplessly, amid those gigantic waves. One moment uplifted against the
+horizon, the next lost absolutely to view, yet again emerging from the
+trough to mount another hill, only to sink deep into another valley. No
+wonder all eyes were riveted.
+
+"They've hoisted signals of distress," said Nat Tyrrell. "And they
+don't know that nothing can be done."
+
+"Nothing!" repeated Madge, looking up to scan with a flashing glance
+the faces around. "What are all of you men going to stand safe here,
+and see your follow-creatures perishing right afore your eyes?"
+
+"You're quick to blame us, Mrs. Hardwicke," rejoined a sailor. "But
+what if we've tried an' failed? No boat but a life-boat could live in
+such a sea."
+
+"And you'll give up with one try?" asked Madge. "You'll leave them to
+certain death, when another try might save them?"
+
+"'Tain't certain, Madge," said Nat Tyrrell, coming up. "Old Robin knows
+more than most men, and he says now the tide's turnin', they'll have a
+chance—though 'tis the barest chance—a chance of just weathering the
+Point. They're just so far out as for that, he says."
+
+"And if they don't?" demanded Madge.
+
+"Not a man 'll reach the shore alive," spoke a voice from among the
+throng.
+
+"And ye'll give up helping them with 'one' try," reiterated Madge, a
+touch of scorn in her tone. "Three, did you say it was? Well, I'm glad
+for your sakes 'tis more than one. But will you make a fourth? The
+tide's going down and launching 'll be easier now. I'll come in the
+boat myself, men, and take an oar. Will you all hold back where a woman
+would go?"
+
+"If the ship don't weather the point, Mrs. Hardwicke, we'll try a
+fourth, an' a fifth, an' a tenth, an' a twelfth time," the same voice
+said. "But 'tis useless danger trying, till we're sure our help's
+needed. They're puttin' up a jury-mast and sail now. We'll soon see
+what's to come."
+
+Madge saw the sense of the words, for not even in sorrow and suspense
+was she unreasonable. She said no more, but sat down to wait, with Mona
+leaning on her uncle's arm close by. Other women were on the shore,
+fellow-sufferers with Madge, and some were sobbing and wringing their
+hands, and some were calling aloud hysterically in their fear and
+agony, for many Alyn sailors were aboard. It was terrible to look on in
+safety and helplessness,—to see loved ones borne slowly slowly onwards
+to almost certain death.
+
+But Madge neither wept nor cried out. She only sat upon a low rock,
+with her hands folded together on her knee, and her eyes fixed over
+upon that dark hull as it rose and sank by turns. And minutes passed
+by, one after another, and no one dared address words of cheering to
+Madge. No one dared speak to her at all. Even Mona felt that such
+suspense as hers must be borne alone in the depths of her strong
+woman-nature. It was too soon yet to offer the comfort which might
+by-and-by be needed, and too soon yet to speak of hope.
+
+But the ship drew slowly nearer and nearer, and the dawning light grew
+clearer and clearer, and a gleam of fluttering brightness began to
+illumine the anxious faces around. Whispers here and there passed from
+one to another, as to a growing probability of escape. And all at once
+Madge herself stood upright, and held up both hands, clasping them
+tightly over her head, and cried in clear tones, which reached the ears
+of all present,—
+
+"They're safe! Men, they're safe! They have passed the rocks."
+
+[Illustration: "They're safe! Men, they're safe! They have passed the
+rocks," she cried.]
+
+Almost before the words had crossed her lips, a cry was heard: "They're
+saved! They're saved!" And such a cheer burst from the assembled
+crowd that the roar of wind and waters grew faint for an instant by
+comparison.
+
+Safe at last! Or the danger was so far lessened, that, unless the
+ship were more disabled than appeared to be the case, there was small
+further cause for anxiety. She rolled indeed heavily, and made but
+tardy advance, seeming, as one man with a telescope observed, to be
+"pretty nigh water-logged." But though she advanced slowly, she did
+advance. And gradually hope brightened into confidence, and confidence
+into certainty.
+
+Madge Hardwicke's momentary excitement had again disappeared, and
+calmly as before, she waited; only the red glow in her cheeks and the
+sparkle in her eyes told that less of composure lay beneath. Neill was
+coming at last! Her own Neill! After all these years of separation.
+No wonder that the mother's heart should beat, and her eyes should
+glisten, with a joy so intense as to be almost pain.
+
+The sun had risen, and was shedding his beams over the unquiet sea, and
+the scarcely less unquiet assemblage of Alyn folks upon the shore, when
+the half-disabled ship at length reached the pier. For Alyn harbour lay
+to the west of Lion Point; and having failed through stress of weather
+to enter the harbour, nothing remained to the "Flying Albatross" but to
+"make" the pier running out from the shingle cove, which had, in fact,
+been built for nothing else but such emergencies.
+
+Madge remained near the entrance of the pier, hearing and seeing
+nothing that went on around her. She had no eyes or ears for aught
+but the coming figure of Neill, which yet did not come! Nat Tyrrell
+had gone to find and bring him to her, and Nat Tyrrell's approach was
+perhaps the only one, beside that of Neill, which would have made any
+impression on her senses. But she heard his step in a moment, though
+not looking in that direction, and she turned her eyes quickly to his,
+shining with happy expectation.
+
+"Well?" she said. "And have you seen my boy? And is he coming to me
+soon?"
+
+"I've seen the captain and Ned Blayney, Madge."
+
+"And Neill?" said Madge. "Will they let me go to him, Nat?"
+
+"I'm very sorry, Madge," faltered Nat.
+
+And there he stopped. But an exclamation of sorrow escaped Mona's lips,
+and Madge Hardwicke turned instantly pale and cold and gray. She said
+nothing, but looked steadily at him.
+
+"I'm ever so sorry for you," repeated Nat; "but—fact is, Madge, Neill
+hasn't come at all."
+
+"Neill not come!"
+
+"No. He didn't ever show himself again afore the ship sailed, and Ned
+Blayney don't know nothing of why, nor what has become of him."
+
+One cry of deep heart-agony broke from Madge, and no more.
+
+Mona would have taken her hand in pitying sympathy, but it was drawn
+away, as if any outside touch were pain too keen to be endured. She
+could hardly bear the doctor's face of compassion. For the moment she
+felt wild, and dark thoughts of fierce rebellion crept into Madge
+Hardwicke's soul, against the Hand which had directed this heavy blow.
+
+What was it that kept her from uttering her thoughts? What was it that
+made her hide her feelings? Why did she not look up at Mr. Chetwynd—as
+she "could" have done, if her own strength had been all that remained
+to her at that moment—and speak bitter faithless words concerning
+prayer and its working? Why not? Why, but because Madge was one of
+those who are "kept by the power of God,"—one whose constant desire was
+for His glory, and who in this instant of dire temptation was therefore
+not permitted to fail.
+
+"I am very sorry for you, Madge," were the first words that reached her
+ears, in the doctor's voice.
+
+She stood upright, and looked at him. "Thank you, sir, I know you are.
+It's hard to bear, but God can bring him back yet, if 'tis His will.
+I'll have to wait awhile longer. Good-bye, Miss Mona. I think I'd
+sooner go home alone, please."
+
+They held back, one and all, with respectful pity. Every one knew
+Madge, and no one knew without loving her. But she saw nothing of any
+of them now. The earth and sky and sea had all changed into one silent
+shield of utter blackness. Neil had not come!
+
+It seemed to Madge that all hope and joy in life had died out for
+evermore. She did not look to see him now again on earth.
+
+Steadily and rapidly she pressed on, away from the beach, through the
+town, and up the steep hill-side. And she never slackened a moment for
+weariness or want of breath, until the cottage-door was reached.
+
+Mrs. Tyrrell came out to meet her with a smile of congratulation, but
+her cheerful look turned to one of dismay at the sight of Madge's face.
+
+"Why, Mrs. Hardwicke—you don't mean now!" she ejaculated. "They telled
+me the ship was safe."
+
+"Neill's not come," said Madge quietly. "Thank you for staying with the
+child, Mrs. Tyrrell. I think I'd best be alone now, please."
+
+"Sure, an' it 'is' a disappointment. And ye won't let me stay awhile,
+and help to cheer ye up?" added the good woman coaxingly.
+
+As if any puny words of hers could touch the passionate aching of the
+poor mother's heart. She saw in a moment that it would not do, and with
+a brief good-bye, she went off, not even stepping inside the door again.
+
+Madge entered instead, closed it after her, took off her hood, and sat
+down.
+
+"Is Neill come?" asked little Nannie's voice.
+
+Madge looked vacantly across, drawing deep breaths, as if of oppression.
+
+"I didn't dishonour Him," she muttered. "Thank Him I didn't—for I'd a
+mind. And the doctor would never have forgot. I didn't say what I felt,
+but I did feel it."
+
+"Madge, where's Neill?" asked Nannie.
+
+"God knows," said Madge calmly. "He's not brought Neill home to me,
+Nannie."
+
+Nannie stared with wide-open eyes. "Ain't Neill come, Madge?"
+
+"No," said Madge. "The ship's all right, Nannie, but Neill ain't
+aboard. Don't talk to me awhile,—please."
+
+She did not move, but sat with her head bent down wearily, and
+no particular feeling of any kind in her mind, beyond a sense of
+deep desolation. She did not think she should ever care to look up
+again,—ever care to pass cheerily through life as hitherto; and it was
+with a sensation of restless impatience, that she heard the door-latch
+lifted, and raised her head to look round.
+
+"I wish you'd please leave me. I don't want—" Madge stopped, for it was
+Mr. Prior.
+
+"May I come in?" he asked.
+
+And she rose and gave him a chair, resuming her own immediately, as if
+hardly conscious of what she did.
+
+He sat down, after a kind word to little Nannie, whose face gave him a
+hearty welcome, and said simply,—
+
+"Madge, I was with you when your good news came, and rejoiced with you.
+Will you let me sorrow with you now?"
+
+She put up her hand, to still the quivering of her lips. "It's hard,
+sir,—you don't know how hard."
+
+"Madge is dreadful disappointed, 'cause Neill ain't come home after
+all," said Nannie, thinking Mr. Prior needed information on the
+subject. "She wants a deal of comfort."
+
+Nannie evidently considered Mr. Prior well able to give the same. He
+looked back at the child with a grave smile.
+
+"Little Nannie, Madge has a better Comforter than you or I, only
+perhaps she has hardly had time yet to listen to His gentle Voice."
+
+"No," said Nannie. "He'll whisper to her down in her heart, won't He?"
+
+"If Madge will listen," said Mr. Prior.
+
+Madge lifted her gray face to his. "'Tis all true, sir, and my Lord has
+sent His Comforter many a time afore to me, but I don't seem to hear
+nor feel nothing now."
+
+"'I will pray the Father, and He shall give you another Comforter, that
+He may abide with you for ever,'" said Mr. Prior. "He doesn't come and
+go, Madge."
+
+"No, sir; only I can't see nor hear," said Madge patiently. And then,
+in a mechanical sort of way, she added, "I'll hear reading if you like,
+sir, but I don't seem to feel it'll do me good."
+
+"Not reading to-day, I think, Madge. Perhaps to-morrow instead. I will
+only give you one little verse now,—'As one whom his mother comforteth,
+so will I comfort you.'"
+
+"Thank you, sir. I'd ought to feel right; I know I ought," said poor
+Madge despairingly. "But 'tis hard to bear. I've prayed and waited so
+long, and it did seem as if Neill was coming at last. And now—"
+
+"And now God has denied you, or perhaps has put off for awhile granting
+your request. Madge—" Mr. Prior went on—"I think there is something
+here not quite as it should be. Have you been demanding as a right from
+God that which you had no right to demand?"
+
+"No, sir. I've never put up a prayer for Neil to come back, without
+saying, 'If it be Thy will.'"
+
+"Nor ever cherished, down in some secret corner of your heart, the
+feeling that in return for all your loving faith in God, He surely must
+and 'ought' to grant your request? Madge, what do you think?" he asked
+softly.
+
+He had touched the right chord now,—had struck to the root of the
+matter. Madge sat for a moment like one awakened from a dream, and then
+bursting into tears, sobbed out, "It's true, and I didn't think it. I
+didn't think I'd so much of wilfulness unconquered in me yet. I don't
+deserve one bit better than my Lord's sent me—not one bit."
+
+And after that burst of weeping and contrite sorrow, Madge's heart
+was no longer closed, in its aching pain, to the sweet voice of the
+Heavenly Comforter.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+THE DOCTOR'S PROHIBITION.
+
+THE storm of that night ceased, as other storms have done; but the
+turmoil of the waters was not so easily quelled, and massive breakers
+swelled and rolled and broke with thundering crashes on the shore,
+through many an hour after. There is always for a while a ground-swell
+remaining.
+
+The brief storm in Madge Hardwicke's life was over, and its usual calm
+had set in. But the sense of disappointment, and the renewal of the old
+blank, and the fluttering of spirits, and the wakened restlessness of
+desire, were not to be easily stilled. A heavy ground-swell remained
+behind, and Madge had many a battle to fight in the weeks succeeding,
+which showed not at all to the outer world.
+
+And little Nannie had passed through her small storm,—only it was not
+small to her feeble strength,—and had come through it. She was up and
+about again, much sooner than the doctor had expected to see her. A
+fragile creature she looked, with her pale face, and her long black
+hair, and her pleading eyes and gentle manner. There had grown to be
+something about Nannie of late very winning to all the world, except
+her own father, for whose love Nannie would have gladly given away all
+the rest. But when she went back to his cottage, as she persistently
+begged to do from the moment she set foot to the ground, he gave her
+nothing of a welcome. And Nannie, in her dread of being taken away,
+or of drawing punishment upon him, evaded all inquiries respecting
+his treatment of her. Amos Ackman had grown more cautious before
+spectators, and Nannie kept steady silence as to kicks and blows behind
+the scenes. But Nannie too had her ground-swell, and that no light one.
+
+And Mona had passed through the worst of "her" storm. Through a very
+tempest of doubts and questionings, beneath which she had for a while
+almost succumbed, while her sky above had been wild and black, and the
+angry gale had whistled past with a sound which struck chilly to her
+very heart. The autumn and early winter months of that year were dark
+days to poor Mona Clyde, bereft at one blow of all joy in this world,
+and almost all hope in the next. For a while, it had seemed to her
+that all her faith was gone. And though gleams of light had been sent
+now and then, through the dense mists which had gathered around, yet
+the mists were long in dispersing. So Mona also had her ground-swell
+remaining.
+
+January, February, March, and April were made up of a succession of
+dismal days. Dull warmth and cloudy cold—damp chilliness and dry
+east winds,—rain and snow,—fog and sleet,—hail and mist,—alternated
+persistently; and the only thing which seemed not to take a share in
+these recurring changes was sunshine. People tried to get up jokes upon
+the danger of forgetting the colour of the sun, or even of doubting
+the fact of his existence altogether, beyond the low gray mantle which
+perpetually enveloped this lower earth. Even Madge Hardwicke's equable
+spirits felt the depressing influence of the weather; and no doubt the
+sum-total of ill tempers in Alyn much exceeded the average.
+
+Then came the sweet month of May, and upon the very first day a change
+took place; and spring, in all its luxuriant beauty, burst upon the
+Alyn world. To Mona it was like a repetition of the tunnel's darkness,
+and the light beyond, with the same sweet meaning. Never had she known
+so sudden and joyous a burst of spring, just because never had she
+known so dreary a winter preceding—dreary in more senses than one.
+
+It was upon one of the fairest of warm May evenings that the doctor's
+chaise stood before his door, and the doctor himself stood upon his
+doorstep, pulling on a pair of gloves, for he had just received an
+unexpected summons to a distance, at the close of his daily round.
+He accomplished the business deliberately—the call in question not
+being especially urgent, though too important to leave till next
+morning,—buttoned each glove with unnecessary care, and finally took
+his seat. Just as he had gathered up the reins, Mona came along the
+path.
+
+"Hallo! My dear, where are you going now?"
+
+"Up the hill to see Madge Hardwicke, uncle."
+
+"Where have you been?"
+
+"Only to look up one of my Sunday scholars who was absent last Sunday;
+but he is ill, poor little fellow, so it was not his fault."
+
+"Which?"
+
+"Uncle, you won't know his name—Tommy Talbot."
+
+"Not one of the Talbots in Wall's Alley?"
+
+"Yes, he lives there."
+
+The doctor's hand gave an involuntary jerk to the reins, which made the
+horse start forward. He pulled in again.
+
+"If your Sunday-school work takes you to such places as that, you had
+better give it up altogether."
+
+"Uncle, I never meet with rudeness. The people are as respectful as
+possible."
+
+"I dare say! I dare say!" repeated the doctor impatiently. "You don't
+go there again without my leave."
+
+"But, uncle—," and Mona looked rather rebellious.
+
+"You don't," said Mr. Chetwynd decisively.
+
+"Tommy will expect me to-morrow."
+
+"Let him! How often have you been, pray?"
+
+"This is the first time since Sunday. Once last week I went, not
+because Tommy was ill, but only he was a new pupil the Sunday before,
+and I always go to see them in their homes. He is the first I ever had
+from that alley."
+
+"Last week—what day?"
+
+"Friday. Tommy was so pleased when I came in. And he took me into the
+next room to see a poor little playfellow of his who was not well."
+
+Another sharp jerk at the reins. Mona looked in perplexity at his
+knitted brows.
+
+"You haven't seen 'him' again, then?"
+
+"No, I was with Tommy all the time this morning. It was very stupid of
+me, but I was thinking so much of him that I quite forgot even to ask
+after the other child."
+
+"It is to be the first and last of your visiting there, if you please,"
+said the doctor. "That alley is a perfect nest of—"
+
+"Of what?" asked Mona.
+
+"Wickedness," said Mr. Chetwynd, omitting, for a particular reason, the
+word he had intended to use.
+
+"I don't think, really, that you need fear for me, uncle."
+
+"Dare say not," muttered Mr. Chetwynd gruffly. "Mind,—no more going
+there, Mona. Ha! Here comes Mr. Prior. I'll give him a hint on the
+subject some day—can't have you encouraged in that sort of thing."
+
+"Uncle, indeed it was all my own doing," said Mona eagerly, and then
+Mr. Prior came up with a cheerful—
+
+"Just the person I wanted to see. No, not you, doctor; only please give
+leave, before you go, for Mona to take a drive to-morrow afternoon."
+
+"Anywhere, except to Wall's Alley," said the doctor.
+
+But he went off with something of a frown, and Mona said in
+explanation: "He is rather vexed at my going to see some of my
+children—one of them I mean."
+
+"Not in Wall's Alley?"
+
+"Yes, little Tommy Talbot."
+
+"How came you to go there?" he asked, as if involuntarily.
+
+"Why, Mr. Prior, is it such a dreadful place?" inquired Mona, in
+surprise. "It looked very much like any other alley."
+
+His smile was in the least degree forced. "About the worst in Alyn I
+suppose. Don't visit in it again at present,—I will see after Tommy for
+you. Are you going indoors now, and shall you be very busy to-morrow?"
+
+"O no; can I do anything for you, Mr. Prior?" She had felt strangely
+weary all day, with a heavy spring-tired sort of feeling, but she
+brightened up as she spoke. "I was just going up the hill to see Madge
+Hardwicke."
+
+"The very thing. I am on my way to that poor creature dying in the
+cottage beyond the cliff, so our road is the same."
+
+"One moment, please," and she ran into the hall, coming out again with
+a basket full of small bunches of garden flowers. "I am ready now, Mr.
+Prior."
+
+"Those little nosegays look tempting," he said, as they passed into the
+road. "Are you disposed for a drive to-morrow, Mona?"
+
+"Who with?" she asked.
+
+"All of us. The truth is—" and he laughed slightly—"my sister Rachel
+has taken a warm fancy to Madge Hardwicke."
+
+"I felt sure Miss Prior must like her," said Mona.
+
+"And having discovered a certain plan of the said Madge's, she can't
+rest without adding her quota to the general enjoyment."
+
+"What the excursion to Bentley Dingle? Madge told me, but I thought it
+was to be quite a secret."
+
+"Rachel found out the secret somehow,—though I confess it is rather a
+mystery to me still. I only gather that Madge has a certain treat in
+store for certain children, that my sister does not think there will
+be buns enough to the fore, that she therefore intends to act carrier
+gratis for the occasion, and that I am expected to take my share as
+driver. Who are Madge's children, if you can tell me?"
+
+"A dozen or more poor little things, who run up to her cottage on
+Saturday afternoons to read the Bible with her. They are as fond of her
+as if she were their mother."
+
+"I understand. And she plans an excursion for them to the Dingle?"
+
+"Yes, in a break, and they will make tea there, and eat buns and bread
+and butter. The truth is, Madge had a present lately from her old
+master, Sir Arthur Bolton, and that I suppose put it into her head."
+Mona did not add that she had herself given a liberal contribution
+towards expenses, but only said, "I wished so much I could have been
+present."
+
+"Just what Rachel feels. Her plan is to drive over to the Dingle,
+without a word to Madge—so don't drop a hint of her intentions this
+evening—and to appear suddenly on the spot with a supply of provisions,
+after the fashion of a fairy godmother, taking them all by surprise."
+
+"That will be very nice," said Mona, warmly. "How delighted Madge will
+be! Is Mrs. Prior going?"
+
+"I hope so, and she sends a particular message to say that you are to
+have a turn at sitting on the front seat, and taking the reins. My
+opinion is not asked about the matter, so I submit, and only hope that
+may tempt you, if nothing else does."
+
+"I don't need any tempting," said Mona, with a smile. "I shall enjoy it
+of all things. Why, Madge seems holding quite a levée up on the hill."
+
+"Giving a lecture," suggested Mr. Prior. "You ladies usurp everything
+in these days."
+
+"Madge would not thank you for calling her a lady. O I remember—Nat
+Tyrrell is to drive the break, and Ned Blayney and his mother are going
+to help take care of the children. I dare say they are talking over
+arrangements—but I don't know who the third man is. Not Amos Ackman at
+all events, for I can see him at his own cottage-door."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+GOD'S MYSTERIES.
+
+"BELIEVE in it? No, I don't," said Nat Tyrrell, with decision. "Nor I
+don't see, for my part, how any reasonable being who trust in God's
+goodness, can put faith in the notion for one single instant."
+
+"'Tisn't so very long, Nat, since you were all for setting me to rights
+for a crank you said I'd got," Madge remarked quietly, as she sat
+knitting on the bench in front of her cottage-door.
+
+Mrs. Tyrrell, a silent sensible woman, sat beside her, occupied in like
+manner. Nannie was down on the ground close to her feet, after the
+fashion of a faithful little dog. Nat stood exactly in front, with his
+back to the garden-gate; while on one side of him lounged the stalwart
+figure of Ned Blayney, who was listening with a good-humoured smile to
+the discussion; and on the other stood a small sickly-looking man, Joe
+Whilly by name, and cobbler by profession, with a face of such rigid
+melancholy, that it was hard to imagine he could ever conjure up a
+smile.
+
+"Seems to me," Madge added, "that the crank's on your side now, Nat."
+
+"Begging your pardon, but it's nothing of the kind," responded Nat,
+with a degree of tartness, for he was by no means so ready as Madge to
+admit the possibility of being mistaken. "You and I think alike in a
+many things, no doubt, but we don't think alike here, and I dare say we
+never shall. I'll never believe salvation ain't freely offered to every
+man, woman, and child upon earth, to accept it if they will."
+
+"Did I say it wasn't, Nat?" Madge began, but she checked herself, for
+another voice was saying,—
+
+"Good evening, Tyrrell. How are you to-day, Mrs. Hardwicke?" And then
+after a few words of greeting to each, not omitting little Nannie, Mr.
+Prior added, "You seem very much interested about something, all of
+you."
+
+"Just a talk we've got into," responded Madge. "I'm glad you've come,
+sir. Will you please to sit down, and Miss Mona too?"
+
+"What has the talk been about?" asked Mr. Prior, accepting the
+offered chair. "It is so pleasant up here that I really think I must
+spare a few minutes before going on. But don't let me interrupt your
+discussion."
+
+"We'd scarce got into a discussion yet," said Madge, half-smiling. "Joe
+Whilly had given us his mind, and Nat Tyrrell was giving a bit of his."
+
+"Nat Tyrrell had better give the rest," suggested Mr. Prior.
+
+"Have out with it, lad," said Ned Blayney encouragingly, as Nat
+shuffled about a little. "Parson never lets a fellow off, and he likes
+us to tell out our thoughts."
+
+"Right, Blayney. I wish you to consider me one of yourselves for
+half-an-hour. What is it all about, Tyrrell? Let me see if I can help
+you in your perplexity."
+
+"Well, sir, I don't know as I'm much perplexed neither," said Nat
+honestly. "I don't pretend to be anything of a born genius,—" Nat did
+his best to look modest,—"but I hope I'm equal to the understanding of
+this, sir."
+
+"If you be, you're a deal cleverer than I," muttered Ned Blayney,
+rubbing his forehead disconsolately. "Whilly and you atween you has set
+all my wits and notions buzzing, like the bees in mother's hive."
+
+"Let me hear," was all Mr. Prior said.
+
+Nat had no objection at all to state his views. "Well, sir, 'tis just
+this. Whilly he don't hold with me. He goes in downright for the
+doctrine of election, sir. Now I don't."
+
+"Don't go in for it?"
+
+"No, sir. That's to say, I don't hold it. I've my Bible, sir, and I
+reads it night and morning, and I hope I understands what I reads. And
+my conclusion as I've come to is this. The doctrine of election is no
+Scriptural doctrine at all, sir. For why?" Nat was growing more at his
+ease now, and he began laying down the law, with the forefinger of one
+hand upon the palm of the other, as he was wont to do when expounding
+his own views among his fellow-workmen,—a very different matter, be
+it remarked, from expounding Bible-truths, though the two are often
+confounded together.
+
+"For why, sir? Ain't it in the Bible, clear as daylight, that Jesus
+Christ died for all men, and that His salvation is freely offered to
+all? That's what 'I' hold to, sir. I'll preach and teach the Gospel
+with my latest breath, but I'll never be one of those who goes about,
+talking of election, and how God has chosen some men from all eternity
+to everlasting happiness, and created some only for everlasting misery,
+and man to have no choice at all in the matter, and however much he may
+wish to be saved, yet, if he isn't elect, he's lost to all eternity.
+No, no, I'll never go in for that. I believe salvation is offered to
+all, and all may be saved,—only men are so perverse and wrong-headed
+that they won't accept salvation, and so the blame is on their own
+heads. Why, sir, looking at it in any other light, I'd have to say the
+blame is with God, not man."
+
+"Hush, beware, Tyrrell! You are saying words now, which no living man
+may utter and be blameless," said Mr. Prior with much seriousness.
+
+"Joe Whilly's got hold of quite another side of the question
+altogether," remarked Blayney. "As you'll hear, sir. He don't agree
+with Tyrrell. He's all t'other way."
+
+"No, he don't agree with me," said Nat, recovering from the momentary
+effect of the rebuke he had received. "He'd never dare offer the free
+gift of salvation to any man, but only go tell him he hopes he's one of
+the elect, for if he's elect, he'll be saved, and if he isn't, why he's
+mighty sorry for him."
+
+"I didn't put it that way neither," said Joe Whilly. "But I don't deny
+there's some truth in Tyrrell's words, sir. I'd tell men, sure enough,
+of the Saviour,—but I couldn't in conscience tell 'em to come and be
+saved, without reminding them that they hadn't no power to come, unless
+they were called."
+
+"Ay, those are his views," said Tyrrell loftily. "I'm right glad
+they're not mine."
+
+"I'd be sorry to have to settle atween you both," remarked Blayney.
+"One thing's certain—one of you's right, and one's wrong. Leastways,
+both can't be right, though maybe you be both wrong. And that's all I
+knows about the matter."
+
+"I have a word from the Bible for each of you—for Tyrrell on his
+side and Whilly on his," said Mr. Prior. "But first, we must find
+a stand-point from which to look upon this matter. It won't do, if
+you wish to take a wide view of the country round, to get among some
+bushes, where your range of sight is shut in to about six yards."
+
+Ned Blayney laughed. "No, sir; the mast-head's the place."
+
+"True; we must climb to the mast-head. And the first step towards
+that, is to take good heed that we come to this question in a frank
+and simple spirit of inquiry, anxious to find the truth, and ready to
+believe whatever the Word of God may state, but not caring to defend
+our own views merely for the sake of triumph in argument."
+
+"I hope I'm not over proud to acknowledge myself mistaken, sir," said
+Nat Tyrrell.
+
+"I hope so too. But now for the mast-head. There are two simple truths
+about which you must be perfectly clear, before you can safely venture
+to look into any of these questions. You seem to me, Tyrrell, to have
+lost sight of one, if not of both."
+
+"I'm ready to hear, sir," said Tyrrell, more submissively than was his
+wont.
+
+"Then remember this. Whatever you find of doubt and perplexity—whatever
+seems to you hard to understand, or impossible to explain,—take care
+that you never for a moment lose sight of one grand truth,—'The Lord
+is righteous in ALL His ways, and holy in ALL His works.' 'There is no
+unrighteousness in Him.' He is 'of purer eyes than to behold evil.'
+'There is none holy as the Lord.' 'A God of truth and without iniquity,
+just and right is He.' His very 'Name is Holy.' Take hold of that
+truth, and never let it go."
+
+"Yes, sir," Tyrrell assented.
+
+"Secondly, remember that as God is absolutely holy, so man is
+absolutely sinful. Man, as man, can put forth no shadow of a claim upon
+the mercy of God. The whole of mankind lies deep down in the very dust
+beneath His feet, justly condemned to eternal death. Salvation, from
+first to last, is a free and utterly undeserved gift."
+
+"I see what you mean, sir," said Tyrrell slowly.
+
+"Then, putting those two great truths together, let me warn you to take
+your stand upon them, and never again to use the dangerous line of
+argument you seemed inclined to use just now. Never dare to say, 'If
+such and such a thing were true, I could not believe in the holiness
+or mercy of God.' There is fearful presumption in it, Tyrrell—though
+many a good man unthinkingly makes use of such words. Such and such
+a thing may be true, though you cannot see it so; and where do you
+find yourself then? You must have your position at the mast-head. 'The
+Lord is holy and true, just and righteous, merciful and loving. Man is
+sinful and worthless. What the Lord hath said, that will I accept, and
+unquestioningly believe.'"
+
+Nat looked thoughtful, but did not speak.
+
+"And now to come to the point," Mr. Prior went on. "As regards the
+doctrine of election, I do not ask you to take my views, or the views
+of any man. But what do you think of this?" And from his little
+pocket Bible Mr. Prior read aloud—"'He hath chosen us in Him before
+the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and without blame
+before him in love: having predestinated us unto the adoption of
+children by Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the good pleasure of
+His will.' And again, 'Being predestinated according to the purpose
+of Him who worketh all things after the counsel of His own will.' ¹
+Nothing can stand against that, you see—that almighty changeless Will
+of God."
+
+   ¹ Eph. i. 4, 11.
+
+"Clear enough about election, ain't it," said Joe Whilly.
+
+"What of this also? In the ninth of Exodus God says about Pharaoh, 'In
+very deed for this cause have I raised thee up, for to show in thee my
+power.' And in the following chapters, we are more than once plainly
+told that 'The Lord hardened Pharaoh's heart,' though at the same
+time we must not forget that we are told how Pharaoh hardened his own
+heart also. And again, with the wicked sons of Eli, we find that 'they
+hearkened not unto the voice of their father,'—why?—'"because" the Lord
+would slay them.'"
+
+"That's awfully strong," said Nat, in a subdued tone.
+
+"It is truth, Tyrrell. You cannot set it aside. True also—by their sins
+they had made Him so to will. But as clay in the hands of a potter, ²
+so are we in the hands of God. He chooses whom He will, and He rejects
+whom He will. 'Therefore hath He mercy on whom He will have mercy, and
+whom He will He hardeneth.' No power in heaven, or earth, or hell, can
+for one instant stand against that eternal Will of God. And no man
+living has power to turn to God, or even to wish so to turn, without
+the working of the Holy Spirit in his heart. As the Saviour said, 'No
+man can come to Me, except the Father which hath sent Me draw him.'"
+
+   ² Rom. ix. 21.
+
+"Well, sir, it just comes to this," said Tyrrell gloomily. "If you're
+right—and I won't deny you've Scripture on your side—I don't see, for
+my part, how man is to blame."
+
+"Just the answer made in St. Paul's own days. 'Thou wilt say then unto
+me, Why doth He yet find fault? for who hath resisted His will? Nay,
+but, O man! who art thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing
+formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus?' ¹ What
+are you and I, Tyrrell—mere worms of the dust, rebels against Him from
+our birth—to dare to question the dealings of the Lord Almighty?"
+
+   ¹ Rom. ix.
+
+He spoke in a deeply solemn tone, and the men looked impressed, while
+Mona sat, with bent head, taking to heart a lesson which she had sorely
+needed. There was a little pause before Tyrrell remarked—
+
+"Still, there's no denying, sir, that if men are mere puppets in the
+Hands of God, to be saved or lost as He wills, I don't see for my part
+how they're to be justly blamed."
+
+"Does the Bible say men are mere puppets in the Hands of God?" asked
+Mr. Prior.
+
+"Well, sir, it comes to about the same thing."
+
+"No; there we touch upon one of the wonderful mysteries of God, which
+are beyond man's grasp. 'There is no searching of His understanding.'
+'Great things doeth He which we cannot comprehend.' The sooner you
+accept that fact in all its fulness, the better for your peace. True
+it is that man is absolutely in the Hands of God, as clay in the hands
+of a potter; nevertheless, and at the self same time, he is a free and
+accountable being. What do you say to that?"
+
+"You wouldn't try to make out, would you, sir, that there was anything
+of free choice to be found in the Bible, alongside of the other
+doctrine?" asked Nat incredulously.
+
+"You could not possibly have used a better word. 'Alongside'—that is
+exactly the way in which these great 'opposition-truths,' as they have
+been called, are given to us. Lying side by side, placed there by God
+Himself, to be believed by us unquestioningly, whether or no with our
+present powers we may be able to reconcile them. It has been said with
+much force, that in looking at these deep mysteries of God, a man must
+not attempt to step with both his feet at once. First one foot, and
+then the other. We have taken a step with the right foot; now let us
+take a step with the left. We have proved from the Word of God the
+doctrine of election; now let us see what the same Word has to say on
+the other side of the question."
+
+"I'll hear what you have to say sure enough, sir," said Nat slowly.
+"I'll not deny you've shown me I've been wrong, putting aside a
+doctrine so clear in the Bible as that. I'm not too proud neither to
+'say' I've been in the wrong, and to change my old view for a new one.
+But if you're going to ask me to stick by the old, and take up the new
+as well—why, sir, I've only to say it's just a moral impossibility. The
+thing can't be."
+
+"No; and I'm on the same side as Tyrrell now, sir," added Joe Whilly.
+"If a man can't be saved unless he's elected, and can't come unless God
+makes him able, where's the good of telling him he 'may' come?"
+
+"We will come back to that directly," said Mr. Prior. "But just now
+we are taking a glance at the other side of the question. You can't
+look to the north and the south of a landscape at the same moment, you
+know. What do you both think of these words, spoken by God to the whole
+nation of the Israelites, and through them to the world at large?
+
+   "'See, I have set before thee this day life and good, and death and
+evil; in that I command thee this day to love the Lord thy God, to walk
+in His ways, and to keep His commandments . . . But if thine heart
+turn away so that thou wilt not hear'—not canst not, but 'wilt' not—'I
+denounce unto you this day, that ye shall surely perish . . . I call
+heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before
+you life and death, blessing and cursing; THEREFORE CHOOSE LIFE, that
+both thou and thy seed may live—'
+
+"Is no freedom of choice offered there, Whilly?"
+
+"Seems so, sure enough," said Whilly, rubbing his head with a perplexed
+air.
+
+Tyrrell did not speak.
+
+"This is in the thirtieth of Deuteronomy, and you will find much
+the same in the twenty-fourth of Joshua, where again the Israelites
+are plainly bidden—'"Choose" you this day whom ye will serve.' Note
+also the words of our Saviour—'Ye "will not" come to Me that ye
+might have life.' Not 'ye cannot come.' And again, 'Strive to enter
+in at the strait gate;' 'Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his
+righteousness;' 'Seek, and ye shall find.' Power of choice and action
+are implied in all these."
+
+"Yes, sir," answered Whilly, who seemed to have stepped into the office
+of spokesman.
+
+"Then listen to a few words from the eighteenth of Ezekiel on the
+same subject. 'Have I any pleasure at all that the wicked should
+die, saith the Lord God, and not that he should return from his
+ways and live? . . . Repent, and turn yourself from all your
+transgressions . . . and make you a new heart and a new spirit; for why
+will ye die, O house of Israel? For I have no pleasure in the death of
+him that dieth, saith the Lord God; wherefore turn yourselves, and live
+ye.' And also in the thirty-third chapter—'Say unto them, As I live,
+saith the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but
+that the wicked turn from his way and live; turn ye, turn ye from your
+evil ways, for why will ye die, O house of Israel?'"
+
+Tyrrell was silent still, gazing steadily on the ground.
+
+"Well, sir, I won't deny there's a deal to be said on both sides from
+the Bible," said Whilly, in a thoughtful tone. "But how you're going to
+reconcile them two doctrines passes my comprehension."
+
+"And mine also," said Mr. Prior quietly. "What of that, Whilly? Are we
+to disbelieve everything we cannot understand? Can you suppose for a
+moment that the mind of a mere created being shall have power to grasp
+the mysteries of his Creator? Tyrrell thinks himself well able to take
+in and weigh these mighty truths, though, as he says, he is no genius.
+If he were the most brilliant genius the world ever saw, it would make
+no difference. Possibly he might reach a little farther than you or
+I could reach—just as a tall man may wade a little deeper into the
+sea than a short one can do. But in either case, the end is the same.
+Whether he be tall or short, whether his mind be great or small, he
+soon comes to a point where his powers serve to carry him on no more.
+After that, he must take refuge in one of two things—speculation or
+faith."
+
+"Seems to me, Tyrrell and Whilly had ought to be mighty pleased, both
+of 'em, seeing they're both proved to be half-ways right, and not all
+wrong," Blayney remarked quaintly.
+
+"Maybe I am," said Whilly. "Then, sir, you'd have one offer salvation
+to all men without a bit of reservation, would you?"
+
+"No more reservation than the Bible itself makes, Whilly. Look at the
+breadth of the Gospel invitations, and don't dare to narrow them by a
+single word. 'Ho! every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters,'
+must never be cut down into, 'Ho! all ye "elect" that thirst.' 'Come
+unto Me, all ye that labour,' must not be changed into 'Come unto Me,
+all ye "elect" that labour.' There is a very clear command given—'Go ye
+into all the world, and preach the Gospel to every creature.' You may
+find me, if you can, a single injunction to preach the Gospel only to
+the elect of God."
+
+"Thank you, sir. You've given me something to think about, anyways,"
+said Whilly.
+
+"The truth is, Whilly, this doctrine of election, though a thought full
+of comfort and joy to the assured Christian, is a doctrine with which
+the unsaved man has nothing whatever to do. 'Repent, believe, and be
+saved,' are the words spoken to him. Take care that you carry him the
+right message—not the wrong one."
+
+And then, turning from Whilly, Mr. Prior said,—"Well, Tyrrell?"
+
+"Sir, you'll maybe think me a bit obstinate, but I can't in reason see
+how them two things can exist together," said Tyrrell rather doggedly.
+
+"Let me give you an illustration I have heard used, to make it clearer.
+Did you ever see the flying bridge over the river, two or three miles
+from Bentley Dingle?"
+
+"I've seen it, sir."
+
+Mr. Prior took out his pocket-book, and slightly sketched the scone for
+the benefit of those who had not.
+
+"There is the river. There are the chains upon which the bridge
+depends. Now, look at those chains. You see them plainly at that end,
+and at this. What becomes of them in the space between?"
+
+"They're under water," Nat answered, at the same moment with Blayney.
+
+"How do you know? You cannot see them there."
+
+"Well, sir, I knows sure enough, if I sees each end of a chain going
+down under water, that it's joined below," said Blayney.
+
+"That is to say, you 'believe' it to be so, and your belief amounts
+to certainty. Just so with these great 'counter-truths' of the Bible.
+You see each end of the chain, but the point where they join—the point
+of reconciliation—is in the depths, beyond your grasp. Faith must
+come in there to supply the place of sight. You say they can't be
+reconciled. That merely means that 'you' cannot reconcile them. They
+are reconciled, though God alone knows how, and that is enough for us.
+There ought to be no 'if' in speaking of God's revealed truths. 'The
+Lord hath spoken,' is answer enough for every perplexity, and every
+seeming contradiction."
+
+"Maybe," Tyrrell muttered.
+
+"The truth is, we are mere children before God, and know nothing
+whatever of these matters beyond what He has graciously made known to
+us. He speaks to us as to children, and tells us just so much as it is
+needful for us to know—but no more. If you receive His Word as a child,
+you will know peace. The road to heaven is a very simple one, and 'the
+wayfaring man, though a fool, shall not err therein.' But once go off
+from the plain path of safety, and get yourselves entangled in these
+mazy questions, which have puzzled tens of thousands before you, and
+you will find yourselves in a very quicksand of doubt and misery."
+
+"Maybe so, sir," said Tyrrell. "I don't deny you've a deal to say from
+the Bible for your way of looking on the question. But, nevertheless,
+'tisn't in my power to set aside altogether the common-sense view of
+the matter. And that is, that 'if' men have it in their power to choose
+between good and evil, then salvation can't depend on election; and
+'if' the doctrine of election is true, then free choice can't be, and
+men may just as well sit with their hands before them, waiting to see
+whether they're elect or no. For in that case, if a man's elect, he'll
+be saved, and if he isn't elect, he won't be saved, and small blame to
+him either if he isn't. I don't see, for my part, how you're ever to
+get over that difficulty, sir."
+
+"Nay, Tyrrell, it is you, not I, who have to get over it," said Mr.
+Prior, smiling. "I am content to accept the truths of God as He has
+given them to us. You cannot rest without trying to bring them all down
+to the level of your own understanding—which is about as reasonable an
+attempt, as if you were to set yourself to squeeze the ocean into a
+tumbler. But I will have a word again with you on this subject, only
+just now I must say good-bye, as it is getting late. Think over the
+matter carefully, and pray for right direction as you do so."
+
+He lingered a minute still, exchanging pleasant remarks with the
+different members of the party. Then bidding them all farewell, he
+continued his walk—not without a nod and smile at parting to little
+Nannie, for Mr. Prior was one of those who have caught a reflection
+of the Saviour's peculiar tenderness towards the lambs of the flock.
+And Mona, having presented to Madge her basket of nosegays, for the
+children on the morrow, went soberly down the hill-side.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+THE DINGLE.
+
+IT was a sweet wild place, this Dingle, coming after a long reach of
+flat and lonely moor. There was a deep dip, and a grassy space below,
+with one tiny cottage built beside a running stream, while all around
+the rocky sides rose steeply, clothed with brushwood and small trees,
+amongst which the brilliant spring green of the larches was the most
+conspicuous. And from this little hollow or basin, the pathway—about
+as wide and rough as a mountain sleigh-path, and much overgrown with
+grass—leading up alongside of the sparkling stream, rose winding in a
+narrow gorge, with rocks and trees still closing in on either side.
+Several threatened endings proved only to be fresh turnings of the
+path, until at length the summit was attained of a certain round green
+hill, with a good view of the surrounding country, and a number of
+larches and silver beeches growing down its sides.
+
+A month or two later, the pretty spot would be almost overrun
+by excursionists, but it was quiet now, with the exception of
+Madge Hardwicke's party, who made noise enough for fifty ordinary
+pleasure-seekers. Madge loved nothing better than to see "her
+children," as she called them, enjoying themselves. They had all
+arrived at the Dingle by three o'clock, and many games in the "green
+basin" followed.
+
+Mrs. Blayney and her son, and Nat Tyrrell and his wife, were by no
+means useless additions to the party. Madge alone would have been
+hardly equal to the task of keeping all those busy little feet out of
+perilous spots, but for their aid. As it was, they had enough to do,
+all five of them, during the first hour and a half. It was somewhere
+about the close of that time that a little basket-carriage was seen
+approaching, drawn by a pretty grey pony, and a shout was immediately
+raised:—
+
+"I say,—if it ain't the Parson a-driving up here!"
+
+No unwelcome arrival was that little chaise, though nobody yet knew
+what lay hidden under the seats. The children came crowding around, to
+receive kind words and smiles, alike from Mr. Prior, and from the pale
+lady beside him, who never left her Rectory home save in a carriage,
+but was no stranger to them all nevertheless. As for the small boy,
+Georgie, with his knickerbockers, and straw hat, and floating blue
+ribbons, he was out on the ground in a moment, at the imminent risk of
+his legs, ready for any amount of play.
+
+"So you are all enjoying yourselves here, Madge," said Mr. Prior, as
+she stood, smiling, near at hand.
+
+"Well, sir, the children seem to find a deal of pleasure in it," said
+Madge.
+
+"Don't think we are going to intrude, Madge," said Miss Prior, the
+clergyman's sister. "We can drive up the Dingle, and leave you all to
+play, you know. Only we wanted to bring just a little contribution to
+your feast, as you—naughty woman that you are—didn't take the trouble
+to invite us."
+
+"You're welcome enough, ma'am, if I'd thought you cared to come," said
+Madge placidly. "Miss Mona has nigh as much to do with the matter as I."
+
+But her face lighted up a good deal at the sight of the hamper, and the
+children's consequent delight. And when it was opened, and the contents
+began to appear, the little ones did not seem to know how to smile
+broadly enough for such a grand occasion. Miss Prior was satisfied
+so far, and began now to talk of driving on, but Madge interposed.
+Wouldn't they stay, and help to eat up the feast?
+
+"Spoil the fun?"
+
+Madge laughed her low quiet laugh at the idea. And Nannie, creeping up,
+looked with a pair of pleading eyes, which added weight to the words of
+Madge.
+
+"You two together are irresistible," Miss Prior said. "I am vanquished
+at all events. What will the rest of you do?"
+
+"I never intended to do anything but stay, all along," said Mr. Prior
+composedly, and Madge's gray eyes flashed a look of merry appreciation.
+No arm-chair being at hand, Mrs. Prior had to keep her seat in the low
+basket-chaise, but the pony was taken out and tied to a tree, and half
+the children gathered round to feed him with handfuls of grass, while
+the other half watched the unlading of the hamper with eager eyes.
+
+It was no meagre fare that Mr. and Miss Prior had brought for the
+occasion. Madge's buns found themselves in a very small minority,
+compared with the varieties of provisions now produced. A white
+cloth had not been forgotten, and amid much fun and laughter, the
+table—otherwise the ground—was laid; hot water was procured from the
+cottage; and tea was at length ready.
+
+Then they all sat round in a circle,—Mr. Prior being honoured with a
+seat upon a stump, and having a bodyguard of small children at his end
+of the cloth. Nannie crept to his side, and sat there, almost too happy
+to eat. Poor little child! This day was one of radiant experience in
+her cloudy life. She had not known many such.
+
+It was a mixed sort of company gathered there to dinner, or tea, or
+whatever they chose to term that five o'clock out-of-door feast on the
+grass. The hamper-full would almost have served to supply a meal of
+either description. Mixed as the company might be, however—including
+the Priors and Mona, the children and Madge, a sailor and his mother, a
+carpenter and his wife,—it was a very merry and a very happy party. Had
+Mr. Chetwynd been one of the number, he would probably have felt a good
+deal out of his element, from the fact that he would have been troubled
+with a certain amount of anxiety as to his own dignity.
+
+Mr. Prior, whose pleasant ease of manner, and entire
+self-forgetfulness, were equally to be seen on all occasions, whether
+his companions might chance to be earls and baronets, or masons and
+plumbers, suffered from no such uneasiness. He kept up a cheery flow
+of conversation, just suited to those present—bright, cheerful,
+kindly, with many an illustration for the men, and many a story for
+the little ones, not lacking a vein of quaint humour, and yet having
+an under-current of serious purpose, which now and then rose to the
+surface, like a golden thread in a many-coloured pattern.
+
+The feast over—and very thoroughly it was over, little but crumbs
+remaining—there was some talk of the chaise and its inmates driving
+on. Miss Prior protested. She at least must have one game with the
+children first. Wouldn't Mona join? Mona did not object, but for all
+Miss Prior's twenty years' seniority, Mona seemed of the two to have
+the less appreciation of the fun. She very soon found her help was not
+really needed, and slipped away.
+
+"Mona, you are not well to-day," said Mrs. Prior, as she came up.
+
+Mona flushed suddenly. "I have rather a headache, Mrs. Prior; I dare
+say it will go off soon."
+
+"Don't tire yourself, dear. My sister likes nothing better than a game
+with the little ones. Would you not rather go home at once?"
+
+"O no, thank you! We are to walk up the Dingle," said Mona, unwilling
+to check the general enjoyment, though she really did feel far from
+well. "They say the view from the top is lovely."
+
+"Yes; and I am told that the path is quite fit for our little chaise,
+so we will all go up together," said Mr. Prior, making his appearance
+at this juncture. "Here come Tyrrell and Blayney to harness in the
+pony."
+
+"I am glad Mrs. Prior will be able to come too," Mona remarked.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+NAT'S COTTAGE.
+
+"IT ought to be well done certainly, with three of us to accomplish
+the business," said Mr. Prior, patting the pony's head as he began to
+loosen the rein. "Unless indeed it were a case of 'too many cooks,'
+Tyrrell."
+
+"Dapple ain't the sort of 'broth' to be so easy spoilt, sir," said Nat,
+with a laugh.
+
+"I hope not. By the bye, Tyrrell—yes, you can tighten that strap a
+little—did I not hear that you were thinking of changing your cottage
+soon?"
+
+"At quarter-day—yes, sir," said Nat, looking flattered at the interest
+shown in his affairs. "You see, sir, the one we're in now, though
+it's a neat place enough, is over small, and it's draughty and smoky
+besides. So now I'm getting on a bit in the world, we thought we'd look
+out for a better."
+
+"You have not found one yet, I suppose?"
+
+"Why, no, sir, and I'm not sure after all that I haven't been imprudent
+in giving notice about this, before we'd some idea of a new one like to
+suit us."
+
+"Poor fellow—but of course you could not help that, though it was
+unwise," said Mr. Prior compassionately.
+
+Nat Tyrrell was not the only one present who stared with open eyes.
+
+Mr. Prior looked back so calmly, however, that even Mrs. Prior began
+to fancy she must have been mistaken, in thinking that her husband had
+said anything extraordinary.
+
+"I had an idea, now,—but of course it is not worth my while mentioning
+it to you," said Mr. Prior thoughtfully.
+
+"An idea about what, sir, if I might make bold to ask?" inquired Nat
+Tyrrell, with curiosity.
+
+"O merely an idea, not at all worth mentioning. Of course it could make
+no possible difference in the end," said Mr. Prior, leading the pony
+towards the carriage.
+
+Nat followed, wondering what in the world had come over Mr. Prior, and
+half disposed to fear it must be a case of sun-stroke.
+
+"I'd be very glad of any advice, sir," he said, by way of testing the
+soundness of Mr. Prior's mind.
+
+"You are not looking out for a new cottage, of course," said Mr. Prior.
+
+"Indeed, sir, but I am. You don't happen to know of one, do you, sir?"
+asked Nat, with some eagerness.
+
+"You do not really mean to say you are giving yourself any trouble
+about the matter!" said Mr. Prior in a tone of astonishment.
+
+"To be sure, I should just think I was too," said Nat rather
+indignantly. "A pretty thing it would be, if we waited with our hands
+before us till we found ourselves homeless."
+
+Nat suddenly stopped and looked rather foolish, remembering the last
+time he had used that expression. A faint idea of Mr. Prior's meaning
+began to dawn upon his mind.
+
+"So if you don't look out for another cottage, you think that may
+probably be the result," said Mr. Prior.
+
+"I don't see what else would be like to happen," Nat answered in a
+subdued tone.
+
+"True, but then, if it were so, it would have been fore-ordained by
+God," said Mr. Prior. "And what is fore-ordained must come to pass."
+
+Nat seemed at a loss what to reply.
+
+"You see, Tyrrell, I am a firm believer in the doctrine of God's
+foreknowledge and pre-ordering of events," continued Mr. Prior. "It
+is told very plainly in the Bible—'He doeth according to His will in
+the army of heaven, and among the inhabitants of the earth, and none
+can stay His hand, or say unto Him, What doest Thou?' And again He
+says, 'I am God, and there is none like me, declaring the end from the
+beginning, and from ancient times the things that are not yet done.'"
+
+"They're wonderful texts, sir. I don't know as I ever saw 'em before,"
+said Nat thoughtfully.
+
+"There are truths in them which cannot for a moment be set aside. Now,
+looking upon the matter in that light, knowing that your future life
+is, as it were, all marked out in the secret mind of God; how can I for
+a moment suppose that 'you' have any freedom or choice as to your own
+actions? How can I in common fairness blame you for doing that which
+it has been fore-ordained from all eternity that you should do? I must
+rather look upon you as the unhappy victim of circumstances, as a mere
+puppet in the hands of a superior Power, with nothing more of praise or
+blame attaching to anything you may do or think, than to the movements
+of a hammer or saw in the hands of a workman. As for believing in
+God's absolute power and fore-ordering of all things, and at the self
+same time treating you as a reasonable creature, worthy of blame or
+praise—why, looking upon the matter in a common-sense light, the thing
+seems simply impossible."
+
+Nat fidgeted uneasily, but did not speak.
+
+"You were saying just now that you had given notice to your landlord
+rather early," Mr. Prior went on. "It sounds imprudent, to be sure.
+But then, poor fellow, no one can dream of laying blame upon you. For
+it was all fore-ordained that you should give notice upon just that
+particular day; and if it was to be, how could you help it? How could
+you possibly have acted otherwise?"
+
+Nat's bronzed cheek took a deeper hue than its wont. "Well, sir, you
+have me there for certain!" he said frankly.
+
+"You say you are looking out for a cottage," continued Mr. Prior, in
+the same deliberate manner. "And it did occur to me that I knew of one
+which might just suit you."
+
+"No! Do you, sir?"
+
+"But I have decided that it would be quite useless trouble on my part
+to mention particulars. For if that identical cottage is pre-ordained
+to be your home, it will be your home, whether I tell you about it or
+no. And if it is not pre-ordained to be your home, then no words of
+mine or efforts of yours can make it so. Whatever the result may be,
+one thing is clear, and that is that nobody can be blamed."
+
+"But, sir,—" Nat began, and paused.
+
+"So you see it is a very simple matter, Tyrrell, looking upon it in
+this light. If a chosen home awaits you, that home will in time become
+yours. If you don't look out for one, and find yourself brought down to
+sleeping in the open air, why, it will no doubt be something of a trial
+to you and your family, but you must comfort yourself with the thought
+that all things are pre-ordained by God, and that you,—not being a
+responsible creature,—can be justly blamed by no one."
+
+"Don't seem to me as that 'ud be much of a consolation neither," said
+Nat, rather humbly. "Please, sir, if you wouldn't mind after all
+telling me about that there cottage—"
+
+"It is a very nice cottage," said Mr. Prior. "A particularly nice one,
+Tyrrell. I do most sincerely hope, for your sake, that it may prove to
+be your pre-ordained future home. I should advise you on your return
+this evening to sit quietly down, with your hands before you, and
+patiently await the opening out of events, through which in the course
+of time you will learn exactly what is to happen to you."
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir, but I think I'd be better satisfied, and not
+such a fool neither, if I was to see the landlord, and set the matter
+going,—if you'd be so very good, sir, as to tell me where that cottage
+is," added Nat, growing beseeching.
+
+"Come, now, we will make an agreement. If you will do one thing for me,
+I will tell you what you wish."
+
+"Anything, sir," said Nat eagerly.
+
+"I would not promise rashly, if I were you. Of course you fully
+believe, Tyrrell, that all things are fore-ordained by God?"
+
+"Seems clear enough in the Bible about that, sir, any way," said
+Tyrrell.
+
+"And that every event of your future life is in His hands,—that He
+arranges matters, and moves the hearts of men, according to His divine
+will,—that you cannot take one step or lift one finger, unless He gives
+you power,—that nothing in heaven or earth can come about without His
+permission!"
+
+"'Tis all true," Tyrrell answered.
+
+"And yet you seem to think that you have some sort of voice in the
+matter,—that you have a certain freedom of will and a certain liberty
+of action,—that events may be brought about by yourself,—that you might
+be fairly blamed and might justly suffer, from refusing to take certain
+steps which appear to you wise and right."
+
+Tyrrell nodded silently.
+
+"Then, Tyrrell, there lie two great and wonderful truths side by side.
+Will you kindly reconcile them for me? Please to explain to me in clear
+terms, by the light of reason and common-sense, exactly how they both
+exist, and how they work. If you can reach to the bottom of this deep
+mystery of God, which no living man has ever yet fathomed, you shall
+command me to do what you will about the cottage, or any other earthly
+matter."
+
+"I'll have to wait long enough for the cottage, if that has to come
+between," said Nat, in a low voice. "Sir, I never did see the matter in
+that light before, I must confess."
+
+"Nor I neither," said Blayney.
+
+"No, because in every-day practical matters, you put aside theory and
+attend to fact. You 'know' God's power to be boundless, and you pray
+Him to guide you in your way, and He guides you. You 'feel' you are
+free to act, and you act. You don't trouble your head with trying to
+settle exactly how far your own freedom in action may reach, or how far
+God chooses directly to control your mind and the minds of those about
+you. But when you touch upon the question of salvation, you must needs
+perplex your brains by trying to understand what can't be understood,
+and struggling to reconcile truths which God has not given us power to
+reconcile, till you end by putting reason in the place of faith, and
+working yourselves into a perfect maze. It is dangerous work, men."
+
+"Well, sir, I believe you're about right," said Tyrrell soberly. "Maybe
+I've been rash in things I've said."
+
+"As most men are who attempt to get to the bottom of these questions.
+It is like a bather who cannot swim, getting out of his depth in the
+sea. We are mere children, looking upon the outside crust of God's
+great universe. But mystery lies beyond wherever we turn, and deep
+as men fancy themselves able to dig, they still only end in mystery.
+As for saying we won't believe God's truths, just because we cannot
+understand them, that is simply and childishly absurd."
+
+"But a great many deep thinkers do doubt," said Mona involuntarily.
+
+"And a much greater number of shallow ones. The truth is, all these
+questionings are just going off from the simplicity of the Word. God's
+linked commands and promises are very easy to understand. 'Believe,
+and thou shalt be saved.' 'Ask, and ye shall receive.' It is perfectly
+true that you cannot act, or will to act, without grace from above.
+Nevertheless 'act'—don't lie helplessly on the ground—only act, ask,
+believe, and safety is yours."
+
+"'Tis hard to have to make up one's mind one can't understand things,"
+said Nat.
+
+"May be so—to the 'pride of human intellect,' of which we hear so much
+in the present day. But the greatest minds are those which bow most
+meekly before the Word of God, and feel most deeply their own utter
+littleness. There is nothing for these matters but simple trust."
+
+"Then you'd just have us shut our eyes to such difficulties in the
+Bible, sir," said Nat.
+
+"No, certainly not. I would have you neither shut your eyes to them,
+nor shuffle over them in alarm, nor believe one side to the exclusion
+of the other, nor stake your faith upon the power of man to reconcile
+them. Don't be afraid to look the matter in the face, and to confess
+frankly that there are many things which you can't understand, and
+never will understand in this life. Only make a firm stand upon the
+justice, and holiness, and love of God, take each revealed truth as God
+has given it to you, let it lie alone where God has placed it; and be
+content to believe where you cannot see, waiting till fuller sight is
+given to you. For a time will come—and to all of us I trust—when our
+training as children will be over, and these perplexities shall pass
+away, like mist on the mountain-side, in the glorious light of our
+Saviour's unveiled presence."
+
+Then after a short grave silence, Mr. Prior said cheerfully—
+
+"And now, Tyrrell, I am ready to give you all the information in my
+power, about the cottage I have seen."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+A FOG.
+
+UP on the top of the Dingle.
+
+One after another arrived there, panting more or less with the
+scramble. It was a disappointment that the sun had vanished, and thick
+mists were gathering over the landscape. The children did not so much
+care about the lost scenery, but Madge regretted that Mona could not
+see her favourite view in all its beauty.
+
+"Never mind, Madge. I'll come again some day, and mean time, I must
+take your word for granted," Mona said, as she sat breathlessly on
+a green bank. She had declined to drive up, partly from pity for
+the pony, partly from catching a momentary infection of the general
+enthusiasm, and she was one of the first to reach the top. Her white
+lips now made Madge uneasy.
+
+"You're overdone, Miss Mona, I'm afraid."
+
+"A little tired. No matter. Do you often come here, Madge?"
+
+"I used in old days, Miss Mona—when Neill was with me. He and I'd walk
+it, and think nothing of the distance,—for a day's pleasuring, you
+know."
+
+Mona looked into the calm face wistfully. "Madge, do you never feel
+impatient now to hear from him again?"
+
+"The feeling comes,—once in a while," said Madge, plucking a small twig
+of budding May. "I'll hear in right good time, Miss Mona—whether I meet
+him in this life, or not till in the next."
+
+Perhaps she found it a little hard to talk about him, for she moved
+away slowly, and the next instant, a rush of children claimed her
+attention. Hardly ten minutes later, Mr. Prior came up.
+
+"Madge, it won't do to stay here. The fog is coming on fast."
+
+She had been so busy, as not to notice how rapidly the change in the
+weather was taking place, and a passing look of consternation showed in
+her face, when she took a glance round.
+
+"There's nothing for it but to be off as sharp as possible, sir," she
+said. "I never know a fog come on so quick after so bright a day."
+
+"It will be on us completely soon. Call the children, Madge, and keep
+them together. We must get out of the Dingle at once."
+
+A scramble down that rough pathway in a dense fog would be no trifle,
+with so many little ones in the party, and more especially for the pony
+and chaise. Tyrrell and Blayney, remarking on the latter point, advised
+that Mr. Prior should descend to the "Basin" immediately, taking down
+as many of the party as were already at hand. Mr. Prior would trust no
+one but himself at the pony's head.
+
+The fog thickened rapidly during even that brief discussion, and
+wreaths of white smoke-like mist came rolling and curling around them,
+pouring up from the low country round the Dingle. Most of the children,
+being happily near at hand, were despatched at once to scramble after
+the sure-footed little pony, under the guardianship of Ned Blayney and
+his mother. Three only were missing, besides Mona, whom nobody had seen
+since the few words exchanged between herself and Madge. The party had
+scattered so widely over the hill, however, at the first moment of
+arrival, that it was not surprising that all did not at once respond
+to the call, and the two Tyrrells, with Miss Prior and Madge, remained
+behind to hunt up the missing individuals.
+
+With the help of a little shouting, the children were speedily found,
+rather in a state of alarm at having missed their companions in the
+fog. They were at once sent after the rest down the hill under charge
+of Mrs. Tyrrell. Mona, however, was not with them. Nobody seemed to
+know anything about her, and very bitterly poor Madge blamed herself
+for not having paid more regard to her.
+
+"Nonsense, Madge; it was the most natural thing in the world," Miss
+Prior said kindly. "We shall come upon her directly."
+
+But as the minutes passed, and the fog grew more dense, and they still
+sought and called, and called and sought in vain, the matter began to
+look more serious.
+
+"Where are you all?" in a shout from Mr. Prior, was a welcome sound to
+the searchers. They gathered together, unable to see each other's faces
+at a few yards' distance.
+
+"Not found yet?" he asked. "This is extraordinary!"
+
+"I can't imagine where the poor child can have wandered," said Miss
+Prior. "If she is near, she must hear us calling; and yet surely she
+would not have walked far."
+
+"Tyrrell's gone down the side a good way, to look," said Madge. "But my
+fear is lest she should have slipped somewhere, sir, and maybe stunned
+herself."
+
+It was the fear of all of them—that or worse. Why otherwise should she
+not answer?
+
+"I trust not," he said. "But she can hardly have gone far in any case.
+She would never have left the hill."
+
+They separated to search again more thoroughly,—Miss Prior, as a
+stranger to the ground, being left upon the summit, in case of Mona
+appearing there.
+
+About ten minutes more of fruitless effort passed away. Then Madge and
+Mr. Prior meeting unexpectedly, stopped to speak together, and broke
+off with a simultaneous exclamation.
+
+"Madge!"
+
+"Sir!—What's that?"
+
+[Illustration: "She's asleep, sir," Madge said, in utter amazement.
+"It's enough to give her her death of cold."]
+
+Six steps, and they had found her,—quietly lying on the ground, with
+her eyes closed, and her hand under her cheek, and her black dress
+spreading over the grass. Their first impression was that she must have
+received some injury, their second, that no fall was possible in that
+spot. She had chosen the softest of flat mossy ground, with not a rock
+near.
+
+"She's asleep, sir," Madge said, in utter amazement. "It's enough to
+give her her death of cold. Miss Mona, dear—do wake up now."
+
+"It is not natural sleep, surely," said Mr. Prior, in an uneasy tone.
+"Mona, my dear child, you must not lie here."
+
+She sat up wearily, in answer to their efforts, and then leant against
+Madge Hardwicke.
+
+"O do let me rest a little longer—so early—and my head aches," she
+muttered drowsily.
+
+"Miss Mona, dear, you're not in bed. You're up here, on the top of the
+hill; and you've got to come down the Dingle as quick as can be."
+
+Mona opened her eyes more fully, and gazed round in bewilderment. "The
+Dingle!" she said.
+
+"Don't you know where you are?" asked Mr. Prior.
+
+"It's the fog confuses her," said Madge. "Isn't it, Miss Mona? You
+didn't think you'd wake up, and find the Dingle all misty, like this,
+did you?"
+
+"Oh—fog—I see," said Mona, in a more natural voice. "How stupid of me!
+I thought I must be going blind at the first moment. What makes it so
+foggy?"
+
+"It comes on sometimes like that," said Madge. "Do you feel better now,
+Miss Mona? Can you walk down the hill?"
+
+"Why, I must have been asleep," said Mona, standing up. "How could I be
+so absurd! Why, Madge—"
+
+"What made you go to sleep, Mona?" asked Mr. Prior, making her lean
+upon him, as they moved towards the path, while Madge went to relieve
+the minds of the other searchers.
+
+"I don't know," said Mona, looking ashamed. "I think I felt dull and
+giddy, so I just lay down for a minute on the grass, to see if it would
+do me good. And the next thing I remember is, that I fancied I was
+being called in the morning to get up."
+
+"You had a sound sleep at all events. Not a very safe sort of a couch
+to choose, though."
+
+"No; it was stupid of me," said Mona languidly, for the exertion of
+walking was bringing back the feeling of sick giddiness which had
+assailed her before.
+
+She had not much to say to Miss Prior, who came up the next instant,
+full of relief and curiosity, and rather disposed to scold playfully,
+till Mona's white lips stopped her.
+
+"I'm afraid your grassy siesta hasn't been a very refreshing one," she
+said. "Poor child! It's of no use for you to try to walk fast. I'll go
+on, and tell them all that you are found, and get the children packed
+into the break. We had better be off as quickly as possible now. What a
+fog it is, to be sure!"
+
+"It seems an unfortunate sort of ending to your bright day, Madge,"
+said Mr. Prior.
+
+"I wouldn't mind anything else, if Miss Mona was well," said Madge.
+
+But Mona looked up with a smile and said, "O, I shall be all right,
+Madge—only sleep made me feel heavy. I have had a headache for two or
+three days past. The scrambling brought it on worse, I suppose,—but it
+isn't anything to signify."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+THE DRIVE HOME.
+
+THEY found that Mrs. Prior had been moved into the back seat of the
+chaise, where she sat with Miss Prior and Georgie, leaving the front
+for Mona.
+
+"What, is she to be under my charge?" asked Mr. Prior. "Not quite fit
+for a turn at the reins to-day, I think, Mona."
+
+"I should be sorry to drive in this fog," said Mona, as she took her
+seat. "And I wish Mrs. Prior had not moved on my account."
+
+"Better, Mona?" asked Miss Prior from behind. "Come, you must wrap up
+well, or we shall have you taking cold. Here is another shawl."
+
+She looked so much more comfortable, leaning back in the easy front
+seat, that Madge went off to the break in a tolerably satisfied frame
+of mind,—far better satisfied than Mr. Prior, who had a certain secret
+source of disquietude, about which Madge was ignorant. He allowed
+nothing of his disquietude to appear, however.
+
+Driving through the dense fog was no easy matter. They were in danger
+now and then of running up a bank, or down into a ditch. The break was
+at first near ahead, and the children's voices floated back merrily,
+but the sounds grew gradually fainter as the distance widened, till
+at length they died away. And presently, a white light began to shine
+through the fog, and the dense curtain changed again into masses of
+curling rolls and waves.
+
+"It will clear off now," said Mr. Prior. "Ha! That was quite a
+sunlight-gleam."
+
+"It was curious your saying something about mists to the men," observed
+Mona.
+
+"Did I? Yes, I remember. The Dingle valley is famous for them, which
+may have suggested the idea to me,—not that I expected to find myself
+in the midst of one so soon."
+
+"It seems getting clearer now," said Mona.
+
+"There is sunshine coming before long." And then with a half-smile
+he added, "There are other mists also, Mona, which the sun alone can
+disperse, and that another and a more radiant Sun than this of ours."
+
+Conversation on different matters followed, and as the afternoon grew
+fairer, the drive home proved a more pleasant one than they had looked
+for. Mona was the silent individual of the party, but the others
+supposed her grave looks to arise from fatigue, and did not disturb
+her. They were not far from Alyn, and the occupants of the back seat
+were busily talking together, when Mr. Prior, after seeming for a while
+as thoughtful as Mona herself, remarked,—
+
+"I am afraid your day has not been a very agreeable one after all."
+
+"O yes, indeed it has," said Mona, starting. "At least, I am very glad
+I went, and heard your talk with the men."
+
+"What conclusion have you come to in the matter?"
+
+"I think—I have been—very foolish lately," she said, with some effort.
+
+"'Thou knowest my foolishness,'" was the answer to this.
+
+"Only it is hard not to be troubled by these questions sometimes."
+
+"'Neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high
+for me.' David was a wise man."
+
+"But, Mr. Prior—"
+
+And then a pause.
+
+"Well?" said Mr. Prior, as they passed under a low-bending larch, the
+boughs of which swept close over their heads.
+
+"It seems as if one never got to the end of puzzles."
+
+"You never will in this life. As I told you this afternoon,—go where
+you will, you still only end in mystery. It cannot be otherwise, with
+our present powers."
+
+"But, Mr. Prior—"
+
+"What is the difficulty now?" he asked.
+
+"The heathen—" she said slowly. "What of them?"
+
+"As the Lord wills," he answered gravely.
+
+"But—doesn't it seem strange that there should be all those millions,
+who never had the choice given them of believing or not believing?"
+
+"You remind me of a story I once heard. A man was cavilling at the
+text,—'Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated.' Why was it? What
+reason had God for doing so? 'I can tell you,' said his friend. 'Can
+you? Why?' '"Because He chose,"' was the answer. That is answer enough
+for you and me. Whatever He wills, from first to last, is righteous and
+holy and good."
+
+"Yes,—I see—I know—I don't want to cavil," she said hurriedly. "But do
+you think—must they all perish?"
+
+"I can tell you no more than the Bible tells me. For your comfort
+remember,—'He that knew not and did commit things worthy of stripes,
+shall be beaten with few stripes.'"
+
+Mona was silent.
+
+"You had better study the early part of the second of Romans, with
+reference to this subject,—not forgetting that the Gentiles were
+the heathen of St. Paul's day. You will find there mention of 'the
+righteous judgment of God, WHO WILL RENDER TO EVERY MAN ACCORDING TO
+HIS DEEDS,'—whether Jew or Gentile—'indignation and wrath, tribulation
+and anguish, upon every soul of man that doeth evil,' but 'glory,
+honour, and peace to every man that worketh good.' In Revelation, we
+find again that the dead are to be 'judged, every man "according to
+their works."' Natural justice itself asks no more than this which
+God's Word declares."
+
+"Mr. Prior, the heathen don't know God's will. They can't."
+
+"Then, disobeying unknowingly, they will have the punishment of 'few
+stripes.' Remember too,—'These, having not the law, are a law unto
+themselves; which shew the work of the law written in their hearts,
+their conscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts the mean
+while accusing or else excusing one another.' Has a heathen no sense of
+doing right or doing wrong? Whatever perplexes you in this matter, you
+may always come back restfully to the plain and simple justice of the
+promise, that God 'will render to every man according to his deeds.'"
+
+For some minutes, Mona thought over his words.
+
+"But there is no other way to heaven," she said, as if carrying on a
+train of ideas. "I mean—except Christ."
+
+"No other. Whether Jew or Gentile—whether babe or man—whether under law
+or under Gospel—none find acceptance with God save through the Son."
+
+"Then how—then why—But I cannot understand," she said.
+
+"There is no need that you should. 'The secret things belong unto the
+Lord our God,' and we cannot meddle in them without suffering hurt.
+This is a question about which very little has been told us. A man once
+went to Archbishop Whately, with his head full of some such perplexity,
+anxious to get the opinion of so learned a man. Whately sent him to
+find his answer in our Saviour's words,—'What is that to thee? Follow
+thou Me!'"
+
+"Is it wrong to wish to know more?" asked Mona.
+
+"Don't give the reins to your wish. A child cannot understand all his
+father's actions or motives for action, and strong curiosity may become
+an impertinence on his part."
+
+Then, after a break,—
+
+"There is a more practical light in which to view this matter. The
+command has been given,—'Go ye into all the world, and preach the
+Gospel to every creature.' The real question is not, as men put it, Why
+doesn't God Christianise the heathen? But,—Why don't 'we' do all in our
+power to call lost souls into the flock of God?"
+
+Through the last wreaths of fading mist, he pointed to a field by the
+road-side.
+
+"Look there, Mona. God has given into our hands the task of seed-sowing
+in the material world, and He has given it into our hands in the
+spiritual world also. Every blade of wheat springs up just as He has
+fore-ordained that it should. But none the less certainly, in a field
+amply sown, you may fairly reckon upon a more or less ample harvest;
+while in a field scantily sown, a miracle alone could bring forth more
+than a scanty harvest."
+
+"No,—I understand that," she said.
+
+"Paul planted, Apollos watered, God gave the increase. If Paul had not
+planted, nor Apollos watered, God would not have given the increase.
+Take a lesson from that field. You have precisely the same right to
+cavil at the dealings of God, in not converting the heathen nations as
+a body, as every farmer in the land has to cavil at the dealings of God
+in not bringing up a miraculous harvest of wheat, without requiring him
+first to sow the seed."
+
+He let her have a minute to think it over, and then said gently, "Are
+you doing your utmost to save poor lost souls for whom the Saviour
+died?"
+
+She shook her head. "What, Mona! When He has given His precious life
+for you, and suffered untold agony, to save men from eternal death,
+you will not even give your time to telling others of the price He
+paid! You are content to sit with folded hands, calmly criticising your
+Maker's will, in not saving you further trouble by a miracle, which in
+His wisdom He does not see fit to work."
+
+He had said enough now, and he knew it, though her downcast face was
+turned away.
+
+She answered presently in a stifled voice, "Thank you, Mr. Prior."
+
+"And as for these questionings," he said quietly—"'What I do thou
+knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter,' 'Ye shall know that
+I have not done without cause all that I have done in it, saith
+the Lord God.' Put your trust in such promises, and rest upon the
+loving-kindness of the Lord. It is only for a little while,—only a
+little longer of child-like faith without sight,—and then all mist and
+darkness shall pass away for ever."
+
+A few minutes later, they were passing up the hill, and stopped short
+at the garden-gate of the doctor's house.
+
+"Better now?" Mr. Prior asked, as he handed her out. "You would not
+like my sister to go in, and see after you?"
+
+"O no, thank you. There is the housekeeper, if I need anything, and
+uncle Chetwynd will be back directly," said Mona. "I shall try to get a
+good night's rest. That is what I want."
+
+"So I hope,"—though he did not like the look of her flushed cheeks.
+"You are going to be a good child, and not lie awake, troubling your
+head with these matters any more."
+
+"I'll try not," she said rather faintly, as she went up the garden-path
+beside him. "Only—I have been so wrong—"
+
+"Just the mistake of a little child, trying to pry into matters
+beyond his understanding. Don't do it any more. The Master knows your
+weakness, and He is 'very pitiful, and of tender mercy.' Put yourself
+back at His feet, dear child, and don't let these things stand again in
+the way of your peace."
+
+"Thank you; good-bye."
+
+She could not have said more without bursting into tears, and hastened
+away as she spoke.
+
+Mr. Prior only lingered to inquire, "Is Mr. Chetwynd at home?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Do you know when he will return?"
+
+"He didn't say particular, sir, as to the hour. He said he'd maybe look
+in upon the Rectory, and see if you was all back, and that might make
+him later."
+
+Mr. Prior went thoughtfully down the garden-path. "If I can catch
+Chetwynd, I shall give him a warning," he said, as he resumed the
+reins. "Mona is very far from well."
+
+"Just a headache from the sun," said Miss Prior. "And I should not
+wonder if lying on the grass in that fashion were to give her a chill."
+
+"I shall be glad if things are no worse. I find she has been visiting
+in Wall's Alley, where there have been six cases of fever lately,—has
+seen a child sickening for it."
+
+"You don't say so! Did she not know of the fever there?"
+
+"I believe Mr. Chetwynd has a theory that girls are apt to catch fever
+through sheer nervousness, and therefore it is best to keep them in
+ignorance of particular cases. I hope this may prove to be nothing—but—"
+
+They all felt that it was indeed a "but."
+
+Mona, meanwhile, had gone up to her own room, merely telling the
+servant, as she passed, that she was tired and meant to go to bed, and
+would ring if she wanted anything. But the first thing she did when
+there was to take off hat and jacket, and throw herself down on her
+knees beside the bed. Too sick and weary for the exertion of steady
+thought, she did not so much pray in words, as feel herself only so
+utterly self-abased and worthless, that no other attitude seemed
+endurable. And though no connected petitions were on her lips or in
+her mind, yet the mere act of casting herself there in helpless lowly
+dependence upon her Lord, was in itself the very essence of prayer.
+
+But an hour later, when Mr. Chetwynd came home, she had not risen. He
+had been made anxious by a word of warning from Mr. Prior, and came to
+the door to inquire if she were ill. All his tapping failed to obtain
+an answer.
+
+She heard him dimly indeed, as she would have heard some far distant
+sound, but the power to reply seemed to have forsaken her.
+
+He came in at length, and lifted her up, and laid her on the bed, with
+his hand pressing her burning forehead.
+
+And then she knew he was asking a question—something—what was it?
+
+"I can't talk, my head aches so," she tried to say. But other words
+than the ones she wanted came to her lips, and she knew by his face of
+concern that she was speaking utter nonsense. "I don't know what I am
+talking about! What makes me feel so strange?" she strove to ask.
+
+"Hush, hush, darling; don't say that! Don't you know me, Mona?"
+
+She was aware again that she had not said what she wished. And when she
+would fain have answered, "Uncle Chetwynd," the only words she could
+speak were, "Mother! I do so want mother's sweet cool hand."
+
+"Hartly shall come and put you to bed," said Mr. Chetwynd, and Mona
+acquiesced.
+
+But when the undressing was done, and he stood again by her side, she
+murmured confusedly—
+
+"I haven't said my prayers."
+
+"Poor child! Yes; you were kneeling down when I came in."
+
+"I couldn't pray. Will He mind? He knows all. Won't He forgive me?"
+
+What could Mr. Chetwynd say? This was no time for sneer or scorn. She
+turned her shining restless eyes full upon him.
+
+"No, you don't believe it; you don't know. Oh, it has been dreadful.
+But He is tender and pitiful—tender and pitiful. Mother, say me the
+rest?"
+
+What would not Mr. Chetwynd have given at that moment for power to
+repeat the whole verse, whatever it might be!
+
+"I want to hear it all. I think I have forgotten it lately. Prying into
+matters too hard for me. But Jesus knows my foolishness, doesn't He?—So
+foolish and ignorant. He is tender and pitiful. Don't you think He will
+forgive me, though I could not ask Him rightly?"
+
+And Mr. Chetwynd started at the sound of his own voice, saying
+steadily, "Yes, I am sure of it, Mona."
+
+But what if he had spoken a truer word then than for many a year past?
+
+All through the long hours of the night he watched by the side of the
+fever-stricken girl. The look of deep care which came and settled down
+upon his face, was the same as that with which he had summoned Madge
+Hardwicke on the morning of the fatal railway accident.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+A BLOW.
+
+"FATHER, it's been just the nicest day I ever had in all my life,"
+cried little Nannie eagerly, as she rushed into the cottage; and it
+was a rare thing for Nannie to have spirits to rush anywhere. "Such
+games down in the Dingle, all of us together, and—oh! father, only
+think—there was Mr. Prior and all of 'em in the carriage, with a real
+great hamper of things for all of us to eat. And we had such fun on the
+grass. O father, it's been just beautiful."
+
+"Nasty foggy sort o' day," growled Amos.
+
+"Ah, but the fog didn't last long, did it, father? I think 'twas all
+the more fun driving home, when we couldn't see our way. And d'you know
+they lost the pretty young lady for ever so long, and found her asleep
+on the grass, 'cause Madge told me."
+
+"Yer can hold yer clack," said Amos ungraciously, not being of a
+sympathising turn of mind. He did not like to think of the provisions
+which she had had, and he had missed.
+
+"And the parson made me a beautiful basket out of the peel of my
+orange," pursued Nannie, too happy to repress her delight at a moment's
+notice.
+
+"Didn't cost him nothin'," said Amos.
+
+"Ah! But he's as kind—as kind—" repeated Nannie. "And the lady that's
+come to the Rectory played some games with us, and then we all went up
+the Dingle."
+
+A grunt was the response. Nannie's excitement was fast cooling. She
+gave one little patient sigh, as she lighted the tallow dip in the
+disjointed tin candlestick, thereby revealing a small sombre room of
+generally musty scent and comfortless aspect. Amos had chosen to close
+the rickety shutter before her arrival, thus cutting off the last
+remains of twilight. What a contrast to the Dingle, with its green
+carpet spreading out in the sunshine.
+
+Nannie felt sobered all at once—hardly knowing why. She talked no more
+of the day's pleasure, but quietly took out her Testament, and began to
+learn her next Sunday-school lesson—a text and part of a hymn printed
+upon a small leaflet. But Amos interposed.
+
+"I say—"
+
+"Yes, father."
+
+"Yer can stop that now."
+
+"I'm only learning for Sunday-school," said Nannie timidly.
+
+"I ain't ageing to have ye wastin' candles over that sort o' work. Get
+away to bed."
+
+Nannie knew that remonstrance would be useless. She closed her
+Testament, and put it away quietly. And then, by a sudden impulse, she
+crept close up to his side. Such an unattractive repellent old man—the
+marvel was that she cared for him at all. And yet she loved him.
+
+"Father—" she said.
+
+"Tell ye, yer can get to bed," said Amos, jerking his thumb in the
+direction of Nannie's sleeping apartment.
+
+"Mayn't I say one thing first?" asked Nannie, with a little heart which
+fluttered and yet was brave.
+
+"Don't care!" said Amos surlily.
+
+"Father, I ain't sure as you'll like it," said Nannie. "But I've
+been thinking ever so about you to-day,—and I've prayed you may
+love God,—but I'm so feared every morning that maybe it's the
+Resurrection-Day, and if you don't make haste, you won't be in time.
+I'd want the Day to come, but for that. O father—please!"
+
+The little upturned face was touching in its humility. She had no
+thought of setting him right, or of interfering in matters which did
+not concern her. It was only that she was so anxious and frightened for
+him, that she could not help trying a few beseeching words.
+
+But Amos Ackman was not in a state of mind to bear them patiently.
+Nannie received no answer in speech. His right arm and leg were thrust
+out sharply at the same moment, towards the slight figure of the little
+girl beside him. Not that he meant to hurt her. It was just a momentary
+outbreak of his crusty vicious temper. The candle was struck down and
+extinguished, and Nannie was flung away—somewhere—he did not know
+where, only he heard the sound of her heavy fall.
+
+A fall, and then silence. Not a moan or a murmur broke in upon that
+stillness. A pin-fall would have sounded distinctly through the room.
+How dark it was! Only a glimmer of departing twilight crept in through
+the loosely-shuttered window. Amos did so wish he had not put up the
+shutter that evening. But he did not dare to go and remove it. He did
+not dare to lift a finger. He did not dare to leave his seat, for if he
+moved, he must needs go and see after little Nannie.
+
+And the thought of that was dreadful to him. Amos Ackman was a
+coward at heart. He remembered the words Madge Hardwicke had once
+uttered,—"Thank God He's kept you from being a downright murderer."
+
+Was he a murderer now? Nannie was lying somewhere on the floor in that
+small room—lying dead! Amos felt quite sure on that point. He had no
+doubt at all about the matter. The force of his own blow, as it had
+come back to his ears, and the sound of her heavy helpless fall, and
+the silence following, all told the same tale. Nannie was surely dead.
+
+And he was her murderer! It was her own father's arm which had struck
+the brutal coward-blow. Her own father, whom little Nannie had always
+loved so well. What a gentle little girl she had been to him for years
+past, and especially of late! She had borne his rough usage with such
+patience and fortitude, clinging to him so tenderly through all. How
+bitterly he had seen her cry over his harsh treatment of her, and yet
+how ready she had been in the very midst of her tears to run and do his
+bidding.
+
+And "his" arm had struck the blow. It came over him all at once, what
+a strange and terrible sight that little room would present to any one
+looking in. He pictured it to himself vividly, as he sat staring into
+the darkness, with drops coming thickly out upon his clammy face. The
+broken wooden dresser on one side, with two mugs and three cracked blue
+plates upon it. And the rickety round table in the middle. And the
+two chairs, one having lost a leg, and the other having lost half its
+back. And the old battered saucepan hanging up upon the wall, and the
+blackened pipe upon the narrow mantel-shelf, and the dirty stew pan
+lying down below in the fender among the cold embers. And the figure
+of the wretched bent old man, cowering and shaking on his three-legged
+stool. And the lifeless form of the little child, lying upon the floor.
+
+Amos saw it all in his mind, and he was glad that he had put up the
+shutter after all. There was a sort of shelter in the darkness. He
+felt that nobody could possibly look in and see what had taken place.
+By-and-by, as daylight dawned, people would come and find out all,
+and Amos would be dragged away to prison, and had up before the
+magistrates, and then—why, then, if they did not contrive to bring him
+in as insane, which Amos felt quite sure was not the truth, he knew
+the alternative. It was very dreadful to think of all these things as
+coming upon him, but still now—just now—he felt relieved to know that
+nobody could look in through the darkness.
+
+Nobody! What of ONE.
+
+Amos started and shuddered. For happening to glance up, his eye was
+caught by the steady shining of one brilliant star—a planet rather, but
+it was all the same to Amos—the beams of which came through a hole in
+the closed shutter, straight to where he sat.
+
+   "The eyes of the Lord are in every place beholding the evil and the
+good."
+
+   "The darkness hideth not from Thee, but the night shineth as the day;
+the darkness and the light are both alike to Thee."
+
+Where had he heard those fearful words? What was there in the shining
+of that star to bring them to his mind? Were those the verses little
+Nannie had been conning over so busily in her low clear tones the
+previous Sunday evening? He had listened a minute or two, and then had
+struck her book angrily out of her hand, and sent her off supperless
+to bed. He had little thought those words would ever come back to
+him—words he had learnt at his own mother's knee in early boyhood, and
+had long since forgotten. And here they were in strong living power
+ringing in his ears.
+
+   "The eyes of the Lord are in every place."
+
+   "The darkness and the light are both alike to Thee!"
+
+Then His Eyes were there, beholding the little room and all it
+contained. Darkness could make no difference. Darkness was clear as
+noonday to those all-seeing Eyes.
+
+Amos could not stand the radiance of that star. He pushed his stool a
+little on one side, so that he was not able to see it. But he wanted to
+know soon if it were still there, so he pushed his stool back again.
+And next he wanted to know if the star were shining on the spot where
+Nannie lay. He half rose from his seat to go and see, and then he was
+afraid, and sat down again.
+
+   "The wicked flee when no man pursueth, but the righteous are bold as
+a lion."
+
+What had brought "that" into his head now? He did not remember hearing
+Nannie say it. Possibly he had, however, and that was how it had come
+back to him. It was too bad. Amos hated having those texts ringing
+in his cars. He would take care Nannie should go no more to the
+Sunday-school, and then she would not pester him with them. No, nor to
+Madge Hardwicke's either. Nannie should stay at home and be busy. He
+would have no more nonsense.
+
+Nannie stay at home! Nannie not go to the Sunday-school! Why, he had
+forgotten! What could he be thinking about? If Nannie were dead, what
+had she to do any more with Sunday-school or Madge?
+
+Amos groaned, and let his face drop down in his bony hands. He had
+nobody to help him. He thought how Madge Hardwicke would pray if she
+were in trouble, but he knew nothing of prayer. He had scorned all
+notion of religion. Prayer was a foreign language to him altogether.
+Nobody to help him now. Nobody to love him ever again. Nat Tyrrell
+would never speak to him after this, and Nat Tyrrell was his only
+friend. He had dashed aside the love of the one frail little creature,
+who had held to him so steadfastly. And now—nothing was left to him.
+
+"Father!"
+
+A cold touch came upon his hand in the dark. Amos started back
+violently in his fear. The old ignorant superstitious man did not think
+it was Nannie herself come to see him, in the poor little body which he
+had used so badly, but something of a spirit form—something dreadful,
+unnatural, terrible. He was ready to believe anything that night.
+
+It was Nannie's own little voice, however, which said again—
+
+"Father." And then, as she felt how he shook and trembled before her,
+she added, "What's the matter, father?"
+
+"'Taint Nannie, sure," said Amos hoarsely. "I—I wish yer 'd get along."
+
+"Why, father, don't you know me?" asked Nannie. "I couldn't think what
+you was after, when I got up, and saw you sitting there."
+
+For early dawn was stealing in through the closed shutters, and the
+long night-hours had passed away somehow. Amos did not know how. He
+never would know. He might have lived through ten years, or only ten
+minutes, since the evening before. It was all the same to him. He could
+have believed either assertion.
+
+Nannie went and opened the closed shutters with her little feeble
+hands, which had not much of even their usual strength in them this
+morning. Then she came back again, and for the first time he ventured
+to look at her.
+
+"I'd been thinkin' I'd killed you outright, Nan," he muttered. "I ain't
+agoin' to knock you down again, though,—and I didn't mean to then,
+neither."
+
+"Won't you do it, father, even if I speak to you about the Lord Jesus
+once in awhile?" asked little Nannie, true even in her pain and
+weakness to her constant aim, as the needle to the pole.
+
+"I'll let yer say what yer likes," returned Amos. "Be you very bad,
+Nan?"
+
+Nannie's white drooping face looked up with a brave smile. "I'll be
+better soon, father. I'll go and lie down a bit, 'cause I'm so tired.
+But we ain't going to tell nobody about to-night."
+
+"They'd have me took up an' punished, sure enough, if 'twas known,"
+said Amos in fear.
+
+"No, nobody ain't to know," repeated Nannie. "I think I've been
+stunned, you know, but I'll be better by-and-by. And you're going to
+love me now, ain't you, please?"
+
+She leant against him feebly. "I've been a bad father to yer, Nannie, I
+have," he said self-reproachfully.
+
+And then, with a gentle kiss—the first she had dared to give him for
+a long while past—she walked away and laid herself down on the little
+palliasse which formed her bed. And Nannie probably knew scarcely
+better than did Amos himself that the long unconsciousness which
+followed was not sleep, but alternate fainting and stupor. Poor little
+Nannie! She had no one to help her in her need, so she only lay in
+patient meek endurance.
+
+Somewhere about nine o'clock Madge Hardwicke came to the door.
+
+"Amos—up, are you?" she said. "Where's Nannie?"
+
+"Asleep, an' you'd best leave her," said Amos, not caring that the two
+should meet sooner than was needful.
+
+"Maybe the little lass is tired with yesterday. 'Twas something new for
+her, and she don't look well neither of late. Tell her from me, will
+you, Amos, that I'm called off down in the town, and maybe won't be
+back a good many days."
+
+Amos concealed his satisfaction. "What's the matter? Doctor wants yer,
+eh?"
+
+"Miss Clyde's down with the fever. Will you give a truthful message for
+me, Amos? Tell Nannie she's to pray. Poor young lady. I doubt me but
+it's a bad case, and the doctor's nigh heart-broken already."
+
+"I'll give yer message," said Amos, anxious to have her gone.
+
+And Madge withdrew, marvelling much what could have made him so unlike
+himself.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+SUNSET CLOUDS.
+
+A BEAM of setting sunlight came slanting through the lattice-window of
+Nannie's tiny bedroom, and fell athwart her palliasse. She was lying
+there as she had taken to doing lately, not undressed, but just resting
+patiently, with one little thin hand folded over the other, and her
+wistful eyes travelling to and fro over the bare walls and cobwebbed
+ceiling. The gleam of red light brought a sudden look of pleasure into
+her face.
+
+"O it's pretty. Father, ain't it pretty?"
+
+"Eh, Nan? Did yer call?" asked Amos, shuffling in hurriedly, in his
+uncouth fashion.
+
+"Ain't that a pretty bit of sunlight, father?"
+
+Amos looked hard without discovering any particular beauty, but
+said,—"Sure, yes, 'tis,"—in uncertain tones, wishing to humour her.
+
+"Don't it seem long since Madge went down into the town?" said Nannie
+with a sigh, as a tinge of deeper crimson crept into the red.
+
+"Fortnight to-day," said Amos.
+
+"And the pretty young lady is just as ill as ever," said Nannie
+sorrowfully.
+
+"Well, I don't know as she ain't better this afternoon, but Tyrrell he
+telled me this mornin' that the doctors said if the fever didn't turn
+soon, as how she'd die."
+
+"Madge said I was to pray, didn't she?" said Nannie, putting the same
+question which she had put twenty times before in the last fortnight.
+
+Amos nodded. He could feel no possible doubt now that he had delivered
+Madge Hardwicke's message faithfully.
+
+"But maybe it 'ud be better for her, if she wasn't to get well," said
+Nannie thoughtfully.
+
+Amos did not feel himself called upon to hazard an opinion in the
+matter. He waited a moment, and then, finding that she did not speak
+again, went back to his bench. Nannie rose, and followed him out slowly.
+
+"Eh, Nan,—so here yer are," said Amos, looking up. "Seems yer pickin'
+up again."
+
+Nannie smiled thought she did not acquiesce in words. "Will you have me
+read to you, father?"
+
+Amos could not refuse. She had fallen into the habit of reading a
+chapter aloud to him, morning and evening, and though he never troubled
+himself to listen particularly, he rather liked the sound of her voice.
+It gave him a lulled sensation which was akin to repose, and therefore
+agreeable.
+
+So the little brown Testament came out, and Nannie read on for a while,
+in her soft monotonous tones.
+
+Amos worked steadily, and heard in a certain fashion, without paying
+any close attention. When there came a pause, he looked up, and said,—
+
+"Yer a clever Nan to read so pretty,—that's what yer be."
+
+"Father, ain't the words beautiful?" said Nannie wistfully.
+
+"Sure, yes," said Amos rather uneasily, for he had not the remotest
+idea what they had been about.
+
+"O father, I wish you cared," said Nannie sadly. "It don't seem to be
+nothing to you. And I'd sooner have you love God, than anything else in
+all the world."
+
+The red gleams of sunlight faded away, as the sun dipped down behind
+the horizon-line of the clear blue water,—not behind West Point at this
+time of the year. The dark headland shone like burnished armour in the
+yellow glow, till the evening shade crept over its brightness, and left
+it gray and cold again. But the clouds were torn about in fantastic
+shapes of wildest beauty; and every pyramid, peak, and mountain, up in
+that watery land, was tinged or deeply dyed with crimson and purple
+and gold. The very air seemed filled with a rich pervading red, and
+Nannie's little white cheeks looked almost healthy for once, as she sat
+there, with her eyes fixed on the wondrous view before her.
+
+"Father," she said suddenly,—"don't you think it'll be like that when
+He comes?"
+
+"Eh?" said Amos, looking down at Nannie.
+
+"He'll come in the clouds of heaven, you know," said Nannie softly.
+"The Lord Jesus, father. He'll come riding in the clouds, with
+thousands and thousands all in shining white coming after Him. O
+father, I'd like so to hear the trumpet, and to see Him,—if only I just
+knowed you'd be caught up with me to meet Him."
+
+"Caught up?" said Ackman. She was talking a foreign language to poor
+old Amos.
+
+"Up in the air," said Nannie, her face shining as if it had caught a
+reflection of the western sky. "All that's loved Him, you know, father.
+He'll call up first them that's died, out of their graves, and then
+all of us that's alive—we'll go up, up, through the air to meet Him.
+And He'll make us beautiful like He is,—all in one moment. And oh,
+father,—think how He'll smile!"
+
+"Don't know," said Amos slowly, looking subdued. "Seems to me He
+wouldn't do aught but frown on me, Nan, for nigh a-murderin' of you."
+
+"O father! But He's died for you too, and He loves you," said little
+Nannie confidently. "And He'll put His Spirit into your heart, if you
+ask Him, and then you'll be quite different."
+
+"Need be, sure enough," said Amos. "Why, Nan, I'd be awful feared to
+see all you're a-telling me of." Something in the child's earnest face
+and manner brought it home to the old man's heart, as it had never come
+home before. His bony hands shook nervously, and his deep-set eyes
+peered up at the clouds, as if he almost expected there and then to see
+an avenging angel's sword flash forth through the radiant air.
+
+"Maybe now, father, 'cause you don't know the Lord Jesus," said Nannie
+gently. "I'd a deal of fear once too. I used to think dying in a bed
+all quiet wouldn't be half so bad. It seemed to me as if the great
+trumpet 'ud sound so awful—and then the bright light, and the ground
+shaking, and Him coming in such glory, with the clouds and the angels,
+and all the white shining and dazzling,—I was ever so feared to think
+of it all."
+
+"When you was naughty?" demanded Amos, with a glance towards his own
+troubled conscience.
+
+"Why—yes, father; and pretty near always that was too. It used to
+seem to me as if I was so small and poor, that maybe among such a
+lot as He'd have to catch up into glory, I'd just be forgotten and
+left behind. But I know a deal better now. The Lord Jesus forget!
+Why, father," and Nannie smiled a bright, almost amused smile,—"why,
+father, 'twas the strangest thought ever anybody had, to think He could
+'forget,' after dying for me."
+
+Amos looked at her in wonder. How came this little child to know so
+much, when he, an old man of many long and weary years, knew so little?
+
+"And then I'll have the mark in my forehead, Madge says, for the angels
+to know me," Nannie went on. "Maybe they'd know without, that the Lord
+Jesus loved me, but that 'll make it all as sure as can be. And then,
+you know, father, I don't see how I'll be able to be frightened, 'cause
+it won't be a strange dreadful Judge coming, like He'll be to some
+people, but only just my own Lord Jesus, that's loved me such a while.
+I couldn't be frightened to see Him, could I? And Parson says He smiles
+so on the little children. But,—oh, father, I'd be so happy if I didn't
+be afraid He wouldn't be able to smile on you, 'cause you won't come to
+Him now."
+
+And Nannie put her head down on her father's knee, and burst into
+tears. Old Amos was strangely moved. He could not bear to see Nannie's
+distress, and he shrank in terror from the thought of what might come
+upon himself. How could he, poor miserable old man, stained darkly
+through and through with the unwashed sins of over three-score years,
+dare to meet the Face of Kingly glory, for which little Nannie so
+eagerly waited?
+
+"I don't know nothin', Nan, but I'll do what you tells me," he said
+brokenly. "Maybe your Lord Jesus wouldn't mind if I was to ask Him to
+put me right somehow; only I don't know how, Nan. I be an awful wicked
+old fellow, Nan."
+
+"We'll come right in, and ask Him now, father," said Nannie, rising up
+and pulling at his sleeve.
+
+[Illustration: "Father!" A cold touch came upon his hand in the dark.
+Amos started back violently in his fear.]
+
+Amos was fain to follow her, though with a half-bewildered look. He was
+too stiff himself to kneel, but he let little Nannie kneel beside him,
+and plead in her simple earnest language, that "God would have mercy
+on poor father, and send His Holy Spirit into father's heart, and wash
+away all his sins in Jesus Christ's blood." And then Nannie looked up
+and whispered, "Just say after me, father,—'For Jesus Christ's sake,
+Amen;' 'cause that 'll mean you really wants it ever so."
+
+"For Jesus Christ's sake, Amen," repeated Amos slowly, like one
+stumbling out a few syllables in an unknown tongue. "Sure enough, an' I
+do want it too. But I say, I don't feel different yet, like you said I
+would be."
+
+"Ah, but it'll come," said Nannie gently. "We'll go on asking till it
+does."
+
+Then Nannie kissed him, as she had often done of late, and went away to
+her own room.
+
+Amos crept after her in a little while, hardly knowing why, and found
+her lying there in the twilight, with her hands folded together, and
+her eyes looking up to the rough rafters overhead.
+
+"What are yer a-seeing, Nan?" he asked half fearfully. Something in her
+face gave him a strange feeling of uneasiness, for which he could not
+account to himself.
+
+"I'm only thinkin', father, how I'd like to hear the angels' song
+to-night," said Nannie, smiling.
+
+"Wish yer wouldn't talk like that," said Amos, fidgeting.
+
+"Why, father,—they're singin' about you!" said Nannie.
+
+Amos gave a startled look up and around, as if he expected to catch
+an echo of the wondrous chorus. But the fretting of a bough against
+the cottage-roof was the only sound which came to his ears; and rather
+relieved, though disappointed, he said, "Yer a-dreaming, Nan; I don't
+hear nothin'."
+
+"They're singing," said Nannie quietly; "'cause the Bible says so,
+father. Leastways, it says there's joy among the angels, you know,
+soon's ever anybody turns to God."
+
+Amos did not know anything about it, but he only asked, rather
+fearfully, "Do you hear them, Nan?"
+
+"No, father; not yet awhile," said Nannie. "Maybe I will soon."
+
+And then she shut her eyes, and went peacefully off to sleep.
+
+But Amos stood looking at her for some minutes, thinking how changed
+she had grown of late. He wished Madge Hardwicke would come home, and
+tell him whether she needed anything doing to her. She seemed to have
+faded into such a white frail shadow of a child these last few days.
+She never complained of pain, and only lay about because she was "so
+tired." But somehow, Amos could not overcome the impression that all
+was not quite right with her.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+"O THOU OF LITTLE FAITH."
+
+THROUGH fourteen weary days and nights Mona had tossed and murmured
+ceaselessly, in burning fever and delirium. And then came the
+longed-for sleep, quieting down the throbbing pulses, and hushing the
+wearing pain. For hours she lay in that deep heaven-sent repose, while
+the flush faded from her check, and the look of suffering from her brow.
+
+Just when little Nannie was enjoying the bright western colouring, and
+when Madge, in her silent watch, had noticed how even the dim sick-room
+was gaining a reflection of the outer glow, there came for the first
+time some words in a clear and natural though feeble voice.
+
+"Madge, what makes the air so full of red?"
+
+It had been "mother" instead of Madge, during the last fortnight, and
+in truth not even Mona's own mother could have nursed her with more
+devoted tenderness.
+
+"It's the sunset, Miss Mona," Madge said gently, while her heart beat
+fast with joyful relief.
+
+A glass of pale liquid on the table awaited this moment of first
+awakening. It was given and taken, and then Mona said drowsily, "I
+should like to see the shining on the water."
+
+She was asleep again before Madge needed to answer, and through the
+two nights and days following, the same calm slumber lasted. They
+could scarcely rouse her at intervals sufficiently to receive needful
+nourishment. Fair and pale as a snow-drop she lay there, with one white
+cheek resting lightly on her wasted hand. And the somewhat oppressed
+and troubled look, which had been visible in her first sleep, was
+exchanged now for an expression of such complete repose, that Madge
+bent many a time over the bed, to listen anxiously for the calm
+breathing which never failed to reassure her.
+
+Nearly forty-eight hours had elapsed since the red sunset, when Mona
+showed symptoms at length of fairly waking up. Mr. Chetwynd was out,
+but the ever-watchful Madge was at hand with proper nourishment,
+delicately prepared and served. Mona seemed ready to take any amount,
+but she obeyed when told she had had enough, and only said, "Come and
+sit down beside me."
+
+"Won't you go to sleep again, Miss Mona?"
+
+"I'm not sleepy—I am wide awake. Madge, have I been very ill?"
+
+"Yes, but thank God, you're better now, Miss Mona."
+
+A sigh answered her. Madge kept silence, but Mona was evidently in a
+talking mood, for she soon began again—
+
+"I can't remember things clearly. I wish I could. It seems to me as if
+the last clear thing was that drive from the Dingle."
+
+"You were taken ill that very evening, Miss Mona; and Mr. Prior's been
+twice a day since to ask after you, and has prayed many a time by your
+bedside."
+
+"Has he? I am glad," said Mona involuntarily. "But—uncle Chetwynd—"
+
+"He never spoke a word against it, Miss Mona, though he held back from
+joining."
+
+"Madge—have I talked a great deal?" asked Mona suddenly.
+
+"Pretty well, Miss Mona. But I wouldn't begin thinking and speaking
+about all that now, if I was you. It's bad for your head. You'd better
+rest."
+
+"No—I have had rest—I am better now. I wish you would come here and sit
+close beside me. I want to tell you something."
+
+Madge changed her position at once, putting aside her work, and letting
+Mona's head rest upon her arm.
+
+"Yes, that is nice. Mother used to do just so, last time I was ill.
+I've seen her so often lately, Madge—not really of course, but—O
+Madge—do you think—"
+
+"Yes, dear Miss Mona."
+
+"Am I wrong?" whispered Mona. "I did think I was going home to
+mother—and I can't be glad now."
+
+Madge's cool fingers were passed lightly over her brow.
+
+"It's best to be willing to wait the Master's own time, Miss Mona."
+
+"I think it is hard not to wish," said Mona.
+
+"Maybe the Lord 'll have you wait, dear Miss Mona, till it's Himself
+and not your mother that makes the glory and joy of your heaven."
+
+"Ah, but it is—it is that too," said Mona quickly. "Not enough, I
+know—but I have learnt more of Him now than I knew before."
+
+Then, after a little break, during which Madge expected that something
+else was coming—"I want to tell you a sort of dream I had."
+
+"Wouldn't it be better to wait till you're stronger, Miss Mona?"
+
+"No, I am not tired. It will do me good to talk." She spoke so quietly
+and firmly, that Madge fancied it might be so indeed, and did not
+oppose her.
+
+"I don't know when it was, or whether I was wandering or asleep, Madge.
+I have had so many fancies and dreams that I get puzzled among them,
+only this was quite different from all the rest. I thought I was out
+alone in a little boat on the sea—such a wild rough sea. The great
+waves were rising and falling, and flinging their spray all over me,
+and breaking up against one another in the mad sort of way they do out
+beyond the Point on a stormy day. It was such spray, and the mist was
+so thick, that I was half-blinded, and so tired and cold and sad, that
+I seemed to have no strength to row. Just as I have often felt. And all
+sorts of dreadful thoughts and feelings of doubt kept rising up, and I
+had no power to conquer them.
+
+"And all at once I saw a dark gloomy figure coming towards me over
+across the water—softly, slowly, with such an awful stillness, and long
+black robes sweeping down into the waves, which seemed to lull before
+him as he came. Madge, you don't know how frightened I was. For I knew
+I could not escape. I knew quite well that what I saw was the Angel of
+Death, coming to take me. I had not been afraid of death in my illness
+before that, but now in the midst of doubt, and thick mist, and dashing
+waves, it seemed terrible. And there was the bright sword gleaming
+in his hand in the moonlight, and his face was all muffled up, but I
+knew how stern it must be behind. And he never moved faster, but came
+slowly, slowly and steadily on, straight towards me, with the waves all
+still beneath his feet, but dashing more wildly than ever round me.
+Madge, do you see it all as I saw it?"
+
+"I'm thinking I do, Miss Mona."
+
+"He came closer and closer, and I knew I had no way of escape. It was
+quite hopeless. And I think gave one shriek of fear, as the hem of
+the dark heavy robe first touched me—so heavy and cold it felt. But
+then—then—oh, Madge!"
+
+"Yes, Miss Mona, dear."
+
+"Madge, if you could have seen as I did. He threw aside slowly,
+quietly, the dark cloak, and underneath was all one glory of dazzling
+kingly garments. And the shining sword, as I had thought it, was only a
+sceptre. And He let me see His face, which had been covered up—and oh,
+Madge, it was Himself!—my Lord! And I knew then that the Death-Angel
+was no stranger, but my own Master who loved me, and who had come, as
+I thought, to take me home. Madge, I wish He had. I wanted so to go.
+And the way He took me up in His arms, and held me, and smiled down on
+me, with a smile so sweet and bright that I could scarcely face it,—I
+don't know how I bore at that moment to think how I had doubted Him,
+and dared to question His doings. And the next thing was that I found
+myself down at His feet, clinging there, and trying to sob out a prayer
+for forgiveness—"
+
+Mona was crying so that she could scarcely speak. "No, let me go on,"
+she said, when Madge would have interposed. "I must tell you, and it
+won't hurt me. You don't know how terrible it was to me to think of the
+last few months—and it seemed as if I remembered everything clearly at
+that moment. And I knew He knew it too—and I dreaded even then that
+His anger might be coming. But instead of anger, He only said in the
+gentlest, tenderest tone of reproach—'O thou of little faith, wherefore
+didst thou doubt?'"
+
+"And He does say it to each one of us," murmured Madge. "He's every bit
+the same now as in Peter's days."
+
+"I knew it meant forgiveness," said Mona. "And I thought He was going
+to take me up, and carry me away with Him. For the mist had cleared off
+in His presence, and I could catch a glimpse of glory shining over the
+mountains in the distance. And I knew that my Home lay beyond, and that
+mother was there too. But He only laid His hand on my head, and said
+still more sweetly—'My grace is sufficient for thee, for My strength is
+made perfect in weakness.' And then when I looked up, He was gone, and
+the mist had disappeared, and the water was still, so I just lay down
+in my boat, and went to sleep. And the next time I woke up, I found
+myself in bed, with a strange red look in the air, and you beside me. I
+knew then that I was getting well. O Madge, was it all a dream, or did
+I see Him really?"
+
+"'Twas a word of comfort sent to your heart, anyway, Miss Mona. I'd
+take it so, and doubt no more."
+
+"And you don't think I am wrong to wish I were safe out of all the
+fighting?"
+
+"Maybe a little wanting in courage, dear Miss Mona. I do think the Lord
+likes us to want to be with Him, and to see His glory. But it wouldn't
+do neither in a battle, if all the soldiers were crying out that they
+were so tired of fighting, they wanted to go straight home and rest.
+I don't know how ever the victory would be won. I think the Captain
+would say—'Fight on, my lads, and conquer first, and then 'll come your
+rest.' And the Master has a right to look for us to be willing and glad
+to do His work, so long as He has work He wants us to do. Home 'll be
+all the happier after, for the waiting."
+
+"Don't you ever feel impatient?" asked Mona.
+
+"I've three sorts of feelings about it, Miss Mona. One is, I've a wish
+to stay here just as long as my Master wills I should. Another is, I've
+a deal of longing to see His Face. Another is, I can't help thinking
+how now's the very last time through all Eternity that I'll be able
+to show Him my love, by bearing pain and trouble for His sake. There
+'ll be service and praise in Heaven, but there 'll be no showing of
+patience, under pain and sorrow, to honour His Name. I don't know as
+I'd wish to have it over-much shortened, though I'll be right glad too,
+when the day comes to go Home. But 'tis sweet to be waiting and bearing
+for Him now."
+
+"I never thought of that," said Mona. "And I have borne so little for
+His sake, and hardly worked for Him at all. Madge, I think you have
+made me glad that He has not taken me away just yet."
+
+And Mona fell asleep again, with her head on Madge Hardwicke's arm,
+and a smile upon her lips. She did not know how Madge sat there, and
+prayed that she might be kept by the "Keeper of Israel" through all the
+dangers and difficulties of her future Homeward journey.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+WARNING.
+
+"MADGE, she is wonderfully better," said the doctor one evening, two or
+three days later. He had called Madge into his study, for some purpose
+unknown to herself, leaving the housekeeper in charge of Mona, and had
+bidden her take a seat. There was a small fire in the grate, and the
+doctor's fingers were turning up the lamp-wick.
+
+"She is getting on marvellously,—seems to have no end of capacities for
+sleeping and eating. Poor little Mona! I hardly thought at one time
+that we should pull her through."
+
+Madge was silent. The doctor brought his attention to bear upon her
+somewhat curiously, wondering what thoughts might belying beneath those
+intent gray eyes.
+
+"The fact is, your care and splendid nursing have saved her, Madge,
+as they have saved many a patient of mine before to-day. But I never
+thanked you so heartily as now."
+
+Silence still, and there was a troubled look on Madge Hardwicke's face.
+
+"What are you thinking about?" the doctor asked, with a puzzled air.
+
+"I'm thinking, sir, that I'd sooner you hadn't begun with all them kind
+words to me," said Madge quietly, "for I'd a thing I wanted to say to
+you, as wouldn't sound so kind back again."
+
+"You!" said the doctor, opening his eyes. "You're mysterious to-night.
+I've a thing to say to you too. But you shall have your turn first. By
+the bye, you don't mean anything about Miss Mona,—any fresh symptoms?"
+
+"No, sir. I think she is getting on as well as need be."
+
+"All right. I don't mind anything else. What is it, Madge?"
+
+Madge looked thoughtfully into the fire for a minute, during which he
+watched her rather comically. There were tears shining in her eyes,
+when she turned and faced him.
+
+"Sir, all through the last fortnight you and I've been many a time
+together by Miss Mona's side, and heard the poor lamb's mutterings and
+ravings. And though I've said no word to you, nor you to me, we both
+know well what 'twas all about."
+
+Mr. Chetwynd nodded. He had not expected this, and did not quite know
+how to meet what he guessed was coming.
+
+"And you know, sir,—maybe a deal better than I do, for all she's
+said,—what it was that brought her so much misery."
+
+"Poor little lassie!" he said, with would-be lightness. "Come, I
+acknowledge that I have been rather reckless in my remarks before her.
+Will that content you, Madge?"
+
+She passed over the last question as if it had not been spoken.
+"Sir, it's a deal more than that. It's Satan's own work you've been
+after,—going and putting your doubts and unbelief into the hearts of
+those whom the Lord would fain have to be peaceful and happy. It's the
+work of Satan that you've taken up,—and oh, sir, you'll find him one
+day a hard and bitter taskmaster, letting alone the judgments of the
+Lord Himself upon those who dare to meddle in His work."
+
+She spoke solemnly, yet with a strange sort of compassionate longing,
+as if it were rather for his sake than for Mona's that the words were
+uttered. The doctor positively could not find it in his heart to be
+angry, though he told himself that he ought.
+
+"You are hard upon me, Madge," he said. "Are rational men never to
+admit a doubt, where doubts exist?"
+
+"There's two sorts of doubtings, sir. I've nought of blame for them of
+the Master's weaker disciples, who are tempest-tossed, and buffeted
+about by Satan's temptations. I tell 'em only to fight and trust on,
+and in the end He'll bring them through. But there's another sort of
+doubting, that's just a cool pulling to pieces of God's Word, and
+upsetting this, and denying that,—and a deal of it only from a man's
+love of showing his own cleverness. The Lord has one word for all
+such,—'He that believeth not God hath made Him a liar.' It's a plain
+word, sir,—and it's a plain and fearful answer He'll have for all such
+in time to come."
+
+"Come, come, don't be unmerciful, Madge," said the doctor, speaking
+lightly still, though somewhat annoyed. "I'm not one of those folks who
+would throw over the Bible by any means. Don't I go to Church every
+Sunday of my life, and hear it read,—most devoutly I assure you? I look
+upon it as a highly valuable and useful volume in every sense, and
+couldn't do without it at all. Why, Madge, don't you know I have family
+prayers?"
+
+"Yes, sir. But the Bible you couldn't do without, sir, is a piecemeal
+Bible of your own, and not God's Word as He has given it to us. Like as
+if I was ill, and you were to give me a prescription to make me well,
+and I was to say,—'No, I'll leave out this and that, lest they're a
+mistake, and have the rest made up, and take it,'—and then was to blame
+you for not curing me, if I found myself dying for want of the right
+treatment! It wouldn't be 'your' prescription at all that I'd followed,
+if I didn't take the whole."
+
+"You're too clever a woman by half, Madge!" said the doctor.
+
+Madge always held to a straightforward course in conversation, and was
+not to be turned aside. "Sir, you know well enough I'm a poor ignorant
+woman, and haven't half your learning. But maybe there are things in
+the hidden life, which I have learnt afore you."
+
+"Well, well, perhaps I shall learn them too some day," said the doctor,
+hoping to silence her. "Come, I know what you are driving at. I'll
+promise you to guard my words most carefully for the future, in Miss
+Mona's presence. I see the thing won't do. Why, you might have the
+common-sense to know I should do it, for the sake of her health alone.
+She will be unequal to any agitation for a long while to come. Are you
+satisfied now?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+Mr. Chetwynd looked at her in surprise. "Not! What next?"
+
+"I've no right to say more," Madge answered sorrowfully. "Save that
+you're always so kind to me, I wouldn't dare to venture. But 'tis that
+very kindness makes it harder to bear, to see you hanging over a great
+gulf, and maybe any moment to go down—down—for ever."
+
+He positively gave a half-shiver, and then laughed. "Madge, you really
+are preposterous. But don't think I'm angry. This isn't the first
+attempt you have made, at converting me to your own views."
+
+"'Tis the Bible views, not mine, that I'd see you converted to, sir."
+
+"Why, Madge, haven't I just been telling you that I do read the Bible,
+and value it too?"
+
+"Maybe you do, sir. I've nought to say against that. But you might go
+a deal farther in the way of reading and valuing, and yet be no nearer
+heaven."
+
+"Come, Madge, come,—what right have you to say I'm not so near as you
+are yourself?" asked the doctor, somewhat nettled.
+
+"There's but one road to eternal life, sir," Madge answered. "It is not
+reading the Bible, but believing what's written, which takes a man to
+heaven."
+
+"'I' don't disbelieve the Bible, Madge," said the doctor.
+
+"You don't believe it, sir, if you please."
+
+Mr. Chetwynd shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Go on, Madge; I see you
+are determined to have your say, and I owe you too much to grumble."
+
+"Sir, I've no thought to take advantage of that, and I would grieve to
+be of a meddlesome or judging spirit," said Madge gently. "But maybe
+you'll let me put a question to you."
+
+Mr. Chetwynd nodded permission, and waited.
+
+Madge did not speak in a hurry; it was not her way.
+
+"Sir, you say you believe the Bible—or leastways, you say you don't
+disbelieve it, which isn't at all the same thing. But will you please
+tell me, or tell yourself—it don't matter which—what 'do' you believe
+in the Bible, sir?"
+
+The question came very calmly and softly. It sounded so simple that he
+smiled at first and said, "To be sure I will; let me think a moment."
+
+But when he came to consider, he found the matter not quite so easy.
+Those gray eyes opposite, watching and waiting, disturbed the current
+of his thoughts. It was more easy to generalise than to descend to
+particulars. He ran over a few ideas in his mind, but could at such
+short notice discover no satisfactory answer. He had set up a very
+comfortable little religion of his own, founded upon certain doctrinal
+theories, most of which he vaguely believed were to be found in the
+Bible. Only there were undoubtedly a good many other things to be found
+there as well, which certainly would not square with the said private
+theological system of his own, and which, therefore, in plain terms, he
+did not believe.
+
+"It is getting late, Madge," he said, with some impatience in his tone.
+"Hardly time to enter upon a discussion on that point to-night, I
+think. At all events, I believe a good many things which you believe,
+and possibly some which you don't. Is your conscience satisfied now?"
+
+The last words were pleasantly uttered. Madge rose obediently, but
+lingered still for a moment.
+
+"It isn't to satisfy my conscience, sir, that I've spoken, but because
+I couldn't hold in any longer; and I've said little now that I'd like
+to say. Maybe you'll think it over, when you've spare time, and see how
+the Bible is the Word of God Himself, and how, if you do believe it,
+you can't go right against its plain teaching. Maybe you'll remember,
+sir, that there's no middle way for any man, and a half-and-half belief
+is as bad as no belief at all."
+
+"And what if I do not believe the Bible, Madge?"
+
+The question came involuntarily. He had not meant to ask it.
+
+The answer was in a tone of deep compassion.
+
+"Then, sir, there's nothing left to you—no hope, no pardon, no Saviour,
+no heaven! You're just a lone and helpless soul, standing apart from
+God for ever."
+
+"Madge, that same Bible tells us, 'God is love'—a God of mercy."
+
+"Ay, sir," Madge answered, "and 'our God is a consuming fire'—a God of
+justice. You've got to put the two together, as Mr. Prior would tell
+you. God is love, sure enough, but if His love don't come down to you
+through Jesus Christ His Son, it's little you have to hope for from it.
+And if you don't believe the Word of God, how are you to believe in Him
+of whom the Word all through teaches us?"
+
+She had done now, and moved quietly towards the door.
+
+"Good-bye, Madge," he said, with a little nod, much in his usual
+fashion. "Many thanks for your kind intentions, you know. Tell Miss
+Mona I am coming in directly, to say good night."
+
+"I will, sir; and thank you for letting me speak."
+
+She disappeared with her noiseless step, and the doctor sat for a
+minute with bent brows, thinking over the past half-hour. "Pshaw! What
+is it to me? We all have our own opinions, and Madge has hers with a
+vengeance. Common-sense enough in every-day matters, but quite a 'tête
+exaltée' about religion. Couldn't refuse, of course, to let her speak,
+after her devotion to Mona; but the thing is done now, and having
+relieved her conscience, I suppose she will be content to leave me in
+peace for awhile."
+
+Rather hastily he started up, leaving his lamp burning still upon the
+table, and went to Mona's room.
+
+Madge let him in, without look or sign of consciousness respecting
+the conversation just ended, and he gave her in passing a careless
+little nod, which conveyed condescending forgiveness for anything of
+presumption on her part. Madge received it meekly, and followed him
+towards the bed.
+
+"Well, my dear—getting on all right?"
+
+She put out her hand in welcome. "Madge, I wish you would get me a
+glass of fresh water while uncle is here, and bring it back when he
+goes."
+
+Madge moved off obediently, aware from the manner rather than the words
+that Mona wanted a few minutes alone with her uncle.
+
+Mr. Chetwynd noticed nothing of the kind. He had his finger on Mona's
+wrist.
+
+"What are you fluttering about now, my dear?" he asked, looking keenly
+at her.
+
+She stretched the other hand across, and brought out a little Bible
+from under the bedclothes. "Uncle, I haven't had my reading this
+evening. Won't you read me a few verses?"
+
+"I!" said Mr. Chetwynd. "Isn't that Madge's business?"
+
+"Won't you, for once?" she asked.
+
+"My dear, I really think that is more in her line than mine. I always
+do say it is a pity she could not be a clergyman."
+
+"I am not jesting," said Mona gently. "I should like it so much. You
+have never read to me all the time I have been ill. Won't you, uncle?"
+
+The doctor began to feel rather irritated. "I say, do you know what
+Madge and I have been talking about?" he asked involuntarily.
+
+Mona's surprised look was answer enough. "No,—what?"
+
+"Oh, nothing of consequence; never mind. I was only thinking of a
+curious instance of the doctrine of coincidences," said Mr. Chetwynd.
+
+And Mona wondered whether Madge could by any possibility have made a
+like request, but decided against the supposition.
+
+"Well," said the doctor, after a moment's watching of her face, "shall
+I summon Madge and say good night?"
+
+"I am not sleepy," said Mona. "You don't always go off in such a hurry.
+Uncle Chetwynd—"
+
+"Some big thoughts troubling this small brain, eh?" asked Mr. Chetwynd.
+"Come, come, you must be a child a little longer, my dear, or you'll
+have quite a disfiguring dent on that smooth forehead."
+
+"I am too old to be ever a child again," said Mona. "But I am quite
+happy now, and I shall be—if—"
+
+"If what?"
+
+"If you will let me,"—and tears rushed to her eyes.
+
+At it again! The doctor's prominent sensation, which was happily of
+care for Mona, barely sufficed to cover his secondary sensation of
+personal aggravation. And this time he really had something of hurt
+feeling as well.
+
+"I let you! My dear child, don't you know yet that you are dearer to me
+than all the rest of the world put together?"
+
+"I know," she said, with trembling lips. "I know you would do anything
+for me—almost anything—and you are as kind as kind can be, except—"
+
+"Except when I am cruel."
+
+He wanted to turn it off lightly, but she answered unexpectedly by a
+faltering—"Yes."
+
+"Cruel, am I, eh?" said the doctor, rather displeased.
+
+"Only in one thing," she murmured, clasping her hands. "O uncle, you
+didn't think,—but if you knew how dreadful it was all those months—"
+
+"Come, come, my dear, you are excited this evening. What was so
+dreadful?"
+
+"To lose everything—everything," she said slowly, yet with somewhat of
+passionate energy in the low voice. "To lose all faith and hope—all
+hold upon my Saviour—to stand outside in the black darkness, feeling
+that the light was gone from me, and it might be, was gone for ever."
+
+"Mona, I always most conscientiously avoided arguments with you on
+disputed points," he said gravely.
+
+"Yes, you did, and that was the worst of all, I think. If you had
+even argued, I could have tried to answer, and I might have gone to
+friends to ask what to say. That would have been bad enough, but this
+was worse. There was nothing to take hold of, only those terrible
+things—little things—which you used to say just in passing. And they
+seemed to take hold of me, and shut me in, till I could only feel that
+I was helpless, just drifting farther and farther away from God."
+
+"Now, Mona, my dear child, you have been brooding over these ideas,
+till you fancy them ten times worse than they ever were," said the
+doctor, in a tone of expostulation.
+
+"Worse!" She raised herself to a sitting posture, with a gleam in her
+eyes. "You don't know, uncle. I'll tell you what it was like. I used
+to feel that I was standing on the very edge of a slippery precipice,
+leaning over and looking down, and so giddy that I could scarcely keep
+my footing. And I had not only no power to draw back, but I had almost
+left off wishing to draw back, though sometimes I had a glimpse of the
+danger I was in. I think it was a sort of dreadful fascination. And it
+was you who led me there."
+
+"Not intentionally, Mona."
+
+"It was you," she repeated, with unsteady lips. "Thank God, He did not
+let you send me over. But I had gone so far—that at one time—it almost
+seemed—as if nothing could ever draw me back."
+
+He did not choose that Mona should see how closely her words had
+touched him, and only said: "Am I forgiven now?"
+
+"It isn't forgiveness—I don't feel like that about it," she said
+hurriedly. "Only—oh, uncle, if you go and do the same to others, it may
+be they will not be stopped in time, and then their death will be upon
+you."
+
+As with Madge, so here, anxiety for himself came strongly out. She
+caught his hand and held it tightly, with tears in her eyes. "You are
+always so good and kind to me,—like a father," she half whispered. "I
+can't bear to say such things to you. But it frightens me to think that
+all might come over again,—with others, if not with me too. I am very
+weak, and words like that take such hold, even though I know at the
+time they are not true."
+
+"You shall not hear them from me again," he said. "Will that content
+you?"
+
+She looked up wistfully without speaking. He did not choose to wait for
+anything more.
+
+"There, then, that will do. Go to sleep now, like a good child, and
+don't worry your head any more with such matters. I'll send Madge to
+you at once."
+
+"And you don't mind what I have said?" she whispered.
+
+"Invalids are privileged people. Good night, my dear. Shut your eyes,
+and don't think about anything until morning comes."
+
+He gave her a kiss—kinder than usual, if that were possible—felt her
+pulse once more, patted her hand smilingly, and walked away to summon
+Madge.
+
+Mona did as she was told, and went quietly off to sleep.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+THE WISDOM OF THE WISE.
+
+BUT Mr. Chetwynd sat long in his study, gazing into the fire, and
+playing with a glass letter-weight upon the table. Somehow he could
+not easily shake off the impression of the double warning which he
+had so singularly received. It was evidently a mere coincidence, and
+quite undesigned, though very probably the result on both sides of some
+conversation upon the subject that afternoon.
+
+And the two coming thus closely together—the warning of Madge
+Hardwicke, the simple-minded strong-hearted cottager; and the warning
+of Mona, his gentle niece—had left an impression behind. It was a
+confused impression at first. A good deal of annoyance, and a good
+deal of hurt feeling, were mingled with some genuine reproaches of
+conscience. The words of Madge alone, or of Mona alone, might scarcely
+have sufficed to do so much, but coming together, they had shaken
+him out of his usual self-satisfied composure. He found there would
+be small likelihood of sleep, till he had come to some sort of an
+understanding with himself. So he sat still, and thought the matter out.
+
+Mona had said some hard things to him—that slight young creature, whom
+he had regarded as scarcely more than a child. If he had ever soberly
+considered the matter, he would have supposed her to be quite incapable
+of entering into the real meaning of such remarks, as those in which
+he had often indulged himself before her. He little knew the dormant
+capacities for speculation in the mind of many such a girl as Mona.
+
+And "he" had led her to the precipice-edge! And "his" words had done
+the mischief! And "he" had been the source of pain and misery to the
+child of his lost and only sister. Why, he would have given his very
+life to save hers any day. And yet—
+
+Amos Ackman had narrowly escaped becoming the murderer of his child.
+But he had had no power, in all his sullen anger, to touch the life
+enshrined within that little frail body. Mr. Chetwynd, it might be, had
+narrowly escaped guilt of a still more awful dye—even the death of the
+soul of one who was to him as a child of his own!
+
+He did not know of the crimson stain, which the old man on the hill
+had so nearly gained. But Mona's words had brought dimly before him
+something of what he himself had well-nigh done.
+
+"It was the work of Satan that he had taken up,—Satan, a hard and
+bitter taskmaster,—letting alone the judgments of the Lord Himself
+on those who should meddle in His work!" What! He—the scientific
+intellectual trusted physician, the clever well-informed leading man in
+Alyn—he a servant of Satan! The words stared him boldly in the face. He
+would not meet them, and turned away—only to find others starting up in
+their place.
+
+"It was you who led me there! Thank God, He did not let you send me
+over! And if you should do the same to others,—" Why, he had done the
+same to others, scores of times. A day never passed that he did not
+indulge himself in some light sneer or cutting sarcasm upon religious
+questions. Was every word thus uttered indeed a drop of poison allowed
+to fall, for which future account must be rendered at the bar of the
+eternal God? Would lost souls be verily laid to his charge—souls which
+but for him might have attained to the joys of heaven?
+
+"Stuff. Nonsense!" he said petulantly. "One would think I had caught a
+reflection of Madge's notions to-night!"
+
+But what if these things were not nonsense? What if he himself stood
+in the black darkness, of which Mona had spoken in such low-voiced
+horror,—if he had stood there so long that he knew not what it was even
+to wish for light?
+
+One after another these questions came to him, in much the same
+speculative fashion in which questions did come to him, by mere force
+of habit and bias of mind, at all times. But he could not now, as on
+other days, shake them lightly aside.
+
+What if he did not believe the Bible to be the Word of God? Could he in
+very truth say that he did? Then—"No hope! No pardon! No Saviour! No
+heaven!"
+
+So Madge had assured him! But who was Madge to dare to speak such words
+to him? What right had she, a poor ignorant cottager, to stamp him as
+a man in such awful case? A desolate helpless creature, standing apart
+from God for ever! He to be thus!
+
+Apart from God! Why, that there was a God he knew full well. His
+doubtings were at least the doubtings of a man of sense as well as
+intellect,—not the mad dreamings of a clever fool. He literally had too
+much of common every-day manly sense, to give in to shallow theories
+of atoms developing themselves into worlds, or of a universe somehow
+sprouting up spontaneously out of nothing. He had some sort of vague
+belief in the Bible, taken generally—only he had always insisted upon
+holding in his own hand the scales of judgment, that he might retain or
+reject each separate doctrine, according as it suited or opposed his
+private notions of truth.
+
+And here had this woman come in, breaking down his calm security,
+dashing aside his proud serenity, and telling him boldly, face to
+face—albeit with all meekness—that no such middle course lay open to
+him, that he must either believe or not believe, that he must either
+accept, with implicit faith, the Word, and the Saviour of whom the
+Word testified, or find himself cut off from God and heaven for ever.
+"All Scripture is given by inspiration of God." There lay a hard rock
+against which to stumble.
+
+"What 'do' you believe in the Bible?" The gentle question came back
+and back to him persistently. What did he believe? What did he? Half
+unconsciously, he found himself searching for an answer,—seeking into
+his own belief as he had never honestly sought before.
+
+How about the power of prayer? No doctrine is more closely interwoven
+with the very texture of the Bible, than that of prayer and its
+workings. But Mr. Chetwynd had simply disbelieved it altogether.
+
+How about the fallen condition of man, and Christ Jesus as the only
+hope of salvation? No doctrines in the Bible stand out with more sharp
+and decided outline. But Mr. Chetwynd had rejected all notion of man's
+degradation; and while not denying the great fact of the death of
+Christ, he had had most hazy ideas respecting the necessity for any
+such sacrifice.
+
+How about the hidden spiritual life? No Bible doctrine is more full in
+its development than this. Mr. Chetwynd had sneered at its professed
+experiences, professed lofty superiority to its weaknesses, despised
+its faith, and discredited its very existence.
+
+If these things were true, where was he in his captious standing apart
+from God? If not—?
+
+"He that believeth not God hath made Him a liar." These things were
+plainly written in the Word of the living God. If he did not believe
+them, "then" he believed not God; "then" he made God even as a liar;
+"then" there remained to himself—what? Again Madge Hardwicke's words
+rang mournfully in his ears: "No hope! No pardon! No Saviour! No
+heaven!"
+
+"Anything rather than that!" he murmured. And he rose and took down his
+mother's Bible, unused for many years. He had a dim impression of the
+last time he had ever stood at her knee, and of her making him spell
+aloud to her a few verses in the First Epistle to the Corinthians.
+Like a man revisiting a garden, seen long before, and wandering
+instinctively to one remembered corner,—for notwithstanding all Mr.
+Chetwynd's church-going, family prayers, general knowledge of Biblical
+doctrines, and special knowledge of popular cavils, the Bible had been
+with him for years a neglected book,—he turned to that same Epistle. He
+began glancing through it slowly, as he sat there, with the lamp-light
+falling on his bent and troubled brow.
+
+   "It is written, I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring
+to nothing the understanding of the prudent."
+
+Was that meant for him? Was he one of "the wise?"
+
+   "God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise."
+
+He stopped there again, and another verse, learnt in early boyhood,
+flashed across his mind:—
+
+   "I thank Thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because Thou hast
+hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto
+babes."
+
+He thought of little Nannie—of Madge Hardwicke—of Mona. How he had
+looked down upon them, in his conscious intellectual superiority! Was
+it in very truth that God Himself had veiled these matters of mighty
+import from him, in his pride of earthly learning, while revealing deep
+mysteries of love and grace to the simple-hearted women and children?
+Mr. Chetwynd had been wise and prudent in his generation; but these
+things had been hidden from him; so that he, hearing of them, yet in
+his blindness seeing them not, had deemed their very existence but a
+fable.
+
+   "Not many wise—not many noble—are called."
+
+"Not many." But, thank God, it does not say, "Not any." He thought of
+Mr. Prior. Madge Hardwicke all untaught in worldly lore, and Mr. Prior,
+with whose strong intellect Mr. Chetwynd would scarcely have cared to
+measure his own, met here upon the same level. With the one, indeed,
+was to be found the spirit of deep research, and a full knowledge of
+historical and critical evidences; while the other knew and cared
+little for evidences beyond her own practical knowledge of the life
+and truth and peace which she had found in her Bible. But alike they
+entered the Kingdom of Heaven, alike receiving the teaching of the Word
+with the simple loving trust of little children.
+
+   "Let no man deceive himself. If any man among you seemeth to be wise
+in this world, let him become a fool, that he may be wise. For the wisdom
+of this world is foolishness with God. For it is written, He taketh the
+wise in their own craftiness. And again, The Lord knoweth the thoughts
+of the wise, that they are vain."
+
+He read so far, and then he sat and thought—thought, till all in the
+house but himself had gone to bed,—thought, till his lamp flickered and
+failed for lack of oil, leaving the study in darkness. Mr. Chetwynd did
+not even notice the change. He sat with his hand over his eyes, deeply
+communing with his own soul.
+
+Had he ever honestly searched into these matters before? Had he
+not rather skimmed recklessly over their surface, in a spirit of
+semi-sceptical criticism, and measureless self-conceit? There seemed to
+open out before him at last some insight into things unseen—some power
+to pierce through the veil, which for long years past had shrouded him
+in darkness.
+
+"And I have been one of these 'wise,'" he said to himself. "Wise with
+the wisdom which is foolishness in the sight of God! Is that the
+meaning of the intellect, which men worship in the present day? Plain
+words spoken here—uncompromising as steel. Can it be that I have been
+one of these self-deceivers—seeming, and only seeming, to be wise? If
+so, 'let him become a fool, that he may be wise!' Become one! What if I
+have been a fool all along—ay, worse than a fool, daring to set up my
+puny notions in the very face of what God has revealed to us!
+
+"As well meet the matter boldly. I am not a coward, at all events. What
+if I have been altogether in the wrong? 'The Lord knoweth!' How St.
+Paul's words seem to meet one at every point . . . Will Madge think she
+has gained a victory? Not to triumph at any rate. Better that, than to
+find, too late, my whole life a failure,—I, with all my wisdom, shut
+out from heaven,—and very fools pressing in before me!"
+
+He sat upright, felt for a box of matches, took a silver candlestick
+from the mantelpiece, and struck a light. The open page of the Bible
+lay still beside him.
+
+"If this indeed be the Word of God, through and through, the very truth
+of God,—then where am I, and what am I, at this moment?
+
+"Ay,—no doubt what Madge would say. An unsaved sinner,—apart from
+God,—worthless and helpless. I know it all by heart,—have heard it
+often enough,—have laughed the notion to scorn. What if, after all, it
+be very truth—and my wisdom there be very foolishness?
+
+"A helpless sinner,—standing apart from God! So they say,—and so it
+may be. How can I prove the contrary? There are things which the
+wisest living cannot fathom. Suppose a clue lies here. But never mind
+generalities just now. Suppose 'I' am in that condition,—a condemned
+man, cut off from my Maker,—needing—needing what?"
+
+Did he pause here, with a feeling like that which constrained Job, in
+olden days, to cry aloud for a "Daysman" to stand between him and a
+holy God? Something of the kind it must have been. And an answer came
+once more breathing softly across his heart, in words learnt long ago
+from a mother's lips:—
+
+   "There is One Mediator between God and man, the Man Christ Jesus."
+
+For a moment there was stillness,—a hush of body and mind, as he slowly
+grasped the wondrous words, and caught a glimpse of their boundless
+meaning. And then, he bent his head,—reverently, as for long years past
+he had never done,—and uttered half aloud—
+
+   "God be merciful to me, a sinner,—for Christ's sake."
+
+The first step was taken. Mr. Chetwynd had a hard lesson to learn, but
+he did not quail before it. He was not far from the Kingdom of Heaven
+that night. Madge Hardwicke's and Mona's words, which but a few weeks
+back might have passed unheeded, save by smile or sneer, had reached
+him at the right moment. They had fallen like seed into prepared
+ground,—prepared, all unknown to himself, through the Holy Spirit's
+guidance, under the influence of Mr. Prior's teaching, and of Mona's
+illness following. And the day was not far distant, when the once
+careless half-unbelieving caviller thanked Madge from his very heart,
+for the kindly boldness of her warning words that evening.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+HOME!
+
+"SPLENDID day it has been,—only a trifle too hot for any but a
+salamander," said the doctor, sauntering into Mona's room on the
+afternoon of the following day. "Well, my dear, how are you getting on?"
+
+His pleasant manner that morning to Madge had convinced her that she
+need fear no displeasure on account of the last night's conversation.
+But something now, beneath his would-be careless bearing, gave her a
+twinge of anxiety.
+
+"I am getting on as well as possible," said Mona brightly. "I quite
+want to begin sitting up again."
+
+"Patience awhile before that," said Mr. Chetwynd. "More haste worse
+speed, in some cases."
+
+"But Madge has been reading to me to-day."
+
+"Nothing sensational, I hope."
+
+Mona smiled at the idea.
+
+"Ah, well, I suppose I may trust Madge. She isn't addicted to that sort
+of literature. Madge, could you be happy to leave Miss Mona for awhile
+this afternoon?"
+
+"If you wish it, sir," said Madge, somewhat surprised.
+
+"Well, I have a—an errand for you," said Mr. Chetwynd. "Just call
+Hartly to sit with Miss Mona while you are out, and then come to my
+study. I'll explain to you where to go, and what to do."
+
+"Madge wants a little air, I am sure, after her imprisonment in this
+room," said Mona, trying to be unselfish.
+
+"It's no imprisonment, Miss Mona," said Madge. "I'll come as quick as I
+can, sir."
+
+"I suppose there is some shopping for you to do," observed Mona when he
+was gone.
+
+And Madge smiled in answer, though aware that the guess was a wrong
+one. She summoned the motherly old housekeeper from down-stairs, saw
+that everything which could possibly be needed was at hand, went for
+her own shawl and hood, and finally made her way to the doctor's room.
+
+He looked up, as she entered, from the letter he was writing.
+
+"That's right. Hartly has had so much to do with the nursing that you
+need not be uneasy about leaving Miss Mona. And I don't expect to have
+to go out again this evening, so I shall be at hand."
+
+"Mrs. Hartly can do easy enough all that's wanted," said Madge. "Where
+am I to go, sir?"
+
+"Sit down a minute, and I'll tell you," said Mr. Chetwynd gravely. "The
+truth is, I called you in here yesterday evening, to mention something
+I had heard, but you put it out of my head, and this morning I thought
+I might as well find out more before making you anxious. About little
+Nannie Ackman, I mean."
+
+He was evidently moved. Madge saw now in what quarter lay the coming
+cloud. The little child up on the hill was very dear to her heart. She
+had not felt surprised to see and hear nothing of Nannie lately, on
+account of the infectious nature of Mona's illness, but now a sudden
+fear took possession of her.
+
+"Mr. Prior went up to the old man's cottage yesterday morning, and was
+so struck with the little one's altered look that he asked me to go and
+see her. I did not suppose there was any immediate hurry, and I was
+busy, so I put it off till this afternoon. I have just come back from
+there,—but—"
+
+"Do you think her ill, sir?"
+
+He shook his head silently.
+
+"Sir, you don't mean that Nannie is in danger."
+
+"She is dying, Madge."
+
+One low sob and no more reached his ears. "How soon?" was asked with an
+effort.
+
+"Would you like to go and see her?"
+
+"I should, sir. She'll want comforts and looking after."
+
+"She is past all that now. If you want to see her again, you must go
+at once. Never mind about Miss Mona. I will arrange all that for a few
+hours. You will be back before night."
+
+She knew he meant that all would then be over. "Is it the fever, sir?"
+she inquired.
+
+"I can hardly say. There may have been a touch of it hanging about
+her. Old Ackman seems stupefied, and can give no particulars, though
+he blames himself bitterly, and with good reason. She was up and about
+yesterday evening, he says, but seemed to break-down this morning.
+Nannie herself was unconscious while I was there. She may rouse up
+again, or may pass away in stupor. But I can do nothing for her."
+
+"And nobody has known the poor lamb to be failing," murmured Madge,
+passing her hand across her eyes.
+
+"I can't gather that there have been any indications of absolute
+illness, beyond weakness and languor. My own impression is, that the
+sudden break-down may be the result of some undetected injury, from
+the father's rough treatment awhile ago. But after all, it is a cruel
+conjecture without sufficient proof. She has always been a frail little
+creature. I won't hinder you any longer, however."
+
+Like one walking in a dream, Madge left the house and went up the hill.
+It was three weeks or more since last she had been in that direction,
+for all her few walks of late had been taken in the town, generally
+with the chemist for their destination.
+
+How forlorn her little cottage looked, with its closed door and
+shutters, and its growth of garden weeds. Ah, that had never been, if
+little Nannie had been equal to the task of keeping clear the unwelcome
+growth, in the absence of her friend. Amos Ackman's door was open, so
+Madge walked in noiselessly, leaving her shawl and hood in the outer
+room, but hardly standing still there for a moment on her way.
+
+Her first glimpse as she neared the bedroom was of the old man himself,
+crouching forward on his stool, with his face half hidden by his hands,
+while a low groan broke from him from time to time. And then, as she
+went farther, she saw Nannie. Could it indeed be Nannie?—So white, so
+changed, so wasted! Mona Clyde at her worst had been nothing like this.
+
+"Ay, ye've come to see her die, have yer," mid old Amos. "Yer was a
+deal kinder to her than her old father too."
+
+Madge knelt down by the rough mattress, and softly moistened the
+child's parched lips. And all at once Nannie opened her eyes, and the
+wan features broke into a smile of recognition.
+
+"She knows you, she does. Sure she'll soon be well now," said Amos
+falteringly. "Don't yer think so, Madge? I'd be main glad, for 'tis all
+along o' my doing. She'll get well now, eh?"
+
+Madge knew better, and so did Nannie. But Madge thought that the face
+of an angel could hardly have worn a look of more loving compassion,
+than that which shone through those glazing eyes, as they turned slowly
+towards the unhappy old man.
+
+"Poor father!" was softly breathed forth, with an appealing glance
+towards Madge, as if to beg her to comfort him. "There 'll be nobody to
+pray for him now."
+
+"I'll pray, Nannie. Is it that you want?" asked Madge. "I'll never
+let a day pass without praying for him. And God won't forget all your
+back-prayers, you know."
+
+"No, 'cause they're written up there, ain't they?" said Nannie faintly
+yet confidently, with a slight upward gesture of one hand.
+
+"Why, she's beginning to talk ever so," said Amos, in a pleased tone.
+"Ain't she better now, Madge?"
+
+"She'll be better soon," said Madge. "She'll be better up in the
+Father's Home, Amos. You'd best make sure, and see you're in the way to
+go there too, or it'll be a longer parting for you than for Nannie and
+me."
+
+Amos drooped his head again. "I'm thinkin' it'll have to be a different
+heaven to hold old Amos, from what 'll take in you and Nannie," he said
+heavily.
+
+"There's only one heaven, and one way into it, for her and you and me,"
+said Madge.
+
+And before she could say more, Nannie's lips formed, clearly and
+tenderly, the sweetest Name which language ever framed—
+
+"JESUS!—father."
+
+"Ay, it's all Him, and Him alone," said Madge. "You've only to go to
+Him, and ask pardon through His blood, and it'll all come right."
+
+Madge did not know how the poor old sin-burdened man had already begun
+to stumble, with his failing steps, up to the foot of the Cross. But
+Nannie knew, and though too weak to explain, she said in a low voice,—
+
+"He'll come, Madge."
+
+"Ay, the Lord 'll surely bring him, Nannie," said Madge.
+
+And then Nannie shut her eyes and lay quite quiet, with her two little
+thin hands folded together, and the panting breath so irregular that it
+sometimes seemed as if it would stop altogether, without another word
+being spoken.
+
+Madge knelt there just as quietly, praying that the little one's
+troubled life might have such a peaceful ending as now seemed likely,
+that no clouds of Satan might be sent to try her faith. And Madge had
+what she wished.
+
+An hour passed, while the life of the summer day and the life of the
+little child ebbed sweetly away, side by side. And the sun went slowly
+down upon the one, but rose in dazzling radiance upon the other. And
+presently Nannie opened her eyes and murmured—
+
+"They're singing—"
+
+"Who are, Nannie?"
+
+"Up, somewhere," said Nannie. "I'll hear 'em now, won't I? O Madge!—I
+won't see the Resurrection-day after all from here."
+
+Was it a momentary feeling of something like disappointment?
+
+"Maybe not from up on this hill, Nannie," said Madge. "But you'll see
+it, sure enough, for you'll rise before we're caught up, and you'll
+come on with the Master in His glory to meet us—if so be I'm spared
+till then."
+
+"With Him!" And Nannie's face, as she uttered the words, lighted up
+with a strange and holy joy. "O Madge! Think what it'll be—this very
+night—to see my own Lord Jesus! Why, Madge!—"
+
+"Ay, won't it be—?" Madge had begun, trying to quell the impatient
+longing which throbbed at her own heart, in answer to the child's burst
+of joy. But she broke off, for words from her were no longer needed,
+and a look of glad surprise had flashed into the dying eyes.
+
+"Why, Madge! I didn't think it 'ud be so soon, but I'm going quick. I'm
+ready, ain't I?—'cause Jesus died for me, you know. O Madge, I wish you
+was coming with me too. Isn't He—just—beautiful?"
+
+Two long faint gasps between the words,—one sigh,—and Nannie was at
+rest.
+
+Better so. The little worn-out body lay there still. But Nannie—poor
+little Nannie!—after all her hopes and fears and longings, had reached
+the loving circle of the gathering family, in her Father's House above.
+
+Madge knelt on for a minute, with her head bent low. Then, with a calm
+singular smile upon her face, she rose and went to Amos.
+
+"Don't you stay here any longer," she said. "Nannie's well off now."
+
+He shook his head, and crouched lower, without response.
+
+"She's well off," repeated Madge. "She's at rest now, poor little lamb,
+and she wouldn't want you to grieve for her over-much. Don't spend your
+time looking back to the past, Amos, but see you make ready to join her
+where she's gone—maybe soon. There's the Blood for your sins and mine,
+no less than for hers."
+
+"I wouldn't ha' believed it, though, if it hadn't been for her
+praying," murmured old Amos, as he yielded to Madge's guiding touch,
+and went out into the front room, while Madge remained behind, and did
+all that needed to be done to the lifeless body lying there.
+
+Poor little Nannie! More of a martyr was she than even Madge Hardwicke
+guessed. But Madge knew enough to bend over her, and kiss the small
+white cheek, whispering—
+
+"'She's' had her meed of suffering for the Lord, and she's gained her
+rest early; but maybe Nannie's one of the last that 'll be first in the
+Kingdom of Heaven."
+
+Then Madge left the room, and going past old Amos, who in his solitary
+grief refused to answer when she would have set herself to comfort him,
+she passed into the pleasant evening twilight beyond.
+
+Some impulse—she could not have defined it—made her step across into
+her own garden, and stand there near the door, with her eyes fixed on
+the blue waters, and her heart very full of the little friend who had
+been taken from her. Nannie had grown to be almost like a child of her
+own during the past few months. Only the blow had come so suddenly, and
+the passing away had been so peaceful, that as yet she was thinking
+more of what Nannie had gained than of what she herself had lost.
+
+"Beautiful! Ay, she knows the Master's beauty at last,—more than the
+wisest man that ever lived on earth. Little Nannie! I'd like to see
+your joy this very minute. Well, 'tis sweet to think that my turn 'll
+come too, some day. Maybe, I've more work to do first for my Lord.
+She'll never get to the end of knowing His beauty more and more for
+ever; and by-and-by I'll see it too. It's only a glimpse I get now,
+once and again, but He'll shine out there in glory. And Nannie sees it
+now."
+
+The sound of a footstep on the pathway made her turn. A manly figure,
+of somewhat foreign appearance, was briskly advancing towards the
+garden-gate. Madge stood as if rooted to the spot, with a sudden
+dimness over her eyes, and a quickened beating at her heart. Was it a
+dream? Could it be indeed a reality? O faithless Madge even yet.
+
+"Mother!"
+
+[Illustration: "Mother, I always said to myself that I'd be sure to
+find you here, whenever I came, looking out for me."]
+
+Only the one word! Madge did not even exclaim.
+
+But if his strong arm had not in that moment been around her, she would
+have fallen to the ground.
+
+"Mother, I always said to myself that I'd be sure to find you here,
+whenever I came, looking out for me."
+
+She did not contradict him, for, in truth, he "had" been in her heart
+and thoughts at that moment, side by side with Nannie. She made no
+answer at all, except by the passionate clinging, which seemed as if
+she could never again loose her hold of him. He began to know now what
+the long agony of suspense had been.
+
+"It's a wicked son I've been to you, mother dear, leaving you all these
+years, and never writing. Only that once, at least. And so much the
+worse then, that I didn't keep my promise. But maybe it's a good thing
+I'm come now, and not sooner, as I once thought to do. I'd have come
+back in a reckless sort of mood at that time; but I've learnt since to
+look on things differently. Mother, will you forgive me, and take me
+home, and teach me the lessons I wouldn't let you teach me when I was a
+little boy? Will you, mother?"
+
+"Forgive you!" Madge said, lifting her face to his, all wet with happy
+tears. "O Neill,—thank God He's given back my boy to me again. It's
+worth all the waiting to have you come like this. And you'll never
+leave me any more?"
+
+"Never more, mother, of my own free will. God alone shall part us now."
+
+She would not take him into her cheerless unprepared cottage, but
+walked up and down with him awhile on the hill-top, in earnest
+conference, till the first excitement of the meeting had in some
+measure passed away. And then they went down the path, and stopped at
+the doctor's house.
+
+Mr. Chetwynd came out to meet Madge in the hall, but he had not looked
+to see that face of chastened brightness.
+
+"Why, Madge—" he began, and stopped.
+
+"Sir, it is as you thought, and little Nannie has gone to her rest,"
+said Madge. "But the Lord has sent me a blessing alongside of the
+sorrow, and between the two, I'm nigh in as great a strait as St. Paul
+himself, as to whether I'll smile or cry."
+
+Mr. Chetwynd looked from Madge to her companion,—half guessing the
+truth, yet scarcely liking to ask. For the lad he once knew was
+altered; and perhaps only a mother's eyes could have known him again at
+a glance.
+
+Madge put her arm into Neill's, and drew him a step forward.
+
+"It's my boy, sir," she said, and the smile won the day.
+
+Mr. Chetwynd held out his hand warmly. "I am glad to see you home,
+Neill. You have changed indeed since last we met," he said. And then
+in a different tone, turning to Madge—"You were right and I was wrong,
+Madge. Your faith certainly deserves its reward."
+
+"No, sir, if you please, you're wrong there," said Madge steadily.
+"I've nought of desert about me, save desert of evil."
+
+"Didn't you say all along that Neill would surely come home some day?"
+
+Madge was silent a minute, seemingly pondering his words.
+
+"Well?" said the doctor, and Neill too looked inquiringly.
+
+"Sir, it may be I'm mistaken, but it does seem to me that the Lord has
+just kept back from granting my wish, till He's taught me to lay my
+will in His, and to leave all in His hands. I used to say Neill would
+be pretty sure to come home, and to think it too. I've said and felt
+little of late, save 'Thy will be done!' And now—He's given back to me
+my boy!"
+
+The last words came like a note of sweet and joyous triumph to the
+doctor's ears. "You know more about such things than I do, Madge, but I
+hope I may learn more in time," he said rather sadly. "Neill must sleep
+here of course to-night. You can arrange with Hartly about his bed. And
+to-morrow I suppose you will wish to go home with him to your cottage."
+
+Madge did not gainsay the remark. She felt that her boy must come
+first, and that to prepare a comfortable home for him at once was her
+simple duty. "Only I'll come in as often as I'm wanted, sir, to sit
+with Miss Mona," she said.
+
+"It is well Neill did not return a week sooner, or we couldn't have
+spared you," said Mr. Chetwynd. "But you must spend part of every day
+with us still, or Miss Mona will be lonely. Well, I am unselfish enough
+to be very glad you are so happy."
+
+She had her desire at last. There was joy in the mother's heart that
+night, at the return of the wanderer, and there was joy for her sake
+throughout the doctor's house, and among the inmates of the Rectory and
+the town. But the greatest joy of all was the joy of little Nannie,
+who had passed beyond the mists and the shadows of earth, and had been
+welcomed into her eternal Home.
+
+
+
+                                THE END.
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79005 ***
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+    </style>
+</head>
+
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79005 ***</div>
+
+
+<p>Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image001" style="max-width: 33.8125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image001.jpg" alt="image001">
+</figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image002" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image002.jpg" alt="image002">
+</figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>"Uncle Chetwynd, she's only fainting. Don't you see</b><br>
+<b>she's only fainting? She will come to herself again directly.</b><br>
+<b>Mother—mother!"</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h1>MADGE HARDWICKE;</h1>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<br>OR,<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t1">
+<b>THE MISTS OF THE VALLEY.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+BY<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t1">
+AGNES GIBERNE<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+AUTHOR OF<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+"IDA'S SECRET," "FLOSS SILVERTHORN,"<br>
+"WILL FOSTER," ETC.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<br>
+<span style="margin-left: 10em;">"O Lord, I cannot see;</span><br>
+<span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">Vouchsafe me light:</span><br>
+<span style="margin-left: 10.5em;">The mist bewilders me,</span><br>
+<span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">Impedes my sight:</span><br>
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Hold Thou my hand, and lead me by Thy side,</span><br>
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">I dare not go alone; be Thou my Guide."</span><br>
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><em>The Dove on the Cross.</em></span><br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+New Edition.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+<em>LONDON:</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+JOHN F. SHAW AND CO.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+STORIES BY AGNES GIBERNE.<br>
+</p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image003" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image003.jpg" alt="image003">
+</figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+IDA'S SECRET; or, The Towers of Ickledale.<br>
+<em>Large Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d.</em><br>
+"The characters are made to live, and there is a wholesome and<br>
+refreshing tone running through it all."—<em>Record.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+WON AT LAST; or, Mrs. Briscoe's Nephews.<br>
+<em>Large Crown 8vo, cloth, with Illustrations, 3s. 6d.</em><br>
+"The treatment is so admirable we can understand Miss Giberne's<br>
+book being a help to many."—<em>Athenæum.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+TOO DEARLY BOUGHT.<br>
+<em>Crown 8vo, price Eighteenpence.</em><br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+THE OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY.<br>
+<em>Crown 8vo, with Illustrations, 2s. 6d.</em><br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+HIS ADOPTED DAUGHTER; or, A Quiet Valley.<br>
+<em>Large Crown 8vo, Illustrated, price 5s.</em><br>
+"It is really a good tale, in the author's best<br>
+style."—<em>English Churchman.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+WILL FOSTER OF THE FERRY.<br>
+<em>New Edition. Crown 8vo, Illustrated, 2s. 6d.</em><br>
+"A story well written, fully illustrated, and with a golden thread<br>
+of Christian teaching."—<em>Bookseller.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+THE EARLS OR THE VILLAGE.<br>
+<em>Crown 8vo, cloth, with Illustrations, 2s. 6d.</em><br>
+"A pathetic tale of country life, in which the fortunes of a family<br>
+are followed out with skill that never fails to interest."<em>Scotsman.</em><br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+MADGE HARDWICKE; or, The Mists of the Valley.<br>
+<em>Crown 8vo, cloth, Illustrated, 2s. 6d.</em><br>
+"An extremely interesting book, and one that can be read with<br>
+profit by all."—<em>Schoolmaster.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+FLOSS SILVERTHORN; or, The Master's Little Handmaid.<br>
+<em>Crown 8vo, cloth, Illustrated, 2s. 6d.</em><br>
+"A really beautiful story, telling how even a child can do and<br>
+suffer for Christ's service."—<em>The Rock.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+<br>
+——————————————————————————<br>
+<br>
+LONDON: JOHN F. SHAW &amp; CO., 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image004" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image004.jpg" alt="image004"></figure>
+
+<p class="t3b">
+CONTENTS.<br>
+<br>
+————<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>CHAP.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_1">I. UP ON THE HILL-TOP</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_2">II. THE HOME-COMING</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_3">III. DOWN UNDERGROUND</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_4">IV. MADGE AND THE DOCTOR</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_5">V. GATHERING MISTS</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_6">VI. NANNIE</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_7">VII. NAT TYRRELL'S NOTIONS</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_8">VIII. QUESTIONINGS</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_9">IX. MADGE HARDWICKE'S FAITH</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_10">X. A LETTER</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_11">XI. AWAITING THE MASTER'S WILL</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_12">XII. THE "FLYING ALBATROSS"</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_13">XIII. THE DOCTOR'S PROHIBITION</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_14">XIV. GOD'S MYSTERIES</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_15">XV. THE DINGLE</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_16">XVI. NAT'S COTTAGE</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_17">XVII. A FOG</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_18">XVIII. THE DRIVE HOME</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_19">XIX. A BLOW</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_20">XX. SUNSET CLOUDS</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_21">XXI. "O THOU OF LITTLE FAITH"</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_22">XXII. WARNING</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_23">XXIII. THE WISDOM OF THE WISE</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_24">XXIV. HOME!</a></p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image005" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image005.jpg" alt="image005"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image006" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image006.jpg" alt="image006"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t2">
+<b>MADGE HARDWICKE;</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+OR,<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t1">THE MISTS OF THE VALLEY.<br>
+<br>
+————<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_1">CHAPTER I.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>UP ON THE HILL-TOP.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"FIVE o'clock!"</p>
+
+<p>The strokes pealed slowly through the calm gray air of dawn, from the
+square tower of old Alyn Church. It was a morning of almost oppressive
+stillness, with mist-wreaths nestling in every hollow, and a hazy
+uncertainty about the horizon-line giving promise of a sultry day
+to come. And as the five deep-toned vibrations went rolling up the
+hill-side, Madge Hardwicke came out of her cottage on the summit of the
+cliff, and stood in the doorway to listen.</p>
+
+<p>Two little cottages were built there side by side; each with its tiny
+vegetable-ground behind, bounded by a tangled growth of trees and
+brushwood; and each with its tiny flower-garden in front, bounded by
+a broad belt of level grass which extended to the narrow path running
+along the edge of the cliff.</p>
+
+<p>But whereas Madge Hardwicke's home was a model of trim and dainty
+neatness, Amos Ackman's exhibited signs of falling to decay. And
+whereas Madge Hardwicke's garden had every square foot occupied by
+flower or vegetable, Amos Ackman's showed a large and flourishing
+assortment of weeds, amongst which a few cabbages here and there reared
+their unsightly heads, or a half-wild rose-tree struggled for a languid
+existence amidst the ruthless growth of meaner plants.</p>
+
+<p>Not twenty yards distant from Madge Hardwicke's garden railing, the
+cliff went down in a sheer descent of three hundred feet to the beach
+below. Rough masses of rock and shingle lay there, with a coating in
+some parts of slimy green. The sea was wont to play strange antics
+among those rocks at times, in no harmless mood of frolic. But this
+morning, it was placid as a lake, unbroken by the faintest ripple,—in
+its glassy repose almost like a gigantic mirror reaching to the
+horizon. And the blue of the sky overhead was pale in hue, fading
+into white lower down, where some long clouds stretched lazily, each
+catching a reflection of rose-colour from the coming sun.</p>
+
+<p>Madge Hardwicke herself, standing before her doorway, with her
+dark-blue under-skirt, and looped-up black print gown, and little red
+handkerchief, and general quaint simplicity of appearance, formed not
+the least picturesque item in the scene. She must have been between
+forty and fifty years of age, and her smooth brown hair showed a faint
+sprinkling of silver threads. A very quiet, self-possessed demeanour
+was hers, while she had a face, the deeply-traced lines and shadows
+of which told of a far from facile nature, and of certain tempests in
+bygone days. Not that there was anything about her just then suggestive
+of storm or emotion. The blue depths of the sea below were not more
+absolutely calm than the gray depths of Madge Hardwicke's eyes. And
+though both alike were capable of being stirred up, it needed a strong
+external force in either case to work the change.</p>
+
+<p>Just so quietly reposeful lay also the town below. Standing there in
+her doorway, and looking down through the clear morning air, Madge
+could distinguish each separate door and window, alike in the broad
+streets, where closed shutters hid the plate-glass panes of usually
+busy shops, and in the rows of villas stretching away to the west
+and north. Here and there a faint blue wreath of smoke went curling
+upwards, but generally speaking, Alyn seemed to be asleep. Down on
+the shingle beach of the little bay, where a row of bathing-machines
+stood looking like the contents of a child's toy-box as seen from
+this height, the blue jackets of one or two early-rising sailors were
+visible.</p>
+
+<p>This was the East Cliff, on which Madge made her home; and her cottage
+stood sideways to the edge, with Amos Ackman's on the other side.
+Down in front, the hill sloped steeply with a scattering of houses
+beginning about half-way to the bottom. It was a fan-shaped town that
+lay below, converging to the shingle bathing-beach, and widening out as
+it extended inland. Beyond the beach, the cliffs rose sharply again,
+and a wild headland of bare rock, reaching far out into the sea, stood
+up in massive grandeur against the sky—West Point, or The Point, as it
+was usually called, though more correctly Lion Point by name, from some
+real or fancied resemblance in its shape to a lion's head and mane. It
+was high tide now, and the narrow rugged ridge of rock which united the
+Point to the mainland, was deeply covered with water.</p>
+
+<p>On just such another morning as this, and on the same day of the
+same month, exactly ten years earlier, the darkest cloud of Madge
+Hardwicke's life had gathered over her. And so like now were the gray
+stillness of the dawn and the deep repose of sea and land, the sleepy
+twitter of some waking birds and the cheery singing of their livelier
+companions already awake, the smoke-wreaths over the town and the
+mist-wreaths over the country, to what they then had been, that Madge
+stood living over that past scene once more, as if it were actually
+present.</p>
+
+<p>Ten years! No more than ten! It seemed such a little while to Madge.
+Just at this same hour she had risen, and come out of her cottage-door,
+and stood within her garden-gate. She had not been a lonely widow then,
+but a light-spirited happy wife. She seemed almost to hear again the
+manly step which followed her out, and to feel again the hearty kiss,
+and to see again the fine blue-jacketed sailor, her pride and joy,
+striding carelessly away towards the path.</p>
+
+<p>Just those few yards—those few steps. The sound of his clear whistle
+had come back to her, and she had seen him standing at the edge of the
+cliff, with his brown hand upraised to shelter his eyes, as he scanned
+the horizon-line. And Madge had turned back into her cottage, thinking
+pleasantly of the busy day's work before her, and of the welcome he
+should have on his return. Thinking,—but little dreaming that never
+again should she speak word of welcome to him.</p>
+
+<p>It was only the giving way of a foot of brown earth, overhanging the
+cliff, bound together by entangled roots, all loosened with previous
+rains. One minute Ned Hardwicke stood there, a very model of manly
+strength. The next, he lay a shattered corpse, three hundred feet below.</p>
+
+<p>And Madge, to this hour, knew nothing of what took place after. She
+had no recollection of his one death-cry; no recollection of her own
+wild rush to the edge; no recollection of Amos Ackman's struggles
+to withhold her, when, in her mad agony, she would fain have flung
+herself over likewise; no recollection of the help sought and too late
+obtained; no recollection of aught else which had happened on that
+day. It was as if a black curtain had been drawn over every bodily and
+mental sense, shutting out even the consciousness of pain,—drawn there
+in tender mercy, for otherwise Madge Hardwicke's reason would scarcely
+have held its balance.</p>
+
+<p>This lasted till after the funeral. And then, while Madge Hardwicke's
+friends were talking in subdued tones over her state, and marvelling
+what would become of her and the child, Madge put aside the curtain,
+and bravely came forth to meet her sorrow. It was a lonely path which
+lay before her, but Madge would tread it with unfaltering steps. It was
+a heavy cross which her God had laid upon her, but Madge would bear it
+firmly. No broken-down and selfishly-hopeless mourner would she be; but
+one who had learnt to bear chastening in the spirit of a child, living
+her appointed life, and working her appointed work, until the end came.</p>
+
+<p>"Madge!"</p>
+
+<p>A soft little girlish voice spoke, and Madge looked down, with
+something of a smile, at the tiny barefooted damsel, about ten years of
+age, who had pattered softly out of the neighbouring cottage, and now
+stood with one hand grasping Madge's blue petticoat, and a wistful face
+upturned, as if in questioning.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, Nan, you're wanting?"</p>
+
+<p>Nan looked hard without a word, and Madge went back to the quiet
+landscape.</p>
+
+<p>"That's it," said the child unexpectedly. "You're thinking something,
+ain't you, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay," responded Madge. "I'm thinking, just this minute,—what if the
+Resurrection-morning was to look like it does to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>Nan caught up another fold of the blue skirt, and enclosed it tightly
+in her fingers, with a sudden gesture, as if of fear. "O Madge! Don't
+you, please, now."</p>
+
+<p>"Why? 'Twill come," said Madge calmly. "My talking 'll bring it no
+sooner, Nannie, though my praying may."</p>
+
+<p>"Madge, do you think it'll be to-day? Do you think it'll be a day like
+this, Madge?" demanded the child eagerly, as if the fate of the world
+hung upon the answer of her friend.</p>
+
+<p>"It'll be in 'such an hour as we think not,'" said Madge. "That's
+pretty nigh all we're told clear about the time. Maybe He'll come in
+storm, and not in calm; only there's a look to me to-day like the world
+asleep before its last awakening. I'm only fancying, Nan," she added,
+with a sudden smile at the child's awestruck look.</p>
+
+<p>"And you won't go and pray it may come sooner 'n need be, Madge," said
+Nannie, with a catch in her breath.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Nannie, what of the prayer we're told to pray, 'Thy kingdom
+come'? You're surely not fearsome of seeing the Master Himself as loves
+little children so?"</p>
+
+<p>Nan shook back her long dark hair with an expressive gesture. "Father
+ain't ready," she said. "He ain't, Madge."</p>
+
+<p>Madge had nothing to say to that at first. After a moment, she spoke:
+"We'll pray he may be, and put the two prayers together, Nannie."</p>
+
+<p>Nannie's face showed assent as well as understanding this time.</p>
+
+<p>And the next minute, Madge's attention was drawn by the sight of a
+man's head appearing up the hill. It came rapidly, borne on by long
+vigorous strides, as of a messenger who felt himself on an errand of
+life and death.</p>
+
+<p>Madge knew the tall broad-shouldered figure, even before she could
+recognise the face. It was a good face—good in feature, that is to
+say, and good also in a certain natural kindliness and benevolence of
+expression. You certainly would not have said, to look upon him, "What
+a good man Mr. Chetwynd must be!" speaking in the highest sense. But
+you would undoubtedly have said, "What a kind-hearted man," as well as,
+"What a clever man he seems."</p>
+
+<p>That it was something unusual which had brought the doctor up the
+hill at this hour of the morning, Madge knew directly. She would have
+known it by his mere speed and manner, apart from the paleness of
+his face, and the drops standing thickly on his brow. She put aside
+little Nannie, and went out to the garden-gate, asking no questions,
+but quietly waiting till he came close, and chose to speak. His first
+words were in a sharp breathless tone, with a forced affectation of
+cheerfulness.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's your hood, Madge? Quick, and come with me, for I want your
+help."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll come, sir."</p>
+
+<p>She turned back into the cottage, and was out again immediately—not too
+soon for Mr. Chetwynd.</p>
+
+<p>"Come,—quick," he said. "My chaise will be waiting by the time we get
+down. There's not another woman in the town so helpful as you, or I
+wouldn't have risked losing two minutes by calling you."</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, has it aught to do with my Neill?"</p>
+
+<p>"Neill! No. There has been an accident in the tunnel; trucks slipped
+and left there by some extraordinary blunder, and a passenger-train
+allowed to run into them. I don't know how much damage is done. One may
+allow a good margin for exaggerated reports."</p>
+
+<p>Madge gave one look up at his strangely pale face, as they sped
+together down the hill-side. His home was one of the first in sight—a
+many-gabled roof peeping out from a nest of surrounding trees,—and
+they could see the chaise waiting at the garden-gate. That he had some
+especial and personal cause for distress, Madge did not doubt. He was
+not a man of keen sympathies, though of real kindness. But she put no
+questions, and it was not till the chaise was starting, with Madge
+seated by the doctor's side, that he said briefly—</p>
+
+<p>"My sister and her child were to arrive by this train."</p>
+
+<p>Madge understood then, and her full heart went out in silent compassion
+for the fearful weight of anxiety which must, she well knew, be
+pressing upon him. He was a man of few ties and strong feelings. But
+she only said—</p>
+
+<p>"They are in the Lord's hands, sir. He can have kept them safe."</p>
+
+<p>And Madge looked for no response in her companion's face, being fully
+aware that she should there find none. The faintest shadow of a sneer
+curled his usually pleasant lips, like the mist-wreath floating over a
+distant landscape. And then they drove on quickly, wasting no breath in
+words.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image007" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image007.jpg" alt="image007"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image008" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image008.jpg" alt="image008"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_2">CHAPTER II.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>THE HOME-COMING.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>SUCH a long tedious journey it had been, as the train sped ever wearily
+onwards, hour after hour, from the further north to the further
+south of England. But the gray dawn was brightening now, and sleepy
+passengers were rousing themselves to sit upright, and to mark how
+nearly they had approached the end. And Mona Clyde, waking suddenly
+from a quiet night's rest amid noisy surroundings, lifted her bright
+child-like face—singularly child-like, for her nineteen summers—from
+the blue-cushioned arm, and cried—</p>
+
+<p>"O mother! Are we almost there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Almost there, Mona," her mother said.</p>
+
+<p>"And you are tired, while I have had such a long lazy sleep," said
+Mona, kissing her mother's hand, for they had a compartment to
+themselves. "Are you not mother, dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"A little tired, but I shall soon rest now, Mona."</p>
+
+<p>Was she thinking of the last time she had come this road, with her
+infant Mona in her arms, and her husband by her side, so many long
+years before? Mona fancied so, and waited quietly, holding down her
+own gay delight at the prospect of all that lay before her. Dear kind
+uncle Chetwynd, whom she knew so well, and uncle Chetwynd's pretty
+house which lay so far in the background of her memory that she had no
+recollection of it, and beautiful Alyn which had been her mother's home
+in childhood, and the glorious blue sea which she had never yet seen,
+and all the attendant pleasures of a six weeks' happy change.</p>
+
+<p>"O mother, isn't it nice to be almost there?" she said at length. "How
+soon shall we see Alyn?"</p>
+
+<p>"When we are through the tunnel, Mona. It is pretty here, but this is
+nothing to the view which bursts upon us there. A sunny mid-day is
+the time to have it in perfection. I remember so well how, as a child
+going home from school, I used to love the feeling of getting nearer
+and nearer, seeing one land-mark after another, passing into the dark
+tunnel, and then coming out into a blaze of sunshine and beauty, to
+find myself in one moment 'at home.' For Alyn itself was home, and once
+out of the tunnel, you are in Alyn."</p>
+
+<p>"Mother, you often told me about that, when I was a little girl."</p>
+
+<p>"As a picture," Mrs. Clyde said, smiling, while Mona's bright face had
+grown serious. "My favourite thought, darling; it is so like the last
+Home-going. So often there seems to be darkness at the close of life,
+with those who love the Master, but I think it is only that the glory
+coming after may shine the brighter. But for the dark tunnel first,
+Alyn could never burst upon us with half such a wonderful glow of
+beauty."</p>
+
+<p>"O mother, I do so long to see it," cried Mona eagerly. "Is that the
+tunnel coming now?"</p>
+
+<p>How little knew Mona that the shrill whistle which she welcomed so
+joyfully, was the death-knell of many around her!</p>
+
+<p>One moment's rush of increased noise, and then darkness. And in that
+moment, it was strange how her mother's face was photographed for
+ever upon Mona's memory. She did not consciously mark it at the time.
+Afterwards, it came back to her, in all its calm sweetness. She was
+thinking of nothing but counting the seconds, and awaiting the view
+which lay beyond.</p>
+
+<p>One moment more! And then—</p>
+
+<p>Ah, "then!"</p>
+
+<p>It was only a little mistake or accident. Something had been forgotten,
+or somebody was careless. Only just such a slight mistake as one
+may make a hundred times a day, letting it pass unmarked, and never
+dreaming the terrible consequences with which a little matter may be
+fraught. There had been a break-down of some heavy luggage-vans, and
+there was just a little too long delay in removing them, or word had
+been telegraphed just a little too late, or the express had arrived
+just a little too early. Nothing worse. But then—</p>
+
+<p>Down there in the darkness underground, they could not see the loaded
+trucks in the way. On and on with undiminished speed rushed the train,
+so near at last to its journey's end. Only a moment more—and then a
+crash so fearful that the very earth above and below trembled with the
+fierce concussion, and the mighty engine was twisted and crushed like
+a bit of tin in a man's hand, and carriages were heaped up one upon
+another, or flung to right and left in masses of shattered fragments,
+as a child might scatter a pile of bricks. And the fierce hiss of the
+boiling water that rushed from the engine, and the crashing turmoil
+of the collision, mingling with the wild tumult of groans and shrieks
+which followed, echoed back and forth from the low vaulted roof,
+till it seemed as if the din of sound must go on for ever and ever
+ceaselessly.</p>
+
+<p>But in that moment of direst anguish and fear, there were some who
+went quietly Home. Quietly, all in an instant, breaking out from the
+darkness underground to the glory far above. The anguish and fear were
+not for them, but for those who remained behind. The Master calls
+sometimes in sunshine and sometimes in storm, to those whom He will
+have to be with Him where He is; but so long as it "is" the voice of
+the Master and not of the Judge which calls, what matter how they go?
+Whether lingeringly in sunshine, or suddenly in storm, it signifies
+little, so that once they are safely landed.</p>
+
+<p>And some were landed all in a moment that day, who had looked for a
+longer voyage. Just as the disciples on the lake had a toilsome way
+before them, till the Master stepped on board, and then,—"suddenly they
+were at the land whither they went."</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, all in a moment. Perhaps if the choice had been given them,
+they might have found it hard to decide whether they would go, or
+whether they would stay. But once there, they would doubt no more.
+None ever yet looked upon the unveiled Face of the King in glory, and
+turned back to wish for the shadows of earth again. So for those of
+the dead who died in Christ that day, it was a peaceful Home-going—all
+the brighter and sweeter maybe, from the contrast of the darkness and
+anguish behind, out of which the Master had gently withdrawn them.</p>
+
+<p>This was the scene upon which Madge Hardwicke and her companion
+entered. The first mad terror and excitement of the accident had
+subsided, yet it was a strangely weird picture which lay before them,
+as they left the early daylight behind, and went deep into the tunnel's
+blackness. The tumult of shrieks had died gradually away into gentler
+moans, and in many cases into silence, broken here and there by a
+pitiful call for help. Some of the dead and dying had been already
+extricated, and busy hands were still hard at work among the heaped up
+masses of débris, which concealed yet many a crushed and mangled form.
+There was little leisure for attendance on those only wounded, and they
+waited for the most part in patient endurance, lying or sitting upon
+the damp ground.</p>
+
+<p>Some of the shattered fragments of woodwork had been piled together,
+and two or three small fires burnt brightly, sending up wreaths of
+smoke into the darkness, and casting a red glow upon the scene of
+confusion around. Lanterns were borne backwards and forwards here
+and there, and long ill-proportioned shadows of men, sometimes hazy
+and large, sometimes clear and small, went passing along the dark
+moist walls. And mingling with the busy sound of pick-axe and of
+crowbar, came the sound of men's voices in sharp direction or subdued
+consultation, and the groans of the injured, and the frightened sobbing
+of little children, clinging to their no less terrified mothers and
+nurses.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd's face turned towards Madge Hardwicke for an instant, but
+her quiet eyes met his steadfastly, and her lips were only trembling a
+little with unspoken words of prayer.</p>
+
+<p>"You can stand it?" he said, in a half-questioning tone. "I don't want
+to have you on my hands, in a screaming and fainting condition, Madge."</p>
+
+<p>For all the man's self-command and would-be carelessness, she knew the
+deadly fear which lay at his heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, I never did either in my life," she answered.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever see a scene like 'this' in your life?" he asked, with a
+sudden change of manner. "Madge, it is awful."</p>
+
+<p>"I think nothing can be darker to me than that which I have borne
+already, sir."</p>
+
+<p>And borne on that very morning—only ten years before. But that was
+past, and this was present, and Mr. Chetwynd had no thought to give to
+aught save what lay before him.</p>
+
+<p>They went on threading their way over the masses of ruin scattered far
+and wide. There were other helpers, and two more surgeons already on
+the scene. But there were not too many for the work, and Mr. Chetwynd
+was at everybody's beck and call. He refused no one, and gave attention
+to each in turn who claimed his aid, though all the time his set lips
+and anxious eyes told Madge Hardwicke the subject of his thoughts. She
+made many inquiries for him about his expected relatives, but could
+learn nothing. Those who were busy had no leisure to talk, and those
+who were not busy seemed, in the majority of cases, to have lost, for
+the time being, all memory and self-possession.</p>
+
+<p>Throughout Mr. Chetwynd's doings, he kept Madge persistently near his
+side, when she would have wished to go about and help more actively.
+She had learnt obedience, whatever else her lessons might have been,
+and made no protest. And, in truth, there was work enough for her to do
+on any spot where she might take her stand.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, they're taking off some of the well folk, and them that's not so
+badly hurt, to Alyn," Madge remarked at length, speaking unaddressed
+for the first time. "They've told me to tell you. Will this lady go?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd looked up from the case in hand, finished what he was
+doing, and stood erect once more.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, the sooner the better. Madge—no news of 'them?'"</p>
+
+<p>"I can hear none, sir."</p>
+
+<p>He sighed heavily, and then, with a hasty movement, walked a few paces
+away.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Madge."</p>
+
+<p>A poor mother was sitting, pale and still, upon the ground, with one
+arm hanging helplessly, and the other clasping a wee white-faced baby.
+She gazed up in mute appeal at the doctor. But when Mr. Chetwynd would
+have lifted the little one from her grasp, she held it more tightly,
+and uttered a sharp cry of anguish.</p>
+
+<p>"No use yet," he said, in a low tone, to Madge. "She will not believe
+the child is dead. Better so, perhaps, for a while. See there too."</p>
+
+<p>Another scene of the same description: a poor young wife kneeling in
+silent misery beside a prostrate figure, with an older lady weeping
+bitterly on the other side.</p>
+
+<p>"Is he dead, too?" Madge asked, from her full heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Not far from it. Ha, there is Mr. Prior."</p>
+
+<p>She did not recognise the name. A man of middle age and slender build
+came up and paused beside the little group, bearing a lantern in his
+hand. There were a few low-toned words, and then he knelt quietly down,
+and sounds of prayer for the departing soul came softly across to where
+Madge stood. What a scene for an artist that group would have made,
+in the red flickering light, with the gloomy tunnel-walls lowering
+overhead, and the calm reverent face of the man of prayer contrasting
+with the subdued grief of the weeping women, and the ashen features of
+the dying man.</p>
+
+<p>But Madge saw all with a deeper sense than that of an artist merely
+watching for "effects," and would fain have knelt down likewise to join
+in the petitions, but for the companion by her side.</p>
+
+<p>"That's your style, Madge," he said briefly. "Much good may it do the
+poor fellow."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, may it, sir, indeed," responded Madge softly.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Prior is setting to work early. Well,—'tis his vocation."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Prior?" Madge repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"The new Rector. He only arrived on Monday. Stay, there is a man
+calling me."</p>
+
+<p>He came back with a hasty step.</p>
+
+<p>"It may be nothing—I don't know,—but it sounds like—. Come and see,
+Madge."</p>
+
+<p>Following, as he hurried away, she came with him to a sheltered corner.
+And there, behind a broken carriage, hidden away in the darkness,—lying
+quietly where they had first been flung by the rude shock of the
+collision,—there they were. Mother and daughter together, not only side
+by side, but clasped firmly in one another's arms, as if, in the single
+instant of conscious danger, the instinct of each had been to shelter
+the other.</p>
+
+<p>Travelling in the same carriage, bound for the same home, flung out
+by the same rough shock, lying on the same damp spot of earth. But
+one was there, and one was "not" there. One was living, and one was
+dead. One was left to wander in earth's shade, and one had reached the
+everlasting light.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image009" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image009.jpg" alt="image009"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image010" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image010.jpg" alt="image010"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_3">CHAPTER III.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>DOWN UNDERGROUND.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>MR. PRIOR came upon this group quietly, with his lantern in his hand,
+as he had come upon the other. He paused as he had done before, and
+made a sixth in the scene. But beyond the show of deep compassion in
+his face, what could he do for them?</p>
+
+<p>They were all silent. From the moment of Mr. Chetwynd's first
+exclamation, not a word had passed his lips. He stood now with bent
+head and folded arms, the swelling veins in his forehead telling
+something of the thoughts below. The man who had called him to the spot
+remained slightly behind, holding in his hand a roughly improvised
+torch, which flickered drearily, sending black curls of smoke upward
+and stray sparks downward.</p>
+
+<p>Madge Hardwicke's gray eyes shone full of unshed tears. And Mona Clyde,
+just awakened from her death-like faint, had sprung to her mother's
+side before they dreamt her purpose, and now hung caressingly over her.</p>
+
+<p>She did not know the truth, and how could they tell it to her? She
+thought it was such a swoon as her own had been. It was almost more
+than they could bear, to see the slender girl kneeling there, all
+unconscious of her loss, tremblingly chafing the mother's cold hands,
+and trying in fond tones to coax her back to sense. Madge Hardwicke
+turned away and sobbed aloud. Mr. Chetwynd lifted his head, and meeting
+Mr. Prior's look, spoke suddenly in an impatient husky tone—</p>
+
+<p>"Look here—see here! I know all the talk about mysterious
+dispensations. What have you to say to this?"</p>
+
+<p>Whatever he had expected, he had not looked for the reply—</p>
+
+<p>"'God is love,' Mr. Chetwynd."</p>
+
+<p>"And this—an act of love!" he said bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>"If you know Him, you will be able to trust His loving mercy through
+even this," was the gently-uttered answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Mercy!" Mr. Chetwynd laughed hoarsely. "A mercy that she should be cut
+off! Ay, she has thought and talked like the rest of you, times without
+number. And now—this is the end of it all."</p>
+
+<p>This the end! The end of all her loving trust in a merciful Redeemer?
+Ah but neither Mr. Prior in his faith, nor Mr. Chetwynd in his
+unbelief, could catch one note of the grand triumphant chorus, with
+which the gathering in of another saint to the City of God had even
+then been welcomed by those already at home. It was the end indeed of
+faith, but the beginning of unclouded joy, and of pleasures at the
+right hand of God for ever and for evermore.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd checked himself when about to continue, for Mona had
+turned to listen, with a face of stony whiteness, and dilated terrified
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Mona, dear child," he faltered.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother is fainting. Why don't you bring her round?" demanded Mona, in
+an unnatural voice.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd groaned, and covered his face with his hands.</p>
+
+<p>Madge Hardwicke laid a light grasp on the girl's arm, looking down on
+her tearfully.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll help me," Mona went on in a pleading tone. "I don't know who
+you are, but I think from your face that you are kind. And they are
+leaving mother without doing anything—leaving her to die."</p>
+
+<p>The word uttered by herself seemed to rouse her to a sudden agony of
+fear, and with a cry she turned again to the motionless figure,—</p>
+
+<p>"Mother! Mother! Oh, won't you look up? Mother! Mother, darling!"</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Mona, I'm going to take you away from this place," said Madge
+Hardwicke, feeling that something must be done, and the truth must be
+told. "Dear Miss Mona, you are not fit to stay here any longer."</p>
+
+<p>"Mona, my dear, you 'must' come," said Mr. Chetwynd, as she resisted
+Madge Hardwicke resolutely. "We can do no more for—for her."</p>
+
+<p>"No more!" Mona looked up in ghastly bewilderment. "Why you've done
+nothing at all yet. Keep off. I am not going to leave mother. What do
+you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>Child as she looked for her age, shaken and trembling with all she had
+gone through, her gesture made them desist from any attempt to draw her
+away.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean? I don't understand," she went on hurriedly. "Uncle
+Chetwynd, you are a doctor. Don't you know what to do for a person in a
+faint? Mother has often fainted before, and I have brought her round,
+but there's nothing here to do it with. Why don't you fetch me some
+water, and help me to fan her, and rub her hands? What has come over
+you all?"</p>
+
+<p>Even as she spoke, the truth was fighting its way slowly into her mind,
+though she struggled to keep it out.</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle Chetwynd, she's only fainting. Don't you see she's only
+fainting? She will come to herself again directly. Mother—mother!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd turned away with an uncontrollable sob.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Prior, this is part of your rightful work. Tell her the truth if
+you can. I can't. Is there none among you that can comfort her?"</p>
+
+<p>He looked up half-fiercely as he spoke, but the appeal had met with
+instant response, and Mr. Prior was already by the side of the
+white-cheeked shuddering girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Mona, dear child, you must come away with me," he said gently, as if
+he had known her all her life.</p>
+
+<p>Mona gave him a startled look.</p>
+
+<p>"It is very dark," he went on. "I am going to take you away, Mona. It
+is very dreary here, but there is daylight beyond."</p>
+
+<p>Her gaze had grown piercing in its intensity.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know? What do you mean?" she muttered. "Did you know mother
+had said it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Had said what, my poor child?"</p>
+
+<p>"About the sunshine beyond—the darkness and then the light—and about
+its being like—like—the last Home-going! O mother!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is like that for her. God has taken her out of the darkness into
+His glorious light. Mona," he said pityingly, "poor child—it 'is' the
+last Home-going."</p>
+
+<p>She knew the truth now, and the cry with which she sank over her
+mother, though not loud, was terrible in its broken-heartedness.</p>
+
+<p>"And this—this, you say, is mercy," Mr. Chetwynd murmured huskily, as
+he helped Mr. Prior to lift the half-unconscious girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, to those who are God's own," Mr. Prior made answer. "What do you
+and I understand of His secret purposes? I know only this—how very
+precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints!"</p>
+
+<p>"She was a saint, if there ever was one upon earth," said Mr. Chetwynd.
+"I don't know that the word means the same to me as to you, though. It
+doesn't much matter after all. Thank you, Mr. Prior,—you mean well, but
+such doctrines are beyond me. Madge, you will come home with us for a
+few hours. Hush—don't try to rouse the poor child. Better get her away
+as she is. She understands at last."</p>
+
+<p>"God give her strength to bear it," murmured Madge.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image011" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image011.jpg" alt="image011"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image012" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image012.jpg" alt="image012"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_4">CHAPTER IV.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>MADGE AND THE DOCTOR.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"SO here you be at last," said Amos Ackman, in a discontented growl.
+"Get back, Nan." It was in the evening, less than a week later.</p>
+
+<p>The sun had just sunk behind West Point, lending a framework of golden
+light to the dark massive centre, which stood out with its sharply-cut
+profile against the clear sky. And the sea was all one sparkle of
+dancing ripples, which broke softly with murmuring splashes among the
+rocks below.</p>
+
+<p>Amos Ackman sat on a bench in his doorway, looking upon his goodly
+growth of garden weeds. He made no unfit foreground to the very untidy
+surroundings. A man, not tall, but formerly an athlete in strength,
+he had been bent and shrunk and twisted, by long years of acute
+rheumatism, into a half-helpless querulous invalid. The greater part
+of his time he spent on his little wooden bench, working laboriously
+with his swelled yet bony hands at trifling articles or childish
+knick-knacks for sale, helped by little Nan, as she crouched on the
+ground at his feet. A sour-spirited and unlovable man was Amos Ackman,
+yet Nannie loved him, and Madge Hardwicke pitied him and often did him
+a kindly turn.</p>
+
+<p>For all Amos Ackman's crustiness, he was not without a friend in the
+world—a real fast personal friend, who held to him through thick
+and thin, and would not be repelled by any amount of cross-grained
+speeches. Nat Tyrrell was a carpenter in a small way, living close to
+the foot of the hill, up which, in common with a goodly number of Alyn
+folks, he was wont to take his airing on a summer evening. He stood
+now, leaning in his favourite position against Amos Ackman's crooked
+crab-tree, looking, in his contrast to Amos, as if the theory of convex
+and concave friendship were here to receive full proof.</p>
+
+<p>For Amos Ackman was stooping and high-shouldered, with long uncouth
+arms, and neglected growth of straggling gray hair, and narrow
+forehead, and sharp deep-set eyes. And Nat Tyrrell was broad and stout
+in build, with frank straightforward bearing, and plenty of sense and
+intelligence in his honest face.</p>
+
+<p>A good man too, was Nat Tyrrell, not indeed rising to any great height
+of Christian experience, and having had his eyes but lately opened
+to see the worth of things spiritual. He was only groping his way as
+yet through early dawn, and making many a mistake concerning matters
+of weighty import in that dim light. No fear that, if he groped on,
+honestly seeking for more light, it would not be granted. Only the
+curious thing was, that he hardly realised yet how much he needed
+clearer sight; and he was therefore not a little disposed to lay down
+the law upon many matters, which, all unknown to himself, others in
+brighter daylight could mark in their more just proportions. There are
+no popes more determined in their would-be infallibility than those
+good men who utterly mistake their own glimmering light for the blaze
+of noonday. And with such, the dawn often brightens but slowly, lasting
+it may be almost through a life-time. Still, Nat Tyrrell was a good
+man—a man of Christian principle, earnestly desirous to serve God, and
+needing chiefly to be raised in his knowledge of Christ, and lowered in
+his estimation of self.</p>
+
+<p>"So here you be at last," was Amos Ackman's surly greeting, as Madge
+Hardwicke's quiet face, with the little red handkerchief below it,
+stopped at his gate. "Get back, Nan. Always in the way, yer are."</p>
+
+<p>Nan went down quickly on the ground, but ventured to smile a welcome,
+as Madge came a step nearer.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I'm come back," Madge said. "How have you been all day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Same as always," said Amos shortly. "Where 've yer been?"</p>
+
+<p>"More places than one," said Madge. "I'd a mind to be present at the
+funeral."</p>
+
+<p>"What the poor lady as was killed in the tunnel?" asked Nat Tyrrell.
+"The doctor's sister?"</p>
+
+<p>"Joe Whilly telled me there was to be six buried together," said Amos,
+hitting out at Nan, when she ventured to creep a little nearer to
+Madge. "Get out o' the way then! Six buried together, says he, all o'
+them killed on the spot. And a lot more to be buried to-morrow. Well,
+the gentlefolks has it this time an' no mistake."</p>
+
+<p>"Has what?" demanded Madge.</p>
+
+<p>"Their turn at trouble an' bother," said Amos sourly. "I've enough an'
+to spare, till I'm 'most sick o' my life. I ain't got no objection to
+see rich folks bearin' a bit o' the same."</p>
+
+<p>"Come now, don't you go and be spiteful, Amos," interposed Nat Tyrrell
+good-humouredly. "Rich folks has their plenty of trouble, though it
+don't always come in the money line."</p>
+
+<p>Amos struck out again savagely, as if little Nan were the impersonation
+of wealthy ease, and he wanted to demolish it on the spot. "What 're
+yer after there, a-wastin' all your time? Get into the cottage."</p>
+
+<p>"Nannie's coming along with me into my garden, to help pull weeds,"
+said Madge, as the child cowered silently beneath the blow. "You'd
+ought to be ashamed of yourself, Amos Ackman, to treat a little girl
+like that worse than if she was a dog."</p>
+
+<p>Amos scowled, but allowed Nannie to spring past him without a protest.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," Madge said, when they had reached her little garden, leaving
+the other two just out of ear-shot, "I've scarce had a word with you,
+Nan, these days past. What's angered your father, child?"</p>
+
+<p>Nannie looked thoughtful. She was spare, and small, and pinched for her
+age, but there was no lack of intelligence in her little thin face,
+with the framing of gipsy-black hair. "Madge," she said, under her
+breath, "d'ye mind what you said the morning of the tunnel accident?
+'Twasn't the Resurrection-day, after all."</p>
+
+<p>"No, it's to come yet," said Madge, pulling up a bit of groundsel, and
+then looking across to the fading rim of golden light which lingered
+round Lion Point.</p>
+
+<p>"I've prayed a deal that it mayn't be long, and that father 'll be
+ready," said Nan softly. "But he don't seem like it now. I wanted to
+say to him my Sunday text this morning, Madge, and it's that has made
+him be hittin' at me all day since."</p>
+
+<p>"I'd pray on," said Madge, continuing her work. "Maybe 'tisn't the
+Master's time yet. Only take care your father don't anger ye, Nan."</p>
+
+<p>"I've had to smother it down ever so," said Nannie, with a little sob.
+"O Madge, it's so hard, you don't know. Look here."</p>
+
+<p>The black bruises on the little arm, covertly bared, told their own
+tale. "It 'is' hard," said Madge. "I wish I could shield you, child.
+Maybe if I was to speak to him, and get Nat Tyrrell to speak too—"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, he's worse after, if he keeps in a bit," said Nannie, speaking
+cheerfully, as she covered up the poor little discoloured arm. "I'll
+bear it, Madge, 'cause, if I made a fuss, father 'd maybe think I was
+angry, and then he'd be longer learning to love God; don't you think
+so, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to Madge like something of the old martyr-spirit shining in
+the child's face; but she only said, "Ay, Nannie, you're right, 'on'
+doubt. Come, and I'll put you something on the bruises."</p>
+
+<p>Amos Ackman's voice, calling imperatively in harsh tones, made Nannie
+run away the moment they again left the cottage. Madge moved forward
+a trifle faster herself, for Mr. Chetwynd was standing outside the
+garden, leaning on the palings.</p>
+
+<p>He looked sad and weary enough, though he greeted her with a
+half-careless smile. "Good evening, Madge. I have come up here for a
+breath of fresh air. The town is oppressive to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"How's Miss Mona, sir?" asked Madge.</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head. "I don't know. Never sheds a tear. Never speaks
+of—of 'it.' I can't begin, or it might be better. I am not sure. But
+it is hard to see her look like that. It is not the way girls usually
+meet sorrow. There seems no way of bringing comfort to her, poor little
+Mona."</p>
+
+<p>His eyes were moist, and his voice was unsteady.</p>
+
+<p>"God can comfort her, sir," Madge said, in her quiet way.</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head again, in dreary dissent this time.</p>
+
+<p>"I tried to get her out, but she will see no one yet, and seems to wish
+for nothing but to be left alone. Madge, I like Mr. Prior, though he is
+of your way of thinking. You two would suit marvellously. He knows when
+not to talk, which most men don't know, particularly your good folks.
+His shake of the hand to-day said more than any words could have done.
+If all professors of religion were like him and you, now—"</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, a man's slips oughtn't to make you condemn his religion."</p>
+
+<p>"One naturally judges of a man's profession by his actions. What were
+you talking about so earnestly to that child, as I came up the hill,
+before you both disappeared into the cottage?"</p>
+
+<p>Madge thought a moment, and then spoke out steadily, "Prayer to God,
+for one thing, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Ha! Quite your subject."</p>
+
+<p>"No,—everybody's," said Madge.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you praying for now, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>He asked the question lightly, not quite contemptuously.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps there was something in Madge Hardwicke's calm confidence which
+kept him in check. Also, he had himself no objection to prayer, as
+a necessary and respectable form. Possibly, he looked upon the said
+form as something of a concession to the weakness of others; but, at
+all events, in his opinion, it could do no one harm, if not likely
+to do any one good. He was regularly to be seen in his pew on Sunday
+mornings, where his manner, if not reverent, was decorous; and he had
+never yet broken through the habit of family prayers, however brief and
+dry in kind. As for anything beyond—as for making a particular request
+to God, and looking for a particular answer from God—Mr. Chetwynd's
+feelings were simply those of utter incredulity. He had no objection to
+the form of prayer, as a habit, as an institution, as an act of worship
+to a Supreme Being, but he had no faith whatever in the power of prayer
+as a living working reality. There was the barrier at which he stopped,
+and there, he well knew, Madge did not stop; whence his question.</p>
+
+<p>Madge hesitated again, not that she did not know what to say, but that
+it was always an effort to her to speak of her own feelings. But Madge
+never shrank from showing her colours when occasion called.</p>
+
+<p>"For the Master's coming," she answered reverently.</p>
+
+<p>He was watching the red sunset clouds at that moment, floating in
+the blue sky, but he turned to look her in the face, in no pretended
+astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"Madge, do you literally mean to say—you who believe in the Second
+Advent, as men understand it in the Bible—do you mean to say you dream
+of your prayers having any influence in an event of such moment as
+that, supposing it were really coming upon us?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd put aside the supposings, sir, and let's take for granted it
+really is,—as we know to be," Madge could not help adding, in her calm
+exultant faith, ranking herself with those who know the truth indeed,
+and were not blind as he was. "I do believe my praying 'll hasten it,
+sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you don't believe it to be a day fixed from all eternity? Madge,
+Madge, what of your faith in Bible teachings now?" demanded the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe 'tis fixed. Any way, God knows the day. What then, sir?" asked
+Madge simply, in her turn.</p>
+
+<p>"How can your prayers by any possibility affect a fixed event?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, sir. God knows, and that's enough."</p>
+
+<p>"But I tell you, Madge, the two things are incompatible. They can't
+both be true."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe you can't explain 'em, sir," said Madge. "They're none the less
+true for that. You've a deal more of this world's wisdom than I have,
+and I'm but a poor ignorant woman. But 'the wisdom of this world is
+foolishness with God.' Tisn't wisdom, but faith, that's needed to get a
+man into the kingdom of heaven."</p>
+
+<p>"Then, if you were to read in the Bible that black was white, you would
+believe it, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>He laughed as he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>But Madge answered solemnly,—so solemnly that he too grew grave:—</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, the Bible says nowhere at all that black is white. The Bible
+don't ask us to believe anything of the kind, and I can't see that I've
+any call to be fancying how I'd feel if the Bible said things which it
+doesn't say. But what's put plainly in God's Word, I do believe. And
+where I can't understand, I know 'tis only because I am but a little
+child before God; and I just take the truths He gives me, and believe
+them still."</p>
+
+<p>He looked away again towards the fading light in the west—looked sadly,
+standing there in his lonely sorrow, smitten by the hand of God in his
+tenderest affections, and haughtily putting aside the sweet comfort
+wherewith God would fain, in His pitying love, comfort all who are cast
+down. Mr. Chetwynd knew nothing of all this—knew not, because he would
+not know.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Madge," he said huskily,—"did none of those passengers the
+other day pray for a safe journey before their setting out, do you
+suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've a notion that they did, sir. And wasn't God's hand over them,
+preserving many a one from death?"</p>
+
+<p>"According to that, all praying travellers should be safe, and only the
+non-praying ones ever meet with injury or death."</p>
+
+<p>Madge looked up with a sudden shining in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, sir, 'twould be so, surely, 'if' God's wounding isn't often a
+deal better than to be left whole, and 'if' this life is better than
+heaven's glory. I'd find it hard to choose about that last, if you was
+to put it to me."</p>
+
+<p>"You would! You, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't wish for death, till it's my Lord's will," said Madge very
+quietly. "But when He calls, I'd think you right cruel to keep me
+back—only you couldn't!" added Madge, with genuine thankfulness.</p>
+
+<p>"That's not mere weariness of life," muttered the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir," Madge answered. "I'm not weary of life, so long as my Lord
+wants me to live here for Him. And I'd like to see Neill again, too."</p>
+
+<p>"And you think Neill will come back some day?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"And that his return will be in answer to your prayers?"</p>
+
+<p>Madge's gray eyes were burning with a mother's tears. "I do, sir," she
+repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"And how if he does not come back, after all your prayers?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then it's because I'm blind, and can't see what's good for him nor me."</p>
+
+<p>"Ha! So you would not call that unanswered prayer! You are a clever
+woman at twisting things about, Madge."</p>
+
+<p>She turned straight to look him in the face, as he had done to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, true prayer is never unanswered, though sure enough God don't
+always give us the very things we pray for. My Bible tells me, 'If
+we ask anything "according to His will" He heareth us.' If 'tis not
+according to His will, He keeps it back, and well for us He does. Seems
+to me oftentimes that He don't give me just the thing I ask for, only
+because He has something else a deal better in store. But any way, I
+wouldn't dare wish aught, save what He wills to grant me.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm right sure that no prayer of faith, put up with the 'If it be Thy
+Will' running all through it, was ever left unanswered, though maybe
+the answer sent was a different one altogether from what was looked for
+by him who prayed. And it's like enough to be so with me. I wouldn't
+wish to shut my eyes to the truth. Maybe Neill will not come home at
+all, but I'll meet him safe in heaven. I'd sooner have an Eternity with
+him there, than only a few years with him here, if both couldn't be."</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't that 'couldn't' rather limiting God's power, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. There's many things which God sees in His wisdom mustn't be,
+and we don't know the reason now, and won't till we get to heaven.
+It'll be joy to see the meaning of things then, but it's joy to trust
+my Lord now."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd was silent. He would have given something for the
+absolute repose of this woman's faith. He would have given almost
+anything,—short of laying aside his pride, and his earthly wisdom. But
+he could not part with these. He could not, and would not, stoop to
+become a little child. The portals of the Kingdom of Heaven are low,
+and Mr. Chetwynd, with his lofty crest of self-confidence, could not
+enter therein.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image013" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image013.jpg" alt="image013"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image014" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image014.jpg" alt="image014"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_5">CHAPTER V.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>GATHERING MISTS.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"WHAT are you going to do with yourself to-day, my dear?" inquired
+the doctor one morning, as he sipped his coffee, and glanced down the
+columns of the "Times," with an abstracted air.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, uncle. Anything."</p>
+
+<p>"Because I am called away to a distance, and—a—don't know exactly—when—"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd's voice died into a murmur as he became more engrossed
+with his subject. Presently, however, he folded up the paper, threw it
+to a side-table, and looked across at the quiet pale face opposite,
+with purple rings round the sad dark eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon, my dear. It is very unsociable to treat you in this
+fashion. What will you do with yourself while I am away?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care, uncle."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall hardly be home before evening—to dinner at six, if possible.
+But you will be lonely."</p>
+
+<p>Lonely, yes, with the great blank which she had borne about with her
+for weeks. But his presence made no great difference either way in that
+respect, and she only said passively, "I shall do very well, thank you."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think, now, you would be happier, if I could get some young
+lady to spend the day with you, Mona?" he asked kindly.</p>
+
+<p>"No—no, please, uncle Chetwynd."</p>
+
+<p>"It would be better for you, my dear child."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I can't have it indeed," said Mona decidedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Or if you would go somewhere—say to the Rectory. Mrs. Prior is an
+invalid, to be sure, but she is a bright one, and she has often pressed
+me to bring you to see her."</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet," said Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"You would not see Mr. Prior when he came to call yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>"I—couldn't. I don't know him."</p>
+
+<p>"But suppose he wants to know you?"</p>
+
+<p>Mona put up her hand to still the throbbing in her throat. "I can't see
+any one; I can't, indeed, uncle. I only want to be quiet."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you must take your own way, my dear," said the doctor, with a
+half-sigh. He wanted much to understand the young girl, thus thrown
+upon him for care and comfort, yet he found it impossible to penetrate
+the veil of sorrowful reserve in which she had wrapped herself. "I
+don't want to tease you, Mona, only I think a little change would be
+good for your spirits."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go for a walk," said Mona with an effort, feeling secure, if she
+went alone, of meeting no one with whom she was acquainted, or, at
+least, of being able to escape in time.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, yes, that will do you good. And you won't have a companion?"
+Mona shook her head. "Suppose you find your way up the hill to my old
+friend, Madge Hardwicke."</p>
+
+<p>Mona made up her mind to avoid that direction studiously, but only
+said, "I'll see."</p>
+
+<p>"I should like you to know her better. She is a good woman—practically
+most excellent. Theoretically—well, she has your dear mother's ideas
+upon religion. None the worse for that, maybe, eh, Mona?" added Mr.
+Chetwynd, with a certain lofty condescension towards the weak, yet
+enviable and even beautiful credulity of those who thought thus, which
+Mona, girl though she was, appreciated to the full. He thought her
+sudden shiver was caused by the allusion to her loss, and continued
+hastily, "But I really should like you to see more of Madge. I don't
+know a more worthy creature, or one who lives more entirely for others."</p>
+
+<p>"And you don't think that speaks for her religion?" asked Mona, in a
+low voice.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear child, I don't think you and I had better enter on that
+question," said Mr. Chetwynd pleasantly, handing up his cup for a fresh
+supply of coffee. "I do not suppose that, whatever Madge Hardwicke's
+religious views might have chanced to be, she could ever have been
+otherwise than kind-hearted, and unselfish, and capable." For Mr.
+Chetwynd, in common with many others of his way of thinking, seemed
+to make it his rule to ascribe all the blemishes of a Christian's
+character to his or her religion, and all the beauties of it to
+unassisted nature. "But I should be sorry to have any discussion with
+you about it, Mona. I would not for worlds unsettle your mind with
+regard to those things, in which your poor mother taught you to put
+faith. We did not agree in all matters of theory, but you are quite
+right to think like her—as long as you can—and I assure you, dear, you
+cannot admire more heartily than I do, the loveliness of such a life as
+hers. I only wish there were more like her."</p>
+
+<p>Such a Christian life as hers! And such a Christian life as Madge
+Hardwicke's! And such a Christian life as Mr. Prior's! And such a
+Christian life as that of his own mother in the past! But Mr. Chetwynd
+preferred to ignore that fashion of looking upon the question. The
+beauty of their lives he could not deny, but the cause, he would have
+allowed to be anything rather than heart-religion.</p>
+
+<p>Did he in very truth dread to unsettle the once happy trust of the
+young creature before him? Did he really desire in his heart to act
+faithfully by the known wishes of his lost sister, and to train up her
+child as she would have had her trained? Theoretically no doubt he did,
+or imagined he did. Practically, he exercised small self-control in the
+matter.</p>
+
+<p>Not that he ever made any direct attacks upon Mona's faith. He would
+have said he believed a great many things that she believed. And for
+the rest—he set himself, in love to his sister's memory, and almost,
+as a point of honour, to avoid discussion on mooted points. But had
+he no idea of the awful power over the mind of a young and simple
+yet intellectual girl, of those slight innuendos and brief passing
+sneers on the subject of heart-religion, in which he was so prone to
+indulge himself? They escaped him often, it is true, undesignedly and
+by mere force of habit. Not the less dangerous were they for that. And
+not the less terrible was the weight of responsibility incurred by
+Mr. Chetwynd, in daring thus to tamper with the faith of one of the
+Master's "little ones."</p>
+
+<p>For the barbed arrow had taken root—flung by his reckless hand.</p>
+
+<p>Poor gentle Mona Clyde! Hers had been such a happy life up to that
+fatal journey. She had literally never known trouble. The loss of
+her father lay back in the far distance, too dim and hazy to cause
+her grief, unless for her mother's sake. All her love and hope and
+abounding joy in life had been centred in that one sweet being—her
+mother—a mother, so pure and tender, so saintly and sweet, that Mona
+had no wish for aught of earthly pleasure beyond her companionship.
+They were all in all to each other, those two!</p>
+
+<p>And Mona had for years believed herself to be a child of God. She could
+hardly have told the time when first her mother's gentle teaching had
+drawn her to the love of heavenly things. She had known, indeed, no
+great depths of lowly repentance, or grand heights of holy joy, and
+had experienced few intense spiritual longings. Some in the flock are
+near to the Shepherd, and some are farther away; and Mona had not been
+one of those who cling ever to His side, looking out each step of the
+way for His guiding hand and loving touch. Still, she had felt her
+sinfulness, and had sought her Saviour's forgiveness. She had lived a
+simple child-like life of simple child-like faith and service, gliding
+placidly down the stream of life, playing with each joy as it came to
+her hand, and seeming to pass unscathed through all the world's pain
+and sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>And now this fearful blow had come, taking away at one stroke all that
+she loved on earth, and leaving her mute, crushed, and desolate. And it
+was the Hand of God which had done this!</p>
+
+<p>The Hand of God! The Hand of her Heavenly Father! Ay, and Mona might
+have trusted that Father's love through all, but for the words of the
+man who heartlessly lent himself to the work of unsettling her peace.</p>
+
+<p>Did he ever dream how it was not the mere loss of her mother, precious
+though that mother had been to her, but his own ill-advised utterances,
+which had shattered Mona's happiness? Did he ever realise that it was
+his own hand which had drawn so black a pall over her once clear sky?
+Did he ever imagine the stormy grief, and the wild questionings about
+God and His dealings, which raged beneath that girlish face?</p>
+
+<p>He did not dream, or realise, or imagine the truth. But none the less,
+heavily weighed upon him the unfelt load of responsibility before God.
+"Whoso shall offend one of these little ones, which believe in Me, it
+were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and
+that he were drowned in the depth of the sea."</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image015" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image015.jpg" alt="image015"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image016" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image016.jpg" alt="image016"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_6">CHAPTER VI.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>NANNIE.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>MONA went that afternoon for her walk, as she had promised, caring
+little as she went whither her steps might tend. West Point was her
+first idea, but she had a certain dread of being caught and imprisoned
+by the returning tide. So she turned aimlessly in the opposite
+direction, not climbing, but skirting the East Cliff Hill, by the
+winding path which ran round it at the bottom.</p>
+
+<p>To reach the little shingle cove beyond, took nearly an hour of steady
+walking, but once set going, Mona kept it up mechanically. She had
+never suffered from weakness before, and felt some surprise at her own
+failing strength and aching limbs when the hour was ended, not knowing
+the exhausting effects of such grief and seclusion as hers during the
+past month.</p>
+
+<p>The path leading straight up the hill, and along the edge of the cliff,
+was evidently a much shorter cut homewards than the road by which she
+had come, and Mona decided to follow it, though doubtful whether the
+steepness of the ascent might not more than counter-balance its greater
+directness. She pressed steadily for a while up the stony way, with
+trailing brambles on her left and right, till she found herself panting
+to a degree which made a respite necessary. A little grassy niche close
+to the cliff-edge attracted her, and she sat down to rest.</p>
+
+<p>It was a clear October day, fair and mild, and free alike from
+boisterous breeze or glaring sunshine. Everything seemed clothed in a
+neutral tint, and the very blue of the sea had a gray hue about it.
+There were no waves beyond a lazy heaving to and fro of the water, but
+Mona could catch the sound of the distant splash, as the tide crept
+sleepily in, washing round one rock after another.</p>
+
+<p>How long she sat there, with her cheek on her hand, and her eyes fixed
+dreamily on the line of the horizon, she could not have told. She was
+scarcely thinking so much as sinking into a tangled maze of doubt and
+speculation, after her habit of late. Why this? What of that? How
+possible the other? And this could not be reconciled with that; and
+that was a belief incompatible with this; and life altogether was one
+sad confused mystery; and sin and sorrow seemed so to flourish under
+the permission of the God of holiness and love; and revealed truths
+were so utterly bewildering in their varied aspects.</p>
+
+<p>And Mona, poor weak child, striving feebly to penetrate mighty
+mysteries which the very angels may not fathom, setting herself up
+to question the eternal purposes of the King of kings, before whom
+the sinless cherubs veil their faces—what wonder if she found herself
+baffled on every side, and closed in by a darkening threatening cloud
+of unbelief? As well might she have sought to gauge the depth of the
+Atlantic Ocean with the little six-inch ruler in her desk at home,
+as have dreamt of measuring God's mysteries by means of her own puny
+intellect. Ay, and of the most brilliant powers on earth, ever seen in
+living man, the same must still be said. The finite can never compass
+the infinite.</p>
+
+<p>How long Mona would have gone on sitting there but for an interruption,
+it is hard to say. Down in her heart of hearts she knew she was wrong
+to give way to these questionings—knew herself to be playing with edged
+tools of deadly sharpness. But it seemed to herself that she had no
+power to draw back from the contest, no power even to seek help from
+above. What was the good of praying, she asked bitterly, when doubts as
+to the power of prayer thronged round every word she uttered? If once
+she could settle these terrible questions which so disturbed her peace,
+she would feel again the peace and joy she had known so short a time
+before.</p>
+
+<p>If once! Little did she know that she was bearing fast towards a reef
+of cruel hidden rocks, upon which too many of the brightest human
+intellects have been wrecked for eternity. Well was it for Mona that
+not all her reasonings could prevent the child-like instinct of her
+heart from leading her once and again, through all her doubtings,
+to cry aloud to her Saviour for help. Well was it for her that her
+speculations, though feebly resisted, were no pleasure, but keenest
+pain, and that she was a stranger as yet to the foolish pride so often
+felt in such questionings, as if, instead of being simply a sign of
+imperfect faith, they were a proof of superior mental power. But if
+allowed to hold sway too long, there was no hope that in time the pain
+would not die, and pride creep stealthily in to supply its place.</p>
+
+<p>An unexpected sound struck on Mona's ear, and roused her suddenly
+from her musings. She was not sorry to be so roused. Something of a
+stilled sob in a child's voice, it seemed to her, and she listened
+intently, but for awhile in vain. Then she heard it again, rather more
+distinctly, and rising from her sheltered spot among the brambles, she
+stood in the pathway, waiting.</p>
+
+<p>There it was—an unmistakable sob this time. Mona went straight among
+the bushes away from the cliff, in the direction whence the sobbing
+proceeded, and in her haste, almost fell over the figure of a child
+crouched in the long grass, shivering and moaning under its breath,
+with an occasional sharper sound, as if of pain too keen to be
+repressed.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, you poor little creature, what is the matter?" asked Mona
+compassionately, kneeling down beside her. "What is the matter? Has any
+one hurt you, or are you ill?"</p>
+
+<p>The child only cowered down more closely, and Mona bent over her.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor little thing! You are quite trembling. Has anything happened to
+frighten you? Tell me your name, little girl?" said Mona, with gentle
+authority, finding her questions unanswered.</p>
+
+<p>"Nannie Ackman."</p>
+
+<p>"And where do you live?"</p>
+
+<p>"Up on the hill."</p>
+
+<p>Nannie started and moaned sharply again, and then lifted her
+tear-stained face. "O please,—I can't help it, it does hurt so," she
+whispered, with catches in her breath.</p>
+
+<p>Mona noticed how the child crouched forward, all drawn together with
+pain. She noted too, in a more passing way, the careful mending of the
+little one's short scarlet petticoat, and the neatness of the long
+black hair, and the cleanliness of the small face and hands, unaware
+how much Madge Hardwicke had had to do with the same.</p>
+
+<p>"Nannie, what is it that hurts you so much?" she asked gently. "Tell me
+what it is, dear."</p>
+
+<p>She sat down on the long grass, and lifted Nannie into her lap, but the
+movement, though most tenderly performed, caused almost a scream of
+anguish. "What can be the matter? Nannie, poor child, can't you tell
+me?" Mona asked, in real distress. "Have you had a fall, or has any one
+hurt you? Where is the pain?"</p>
+
+<p>She hardly needed to ask the latter question, after the way in which
+the child's hands were clenched over her chest. "It's here, an' all
+through an' my back," Nannie gasped incoherently. "O please tell
+Madge—I did try—and I couldn't be patient."</p>
+
+<p>"Madge Hardwicke, do you mean?" asked Mona, trying to support Nannie in
+the easiest possible position.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and I did try," sobbed Nannie, breaking down, "but it does hurt
+so dreadful, I couldn't keep in no longer."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you had this pain before to-day, Nannie?"</p>
+
+<p>"O no, 'cause father never hit me there before, nor so hard."</p>
+
+<p>"Your father! You don't mean to say he has done this!"</p>
+
+<p>"O I didn't mean to tell, I didn't," cried Nannie, roused to the
+sense of what she had said, by the indignation in Mona's tone. "O
+please—nobody mustn't know—'cause—"</p>
+
+<p>She had tried to raise herself in her excitement, and another scream
+cut short the words. "Hush, Nannie, hush; you must lie down and keep
+still," said Mona gravely. "What made your father treat you in such a
+way? Tell me his name, and where you live."</p>
+
+<p>"He's Amos Ackman, and we live right up on the hill, next door to Madge
+Hardwicke," said Nannie, gasping painfully between her sobs. "And
+nobody mustn't ever know, please,—please,—"</p>
+
+<p>"Nannie, does your father often strike you?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's never done it so bad before, and he didn't think to make me fall
+over this time, he didn't. Poor father! Madge says it's all along
+'cause he's so cross with the rheumatiz, and so it is. He don't know no
+better."</p>
+
+<p>The words, in their eager forgiveness, brought a rush of tears to
+Mona's eyes. "Knows no better?" she repeated mechanically.</p>
+
+<p>"No, 'cause he don't love God," whispered Nannie, under her breath.
+"And Madge and I've settled I'd better bear, and not grumble at
+nothing; 'cause, if I do, father 'll mayhap be longer learning to
+love Him. And if he's too long, maybe he won't be in time for the
+Resurrection-day."</p>
+
+<p>The tears overflowed, and came dropping down on Nannie's brow so fast,
+that Nannie looked up in wonder to see what made the strange young lady
+cry. "Nannie, where is your father?" asked Mona, unheeding her surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Down yonder, picking of blackberries. He don't know I'm here,"
+whispered Nannie, shrinking. "He's a deal angered, 'cause you know I
+couldn't go to sell blackberries on Sunday. And he said he'd make me
+to-morrow; and I said it 'ud be wrong, and then—he didn't mean to more
+than push me neither. He don't know it's so bad."</p>
+
+<p>"If he does not know, he 'ought' to know," Mona thought. And in one
+of those bursts of burning indignation, to which the gentlest natures
+are sometimes prone, she did that which she would have been incapable
+of even attempting in her cooler moments. Without saying a word to
+Nannie, and without even being clearly aware of her own intentions, she
+took the child in her arms, and walked straight down the hill, in the
+direction pointed out by Nannie.</p>
+
+<p>Whether or no Nannie guessed her intentions, she offered no objection.
+Perhaps she saw a resolution in Mona's flushed cheeks and firmly-set
+lips, which would not be easily overcome. Perhaps the motion caused by
+Mona's walk caused suffering too acute to admit of any thought beyond
+that of self-control. At all events, neither of the two spoke, till
+they came suddenly upon the ragged uncouth figure, whose identity was
+made plain to Mona, alike by his half-filled blackberry basket and by
+Nannie's shiver of fear.</p>
+
+<p>"Is your name Amos Ackman?" Mona inquired, presenting herself abruptly
+before him, and dashing in fearless fashion straight to the point.</p>
+
+<p>"Be!" said Amos surlily, the former part of the sentence being merely
+an inarticulate growl.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image017" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image017.jpg" alt="image017"></figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>"And is this your little girl?"</b><br>
+<b>"That's Nan," said Amos. "Idle little hussy she be,</b><br>
+<b>wastin' of her time, an' doin' nought but play."</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"And is this your little girl?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's Nan," said Amos. "Idle little hussy she be, wastin' of her
+time, an' doin' nought but play."</p>
+
+<p>"Play!" repeated Mona indignantly. "She is in no state for play, or
+work either. Do you know that you might be severely punished for your
+cruelty?"</p>
+
+<p>"Eh?" said Amos.</p>
+
+<p>The tone was sullenly non-comprehensive. "Look here," said Mona. "See
+what you have done to her."</p>
+
+<p>Amos stared stolidly, and repeated, "Eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know you have hurt her so terribly that she cannot stand or
+walk? If you go on in this way, you will end by becoming a murderer!"
+said Mona, in her warmth. "You, a father, to behave so to your poor
+little child!"</p>
+
+<p>"Can't walk, eh? She's all a humbuggin'," growled Amos. "Get down, will
+yer, Nan?"</p>
+
+<p>Mona held the little helpless figure more closely. "You are
+heartless,—wicked," she said, hardly able to find words for her
+passionate indignation and pity, while Nannie burst into tears, and
+sobbed out,—</p>
+
+<p>"O father, I didn't mean to tell! I'm sorry."</p>
+
+<p>"Dare say yer didn't, too," said Amos, with an unmistakable scowl this
+time. "Sorry, are yer? I'll make yer sorry, an' no mistake, afore yer a
+day older."</p>
+
+<p>"You shall not dare. You would kill her," cried Mona. "You shall not
+lay a finger on her again. I will take her home with me."</p>
+
+<p>"Take her away, will yer? Yer 'd just better!"</p>
+
+<p>Mona quailed before the ferocity of those shaggy eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want to go, father," said Nannie, more calmly than she had yet
+spoken. "I'd a deal rather stay with you."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall tell my uncle, Mr. Chetwynd, about it all, and see what he
+will say," Mona answered. "I can't think how you could dare to treat a
+poor little helpless girl in such a cowardly brutal way. I wonder you
+could dare."</p>
+
+<p>"Nan's not a-going to go away from home," was the only response.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall take her up to Madge Hardwicke. My uncle will settle the
+matter by-and-by."</p>
+
+<p>Mona could not trust herself to say more. She turned hastily away, and
+walked again up the hill.</p>
+
+<p>Glancing back once, she saw Amos Ackman shuffling down the path in
+the opposite direction. Not till he was out of sight, did she find
+how unfitted was her own strength for the task she had undertaken.
+At any time, unless under the strongest excitement, her slender arms
+were unequal to the bearing of such a burden, and now the reaction
+from her interview was a fit of nervous trembling from head to foot.
+She struggled on a few more paces, and then sank down on the grass, so
+completely spent that there was nothing for it but to await a renewal
+of strength, or the help of a passer-by. Not many people, however, went
+up and down the path on this side of the hill.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image018" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image018.jpg" alt="image018"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image019" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image019.jpg" alt="image019"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_7">CHAPTER VII.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>NAT TYRRELL'S NOTIONS.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"YOU'RE a good woman, Madge. I don't know a better. And my little girl
+is main grateful to you, for taking so much trouble with her. Seems to
+me, though, that you've got a wrong crank or two into your brain."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe," said Madge placidly. She was standing outside her
+cottage-door, that same Saturday afternoon, having just seen the last
+of nearly a dozen little barefooted damsels, who were wont to run up
+the hill once a week, for half-an-hour's Bible reading with Madge, as
+a preparation for the Sunday following. "I've taken many a crank into
+my head, and been set right in it, before now, and I dare say I'll take
+many another. We're none of us gifted with over-clear sight."</p>
+
+<p>"A man holding the Word of God for his rule, needs never to go wrong,"
+said Nat Tyrrell decisively.</p>
+
+<p>"No, he don't need, and a man walking in full daylight needs never
+to stumble, but there's no doubt he often do and often will, in both
+cases," responded Madge. "What's the crank I've hold of now, Nat?"</p>
+
+<p>Nat's answer was another question: "What's your reading been about
+to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Asking God for what we want."</p>
+
+<p>"Thought so," said Nat.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you had your head against the lattice, last part of the time,"
+said Madge in her quiet way.</p>
+
+<p>Nat laughed, half inclined to blush also. "Well, you see, I knowed
+you'd have no objection."</p>
+
+<p>"Not a bit. Have out with your say, Nat. I'm waiting to be set right."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, look you here," said Nat, noways unwilling to assume the
+pleasant office of mentor, "I didn't just like all you was telling of
+the children, to go and pray for everything they wanted, and they'd get
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I didn't promise that neither," said Madge. "I told them they'd
+get it, if 'twas God's will."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and nothing was ever too small to pray about, you said—not even
+if 'twas a bit of food, or a wish for something you couldn't get."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Madge. "Don't the Bible say, 'In everything . . . let your
+requests be made known unto God . . .'¹?"</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<br>
+¹ Phil. iv. 6.<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but it don't mean everything of that kind," said Nat.</p>
+
+<p>"What does it mean?" Madge wanted to know.</p>
+
+<p>"It don't mean that," repeated Nat Tyrrell. "It means seeking pardon
+and forgiveness, and God's glory, and man's salvation."</p>
+
+<p>"And they're great things to pray for, sure enough, but you can't say
+they're just quite 'everything' to us in this life," responded Madge.
+"I'd like to know the texts you have found in other parts, to make the
+meaning of this clear to you in that light, Nat."</p>
+
+<p>"'Tain't one text in partic'lar," said Nat, sheering off from an
+awkward request. "Seems to me, Madge, you forget that God is the mighty
+Creator of the whole universe, when you talk of troubling Him with your
+little fidgets. Asking Him about such foolish matters as a hard lesson,
+or a broken toy, or a sharp word from another, as I heard you telling
+the children—why, 'tis downright profanation."</p>
+
+<p>Madge looked across to the wide blue waste of water, heaving and
+tossing ceaselessly in its boundless power, then glanced at the bushes
+by her side, where a bright-breasted robin, on an early autumn visit,
+hopped daintily from twig to twig.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," she said at length. "I'm thinking, Nat, that if you'd
+been at a bedside once, where a little child was called from the dead,
+and the next thing the Lord did, was to tell them to give her a bit of
+food—I'm thinking you'd have stepped forward, and said, 'Master, isn't
+it profanation to think of anything so poor as meat and drink, after
+you've been working so mighty a miracle?'"</p>
+
+<p>Nat looked rather at a loss.</p>
+
+<p>"And then He cares for the sparrows," Madge went on, after a little
+break. "And we're of more value yet. And the very hairs of our heads
+are all numbered. It don't seem to me that the Lord's measure of great
+and little is the same at all that ours is. I'm quite sure of one
+thing, and that is, that whatever has aught to do with our happiness,
+isn't too small for Him to attend to. Besides, don't He tell us plainly
+to ask for all we want?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but you don't seem to remember, Madge, that all them promises are
+to be taken in the spirit, and not in the letter."</p>
+
+<p>"And that's what I try to do, too. There's that verse—'Delight thyself
+also in the Lord, and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart.' ¹</p>
+
+<p>"Don't I know well enough it means only if the desire of my heart
+isn't for anything against His will. And it's the same with another
+promise—'Ye shall ask "what ye will," and it shall be done unto you.' ²
+But taking them in the spirit don't mean putting them aside altogether,
+Nat."</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<br>
+¹ Ps. xxxvii. 4.&#160;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;² John xv. 7.<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>"'Ask what ye will' of spiritual good, it means, Madge. The 'desire of
+your heart' hadn't ought to be for anything but spiritual benefits, and
+if you delight in God, He'll give you those, sure enough."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't find it so in my Bible," maintained Madge stoutly. "I've
+a love for taking Bible words as they are, and not adding my own
+explainings. Didn't Mr. Prior tell us to take care of that very danger,
+only last Sunday?"</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't take him to mean exactly that," said Nat.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd ask him if I was you," said Madge securely. "But about those words
+now—if you was to come to me, Nat, and say, 'Ask what you will, Madge,
+and I'll give it you,' I'd take you at your word, and ask many a thing,
+supposing of course it was in your power to give. And when my Lord
+says, 'Ask what you will, Madge,' mayn't I take Him at His word too,
+or am I to make out that He don't speak my language, or that His words
+has a scantier meaning than if you or I was to use them? Why, I tell
+you, Nat, I've tried Him right often, and tested His promises times and
+again. And He's given me the things I wanted too—given 'em so quick and
+full that I'm like to be half-frightened I can get my wishes so easy.
+And then you'd have me draw back, and never ask again. Seems to me,
+Nat, that while God says, 'Ask,' you go and say, 'Don't ask.'"</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis a terrible responsibility, Madge, to insist on having our own
+will in prayer," said Nat, slipping from one ground of argument to
+another.</p>
+
+<p>"You're right enough there," rejoined Madge, with quickness. "Didn't
+the Israelites do it, and got their wish, when God 'gave them their
+request but sent leanness into their soul'? I've a dread of that, I can
+tell you."</p>
+
+<p>"And yet go on a-doing the same!" said Nat.</p>
+
+<p>"Not if I know it," said Madge temperately. "If 'tis according to God's
+will, He hears me. I'd never dare, Nat, to say more than this—'Lord,
+I've a wish for that thing or the other, and I make a particular
+request to have it, if 'tis Thy will; and if not, Thy will be done.'
+And times are when He don't give me my wish at all, though it's oftener
+He do. If He keeps back the thing I want, He's pretty sure to give me a
+smile to make up for it, though,—and I don't know as I wouldn't rather
+have that of the two," Madge added softly, a gleam breaking over her
+own face the while.</p>
+
+<p>She was getting out of Nat Tyrrell's depth, and because he could not
+understand her, he thought she was running astray. "I'm afeared you've
+a good many more cranks than one in your brain, Madge," he said,
+shaking his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Like enough," said Madge quietly. "Only 'tis no crank I'm telling you
+of now, Nat. I'll not say, though, that you haven't a bit of truth
+either in your thought. Maybe there are some in the world who've so
+given up their will to God, as to have scarce a wish apart from Him.
+That is what David meant, it seems to me, when he said, 'One thing have
+I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after;' and that one thing,
+you know, was to dwell in the House of the Lord, and know ever more of
+Him. I do think, Nat, that to have no will at all of my own for earthly
+things, but only to care to know the will of God, would be a sort of
+heaven on earth. But I haven't reached to that yet,—though I'll strive
+more for it after to-day, so you see you've taught me a lesson, for all
+we don't think just alike. Only so long as I 'have' a strong will, and
+ever so many wishes always rising up, I'll make them all known to my
+Lord, every single one, and leave the answering of them in His hands."</p>
+
+<p>And then, after a thoughtful silence, Madge suddenly turned, and
+exclaimed at the sight of Mona Clyde, seated in an exhausted position
+on the little bench, holding the apparently senseless form of Nannie
+Ackman.</p>
+
+<p>"I could not help sitting still to hear what you were saying, and you
+were talking so busily that you did not see me," explained Mona, with
+a faint smile. "Did you mind, Mrs. Hardwicke? I thought you would not.
+Please take Nannie. I am so tired!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, poor little lass, some harm has come to her surely!" exclaimed
+Nat, as he lifted the child in his strong arms.</p>
+
+<p>Madge, with her usual habit of never wasting words on emergencies,
+stepped inside the cottage and brought a glass of water to Mona,
+waiting silently to be made acquainted with facts.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, I am better now," and Mona sat up, with a sigh. "I thought
+I should never get to the top of the hill, and I stumbled so that I
+think she has fainted with pain. O Madge—Mrs. Hardwicke, I mean—it
+is that wicked father of hers. He has hurt the poor little creature
+dreadfully, and if you let her go back to him, I think he will end
+by killing her. I wanted to take her home with me, but he would not
+consent. What can be done, Mrs. Hardwicke?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm Madge to everybody, please, Miss Mona," was the quiet answer.
+"There's room for Nannie in my cottage, and her father 'll never dare
+to touch her here."</p>
+
+<p>Voice and manner were alike unruffled, yet Mona felt sure that it
+was no shallow stream of sorrow and indignation which flowed below.
+Madge Hardwicke's first care was to bring forward the one easy-chair
+the cottage contained, and settle in it her weary young visitor, with
+cushion and stool. Mona submitted, from lack of power to do anything
+else, and then lay back silently, watching Madge's further movements,
+through the open bedroom door, with a curious feeling of pleasant trust
+in the calm self-possession and tender motherliness of all that she did.</p>
+
+<p>It did not take Madge long to undress Nannie and lay her in her own
+bed. She came back to Mona when that was done—her face a trifle graver.
+"I'm thinking, Miss Mona, I'll get Nat Tyrrell to call and ask the
+doctor to step up here. Maybe by then you'll be rested enough to walk
+back with him."</p>
+
+<p>"He expected to be home by six," said Mona. "Why, it is nearly that
+now. O yes, I shall soon be rested nicely. But do you think little
+Nannie is much hurt?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is hard to know, Miss Mona. She's come to herself, and she's in a
+deal of pain, poor little one! She tries to make out her father didn't
+mean to hurt her when he struck at her, only she fell over a root, and
+her back came against a sharp stump in the ground. But her poor chest
+is all black and blue with the weight of his hand, and she can scarce
+breathe for the pain."</p>
+
+<p>Madge Hardwicke's own hand stole furtively over her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"It is cruel—horrible," Mona repeated, sitting up. "It is worse than a
+man would treat his dog. I don't know what uncle Chetwynd will say."</p>
+
+<p>Madge went away to despatch Nat Tyrrell on his errand to the doctor,
+and then returned to watch by the side of the suffering child, while
+Mona sat still in her chair, until the doctor came.</p>
+
+<p>"You ain't going to get father punished now," were the first words that
+saluted Mr. Chetwynd's ears, as he walked to the bedside.</p>
+
+<p>It was a very wan little face that looked up at him from the white
+pillow, over which Nannie's long black hair strayed carelessly. She
+spoke with feverish haste, catching her breath sharply between the
+words, and her small hands were wrung together in a tight clasp. The
+doctor noted all, but merely remarked:—</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't quite know, little one. How are you now?"</p>
+
+<p>"He ain't going to be punished," repeated Nannie. "Father ain't. He
+didn't mean no harm."</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you hurt, Nannie?" asked Mr. Chetwynd.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm hurt all over. It wasn't his fault," repeated the child, with
+passionate earnestness, a bright flush coming into her cheeks, and a
+rush of tears to her eyes. "He was only cross, and didn't know it 'ud
+be so bad. And if you go and have him took up, and put into prison,
+it'll be all over. O Madge, it'll be all over."</p>
+
+<p>Nannie sobbed so bitterly, that the doctor's curiosity was roused.
+"What will be over, Nannie?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Cause Madge and I have asked so that father 'd learn to love God,
+and if he goes to prison, he'll have nobody to teach him," said Nannie
+tearfully. "And maybe he wouldn't ever live to come out, or I wouldn't
+live to see him."</p>
+
+<p>It was a little child's fashion of looking on the question, and Mr.
+Chetwynd, detecting the weak point in a moment with his critical eye,
+had a veiled sneer on the tip of his tongue. But Madge was beforehand
+with him, and quietly extracted its sting.</p>
+
+<p>"That don't make no real difference, Nannie. Maybe it's neither you nor
+I that can teach him the great lesson. God can have him taught just as
+easy down in the prison as up here."</p>
+
+<p>Nannie, however, did not seem to find much comfort in that thought,
+and evidently considered, to her great distress, that Madge was siding
+against her father. She sobbed long struggling sobs, which shook her
+all over, and brought on terrible pain. It became hard to decide
+whether the fears for her father were not almost forgotten in those
+sharp cries of bodily anguish, but Mr. Chetwynd could stand out no
+longer, and tried the effect of a consoling, "Well, well, Nannie, it
+shall be as you wish. I will take no steps in the matter at present,
+beyond giving your father a few words on the subject. Only try not to
+cry so, my dear, or you will make yourself worse."</p>
+
+<p>Madge's touch had more effect than the doctor's voice, and Nannie's
+excitement gradually stilled. It was well for her peace of mind that
+Mr. Chetwynd had given his promise before he became acquainted with the
+extent of the child's injuries. He brought his brows together sternly,
+and drew in his breath almost as sharply as Nannie herself in her pain,
+when he saw the deep bruise upon her chest. A careful examination
+followed, during which few words passed the doctor's lips. He beckoned
+Madge into the outer room at the close, leaving Mona to watch over the
+worn-out child.</p>
+
+<p>"What are we to do, Madge?" were his first words.</p>
+
+<p>"About what, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nannie, of course. She can't go back to her father's. It is unsafe,
+and besides, he could not nurse her as she will need to be nursed."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think her much hurt, sir?" asked Madge.</p>
+
+<p>He made an expressive movement of his head. "Can't say yet to a
+certainty. The blow on the chest is bad enough, but the injury to the
+spine may prove worse in the end. It will be a matter of lying up for
+weeks at all events—months in all probability. I would not speak so
+openly to any one else, mind you."</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir," said Madge, accepting the compliment with her usual
+calmness, which always gave the doctor a certain baffled feeling.</p>
+
+<p>"The only plan is to get her off to the hospital, though how she will
+bear the moving I don't know."</p>
+
+<p>"I doubt but she's as well off where she is now," said Madge.</p>
+
+<p>"Couldn't be better off anywhere than under your wing, Madge. I'm
+willing enough to aid in expenses, and so will Mr. Prior be, I don't
+doubt. But how about trouble?"</p>
+
+<p>"If it's the work put in my way for me to do, I don't see as the
+trouble makes any difference," Madge answered.</p>
+
+<p>So the matter was settled there and then, with few more words about
+it, and little Nannie became for an indefinite time an inmate of Madge
+Hardwicke's cottage.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image020" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image020.jpg" alt="image020"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image021" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image021.jpg" alt="image021"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_8">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>QUESTIONINGS.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"UNCLE, have you known Madge Hardwicke a great many years?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just as long as I have lived in Alyn, my dear."</p>
+
+<p>"All that time! And how did you first come across her?"</p>
+
+<p>It was something so unusual for Mona to start anything in the way of
+conversation, that the doctor was delighted. He sat upright, stirring
+carefully the cup of tea which Mona had handed to him, on his awaking
+from a brief after-dinner nap.</p>
+
+<p>"Curiously, rather. She was the first person in the place with whom I
+exchanged a word, if we except porters and cabmen. When I drove up to
+my garden-gate from the station, Madge happened to be standing close
+outside, resting for a moment on her way up the hill. I suppose her
+pleasant face fascinated me, for I was not wont to be particularly
+sociable in those days with strangers. However, she dropped that quaint
+curtsey of hers, and we struck up an acquaintance then and there in the
+road. She has been a regular stand-by of mine ever since. If I happen
+to have a desperate case which nobody else can manage, I send for Madge
+Hardwicke. I don't know how many lives she has saved among my patients."</p>
+
+<p>"Was she a widow then, uncle?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me, no. Have I never told you the poor thing's history? Her
+husband was a sailor,—one of those manly open-hearted fellows whom
+everybody likes. I suppose that little cottage up on the cliff was one
+of the happiest homes in Alyn, not to say England. There never were
+husband and wife better suited to each other than Ned and Madge. And
+to make matters perfect, they had one child, about the most splendid
+specimen of small boyhood I ever knew. To see Ned Hardwicke on a summer
+evening in his garden, playing with that child, and Madge standing
+by with her smiling pride in both of them,—I declare it was worth a
+five miles' walk. There wasn't a house in Alyn that I used so to enjoy
+visiting."</p>
+
+<p>"Was Ned Hardwicke a good man?" asked Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"A first-rate husband and father, as brave as a lion, and by natural
+sequence as gentle as a lamb. As religious as Madge herself, which I
+suppose is what you mean. They were quite agreed on all points, which
+of course is desirable in husband and wife."</p>
+
+<p>"How did he die?" asked Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"It was a sudden death," said the doctor, doubting all at once whether
+the tale were a very good one for Mona to hear. He found, however, that
+he had no choice about proceeding. "Just going off to his boat one
+morning, and had said good-bye to his wife. He went to the edge of the
+cliff to look over, stood there whistling a moment, and then the earth
+gave way beneath his feet, and he fell down the sheer three hundred
+feet. He was dead when he reached the bottom."</p>
+
+<p>Mona shuddered, and grew white.</p>
+
+<p>"Madge was like a frantic woman the first few minutes, they said; and
+when she found that all was over, she appeared stunned. I used to
+wonder whether she would ever rally. But when the funeral was passed,
+she seemed to step out into fresh life, grave and quiet as she is now,
+but ready and busy and capable. I suppose Neill was her great comfort
+all that time."</p>
+
+<p>"The baby?" asked Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"He was not a baby then. I ought to have made you understand. Neill was
+eight or nine years old when his father died—the most beautiful child
+I ever saw, and desperately wilful, in spite of all their judicious
+training. The fact is, people spoilt him by too much notice. There was
+no preventing it. Hardly a visitor walked over the hill who didn't make
+friends with Neill for the sake of his handsome face. Artists would
+come, and beg to have him for a subject, and folks talked about him to
+that degree in his hearing, that the boy's head was completely turned.
+It was a great trouble to Madge, poor thing. I think she would almost
+have given all she possessed to have had her boy no better-looking than
+other boys, though she could not help being proud of him."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" said Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then came poor Ned's terrible death, and the boy seemed sobered
+down for a time. But, naturally enough, the impression passed off, and
+he grew more wild than ever, and got among a number of bad companions.
+He was always very fond of his mother, and had plenty of penitent fits;
+but he generally went off and did something worse than usual after
+them. The last few months he seemed to grow harder, and his face quite
+lost the pleasant look it used to have."</p>
+
+<p>"And then, what happened to him?"</p>
+
+<p>"He ran away, and has never been heard of since."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Madge! Poor Madge!" said Mona compassionately.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, poor thing, it has been a sad trouble to her. Four years ago that
+was, and no one can say now whether Neill is alive or dead. My own
+impression is that he must be dead. Otherwise, I think he would have
+written. But of course I don't try to destroy her faith in his return."</p>
+
+<p>"O no; it would be cruel."</p>
+
+<p>"Though, on the other hand, I don't count it wise to nurse a feeling of
+too great certainty on her part," added the doctor, recollecting divers
+remarks of his own, which had not savoured of over-encouragement.</p>
+
+<p>"How she can look so cheerful, with such a lonely life to live!" Mona
+murmured, half to herself.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis a marvel, I don't deny. And it is not with Madge, as with some
+people, that she get easily over her sorrow, and takes up other
+interests. Honestly I don't believe a single day ever passes that that
+woman does not pray for Neill's return and set herself to look out
+for his coming in answer to her prayer. I don't understand—I can't
+understand it," repeated the doctor, in genuine perplexity. Nor was
+it possible that he should understand, the said habit of prayer and
+trust being simply an absolute delusion in his eyes. "I can understand
+forgetfulness or long-continued sorrow—either the one or the other—but
+how she keeps on her grief, and yet contrives to live such a happy
+life, is past my comprehension. The woman is a mystery, but a very
+agreeable one."</p>
+
+<p>"I like her—oh, more than I can tell," said Mona. "Only I do wonder a
+little that you and she get on so well together."</p>
+
+<p>"Get on splendidly, I assure you," said the doctor, smiling. "She is
+the most useful woman, and the most unobtrusive creature, in the world.
+O I see,—you mean on account of our religious views."</p>
+
+<p>Mona winced at the air of mild superiority.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we each leave the other room for our respective opinions to
+enjoy full swing. Madge and I have cracked many a hard nut in the way
+of discussion, and I fancy she has pretty nearly abandoned hopes of
+converting me by this time. Finds me rather a tough subject," added the
+doctor complacently.</p>
+
+<p>Mona's two hands, lying in a careless clasp upon her knee, tightened
+and quivered suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>"That little Nannie, now, is a singular example of the forgiving
+nature of children," observed Mr. Chetwynd, after a pause. "It does
+not seem to occur to her for a moment that she has any real reason for
+resentment against her father."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor little child!" said Mona. "It is very sweet of her."</p>
+
+<p>"There is something particularly charming in a child's innocent ways,"
+remarked the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>For, having had no children or brothers, and but one yielding sister
+of his own, he was quite able to believe that a readiness to forgive
+injuries is the universal characteristic of childhood. Mona knew
+better, through practical experience, but would not risk a discussion
+by saying so.</p>
+
+<p>Conversation flagged thenceforward, from lack of response on Mona's
+part, and the doctor presently, finding himself disposed to yawn,
+advised her to retire to rest after the day's fatigues. Mona accepted
+the hint, and went to her own room.</p>
+
+<p>She was tired enough to be glad to remove her dress, and put on her
+dressing-gown, and let her hair fall loosely about her shoulders. But
+after that stage, advance was slow. According to the habit of years,
+she took out her Bible, sat down in the white easy-chair, with a candle
+by her side, and began to read.</p>
+
+<p>Or rather, she tried to begin. Wearily and listlessly her eyes
+travelled down the lines through the greater part of a chapter. And
+then it struck her that she had taken in the sense of not one single
+verse, so she went over it a second time, with just the same success.
+A third time, but she broke off in the middle hopelessly, and leant
+back in her chair, clasping her hands over her eyes with a bitter sigh.
+Only a few weeks back, she had read those same words to her mother, and
+had seen them full of heavenly peace and joy. And they were nothing to
+her now. Senselessly and drearily, as the dead autumn leaf falls from
+the half-bare tree, fell those cold Bible words on Mona's heart—those
+utterances which had once been instinct with such fervent loving life.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image022" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image022.jpg" alt="image022"></figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>She broke off in the middle hopelessly,</b><br>
+<b>and leant back in her chair.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Why were they so different? In old days, she could scarcely open upon a
+chapter in the Bible, which had not its living lesson for her soul. No
+divinely-sent message of sweet and holy power came ever to her spirit
+now.</p>
+
+<p>How could it come? For even as she read, dark questionings came rising
+in her heart, like a cloud between her and the light. Or, as with the
+Pilgrim Good-Intent, when he fled through bewildering underground
+passages, from the false Philosopher's house, which he had rashly
+entered—as with him, so with Mona, did clouds of winged creatures,
+called Doubts, flap thickly around, hiding with their rustling wings
+the shining of the holy page before her. And Mona had allowed these
+questionings to hold sway, till at last, she had lost all power to set
+them aside.</p>
+
+<p>What to believe, and what not to believe! How to reconcile the
+seemingly conflicting elements of revealed truth! Whether there
+were reality in Madge Hardwicke's faith on the one hand, or in Mr.
+Chetwynd's unbelief on the other! What of prayer and foreknowledge? And
+what of faith and works? And what of election and free choice? And what
+of this, that, and the other? Poor girl, she was tossed sorely to and
+fro, in a very whirlpool of misery. And she ended by pushing the book
+aside, and flinging herself on her knees, with her face pressed down on
+her folded arms, and short sobs breaking through the words which strove
+for utterance:—</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"O if I only knew what to do, and what to believe! If I only had some
+one to tell me clearly what is truth! Mother—mother—surely you cannot
+have been utterly mistaken. Such loving trust as yours was—and I used
+to think I had a little of the same, but it is all gone now. Is uncle
+Chetwynd really wiser than you were? He is clever and kind, and he has
+studied his Bible too. It is not as if he had never learnt what I have.
+I don't know what to do, or who to believe. O mother, it is such a dark
+dark sky over me, and it seems as if heaven and everything were gone.
+O God, save me. O God, please teach me. 'Thou wilt show me the path of
+life.' It is in Thy Word, and Thou hast promised—promised—and Thou must
+not break Thy word. 'Lead me forth to the light, and let me behold Thy
+righteousness. O send out Thy light and Thy truth—let them lead me, let
+them bring me unto Thy holy hill, and to Thy tabernacles.'"<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>She found herself instinctively falling into Bible expressions, and the
+very sound of the familiar words from her own lips seemed to bring a
+shade of comfort.</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"O God, for the sake of Thy dear Son, leave me not to perish. 'In Thy
+faithfulness answer me, and in Thy righteousness . . . For the enemy
+hath persecuted my soul; he hath smitten my life down to the ground; he
+hath made me to dwell in darkness, as those that have been long dead.
+Therefore is my spirit overwhelmed within me; my heart within me is
+desolate . . . I stretch forth my hands unto Thee; my soul thirsteth
+after Thee, as a thirsty land. Hear me speedily, O Lord, my spirit
+faileth; hide not Thy face from me, lest I be like unto them that go
+down into the pit . . . Cause me to know the way wherein I should walk;
+for I lift up my soul unto Thee . . . Quicken me, O Lord, for Thy
+Name's sake; for Thy righteousness' sake bring my soul out of trouble.'<br>
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"O Lord, I have gone astray—utterly astray—'like a lost sheep.' I can't
+get back. I am helpless—hopeless—all in the dark. 'Seek Thy servant,
+for I do not forget Thy commandments.' O hear me, for my Saviour's
+sake, and have mercy, have mercy upon me."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>And then, after those low broken cries for help, she knelt on
+silently—neither struggling nor praying, surrounded still with
+darkness, and unable yet to trust. But down below, one little gleam of
+comfort had reached her. For, in spite of all her questionings, the
+power to pray had not forsaken her; and not all her doubtings could
+entirely do away with the consciousness that One above, of infinite
+power and boundless love, had listened to her cry.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image023" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image023.jpg" alt="image023"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image024" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image024.jpg" alt="image024"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_9">CHAPTER IX.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>MADGE HARDWICKE'S FAITH.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"GOOD morning, Amos," said Madge Hardwicke affably, coming out of her
+cottage about half-past twelve on the following day, and finding him
+for the first time seated on his bench.</p>
+
+<p>"Mornin'," responded Amos, with a scowl which did not improve his
+countenance.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you want to know how Nannie is, poor little lass?"</p>
+
+<p>"Idle little hussy—all a humbuggin' she be," growled Amos.</p>
+
+<p>"There's never a taste of humbug in aught that Nan does," said Madge.
+"She's true to the backbone. Amos Ackman, you'd ought to be kneeling
+down yonder in your cottage, giving thanks to God that He's kept you
+from being a downright murderer, 'stead of doing nothing but sit there
+and abuse folks."</p>
+
+<p>Madge did not often speak so strongly, but her feelings were much
+stirred for Nannie's sake. She checked herself, however, and only
+added—"I've been up with the child 'most all night."</p>
+
+<p>"More fool you!" said Amos.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis a good thing, seems to me, that I'm not doing it for thanks,"
+said Madge, half-smiling, as she turned away. "Nan's been in a deal of
+pain, but she's just dropped off to sleep the last half-hour."</p>
+
+<p>Asleep, and so soundly asleep, after hours of suffering, that nothing
+served to waken her until nearly four o'clock in the afternoon. And
+when she opened her eyes, it was to see Mona Clyde standing with Madge
+Hardwicke by her side.</p>
+
+<p>Nannie gave one exclamation of pleasure, and then found herself
+forbidden by the careful Madge to enter into conversation, till she had
+had some refreshment. A small basket in their visitor's hand was found
+to contain a supply of calf's-foot jelly, and Mona herself sat down on
+the bed, spoon in hand, to minister to the wants of the little sick
+child.</p>
+
+<p>"It's ever so nice," said Nannie softly. "Was it the doctor sent it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Mona said, without adding that it was by her own request. "Have
+you had enough now, Nannie? How is the pain to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"It don't hurt me so to breathe," said Nannie. "But I don't seem as if
+I could hardly move. My back hurts dreadful, if I try."</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say that will be better soon," said Mona. "You must try to be
+patient, Nannie, and not mind lying quiet."</p>
+
+<p>Madge said nothing, and Nannie looked up at her somewhat anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll try to be patient, and I'm so tired I don't mind keeping quiet.
+But—oh, Madge, you don't think I'm going to die?"</p>
+
+<p>Madge arranged the bedclothes, and stroked Nannie's face with a
+soothing touch. "What's put that into your head now, Nan?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd a deal rather get well," murmured Nannie, in a sorrowful voice.
+"It ain't wrong, is it, Madge? 'Cause you told us the people in the
+Bible wanted to live to be old, didn't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Many of 'em," said Madge.</p>
+
+<p>"And I do so want to see father learn to love God," said Nannie. "I
+don't want to go to heaven till I know he's going too. And I'd rather
+wait to see the Resurrection-mornin', than die first. Wouldn't you,
+Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>Not Nannie alone, but Mona also, looked wistfully for the answer.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd like it to be as my Lord wills, Nannie," Madge said. "But if
+you've a wish either way, you've only to tell Him, you know, and He'll
+do the best that can be for you."</p>
+
+<p>Nannie's hands went together in a quick clasp, and her eyes closed, as
+if in prompt following of the advice given. "I've done it," she said,
+looking up presently. "Will I not die now, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think you're like to die just now, no more particularly than
+the rest of us," said Madge quietly. "But if 'twas the Master's will,
+you wouldn't sure grieve to go home with Him, 'stead of waiting on for
+Him here! What sort of a love would that be, Nannie?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe I wouldn't," said Nannie thoughtfully. "Only I'd a deal sooner
+not die, Madge, 'cause I want to see the Resurrection-day."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll see it, sure enough, Nannie. Only those that have died 'll rise
+first, and those that's living 'll be caught up second."</p>
+
+<p>"Then maybe that 'ud be best of the two," said Nannie.</p>
+
+<p>"I think either way 'll be best that God chooses for you," said Madge.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe," repeated Nannie. And she shut her eyes again, and seemingly
+went to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>Madge, after waiting for a minute, made a movement as if to go into the
+other room. It was not observed, however.</p>
+
+<p>Mona was looking at the child's face, and suddenly raising her eyes,
+she said—"I think you and Nannie are very happy, Madge."</p>
+
+<p>"We'd ought to be," said Madge.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes—no. O I don't know," said Mona, with a deep sigh, resting her
+cheek on her hand. "I suppose nothing in the world makes one so happy
+as faith. And yet—if—"</p>
+
+<p>"If what, Miss Mona?" asked Madge, marvelling at the girl's quivering
+lips.</p>
+
+<p>"If there should 'not' be truth in it all?" said Mona passionately.
+"How do we know? How can anything be proved? Madge, don't tell anybody
+what I am saying to you. But do you ever have doubts?—Or is your faith
+always the same?"</p>
+
+<p>"Doubts of my Lord's love?" asked Madge, with some wonder in her tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Not that in particular. Of everything—of
+God—heaven—religion—everything, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know what they are," said Madge serenely.</p>
+
+<p>"And what do you do when they come?"</p>
+
+<p>"Take 'em straight to my Lord, and ask Him to settle 'em for me."</p>
+
+<p>Mona looked up earnestly without speaking.</p>
+
+<p>"You see it's Satan's work—all that," said Madge. "And when he's too
+strong for me, I just call on my Captain to deal with him, Miss Mona,
+and to keep me safe behind His shield."</p>
+
+<p>"And He does?" said Mona mechanically.</p>
+
+<p>"Try Him, Miss Mona,—that's all."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Madge—you don't understand," said Mona, sitting up with a little
+start, as if waking from a momentary feeling of repose. "You don't
+understand me. That would do for some doubts, but not for all. That is
+prayer, and what if—if—oh, Madge, I'll tell you the truth—what if I
+can't understand or believe in the power of prayer?"</p>
+
+<p>"Understanding's one thing, and believing's another," said Madge. "If
+you don't know the power of prayer, you'd best just try it, Miss Mona,
+if you'll let me tell you so."</p>
+
+<p>"I've tried it—often—and I used to believe in it. But, Madge, now look
+here," Mona went on, clasping her hands feverishly,—"I want to know how
+prayer can be answered. For don't you suppose that God knows beforehand
+all my future life, and everything that will happen to me?"</p>
+
+<p>Madge nodded in undoubting assent.</p>
+
+<p>"And if my life is all lying mapped out before me, how can my prayers
+make any difference? How can they, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>"Does the Bible say it's all mapped out, Miss Mona?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know—no, not, exactly. But then it must be."</p>
+
+<p>"I'd never set up a 'must be' apart from the Bible, if I was you, Miss
+Mona," said Madge. "It says one thing, and that is, that the Lord
+'directeth man's steps.' Well for us that He do, too. But I can't
+remember reading ever a word about our life being all mapped out by
+God, and nothing ever to change it. I do read, how over and over
+again the Lord was going to send awful judgments on them poor sinning
+Israelites, till Moses His chosen stood between, and turned away his
+anger. Where 'd have been the good of Moses praying as he did, if it
+wasn't to gain anything?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is just it," said Mona. "That is it, Madge. I do pray, and I do
+try to believe I shall have an answer. But all the while, I can't help
+feeling that God has arranged everything from all eternity, and that my
+prayers can make no difference."</p>
+
+<p>"They're Satan's whisperings, Miss Mona," said Madge Hardwicke, with
+deeper earnestness than she had yet displayed. "Arranged everything! I
+don't say it isn't so. The Bible don't say whether He has or hasn't,
+and I durstn't be so bold as to set up myself to say it neither. But
+the Bible does say, 'Ask and it shall be given you,' and 'The effectual
+fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.' How could it avail
+much, if it could do nothing? There's where it is! There isn't a
+mightier power in the world than prayer. We don't see much of the
+working of it now, but if we could, we'd be not a little surprised to
+find how the greatest matters on earth come about sometimes, in answer
+to one good man's prayer. I'd look in the Bible and see all the answers
+to prayer if I was you, Miss Mona—Abraham, and Gideon, and Elijah, and
+Moses, and Hezekiah, and all the rest of them."</p>
+
+<p>"But God does know everything beforehand," murmured Mona, half to
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure enough He does, and it's little chance our prayers would have of
+being answered if He didn't. Haven't I often asked a thing, and it's
+come quick after?—But matters must have been working up for it weeks
+afore, and I didn't know that, only the Master knew, and was keeping
+His promise, 'Before you call, I will answer.'"</p>
+
+<p>Madge was silent a minute, looking pityingly at the troubled face
+before her.</p>
+
+<p>"Knows all beforehand! Of course He do, Miss Mona. He knew beforehand
+you were going to pray, and He arranged beforehand to answer you; or
+He knew beforehand you wasn't going to pray, and He 'didn't' arrange
+beforehand to answer you. Knew it from all Eternity,—and maybe arranged
+it from all Eternity too, only the Bible don't say that, so we can't be
+sure. It wouldn't make no difference as to the truth of the power of
+prayer,—not one bit. But 'tis a grand and awful light to look at it in,
+and I've a fear lest my weak eyes should be dazzled, and the Tempter
+should maybe seize on the moment to snare me somehow. I love a deal
+better to look up straight to God as my Father, giving me day by day
+just what I want, and tending my steps, and looking out for my prayers.
+I'd leave thinking altogether of how the answer comes about, Miss Mona,
+and just pray instead, and wait the answer. No fear but it'll come."</p>
+
+<p>And then there was a tapping at the outer door, and Madge moved
+away. Mona hardly noticed that she was gone, till roused by the
+courteously-uttered words—</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Clyde, I believe."</p>
+
+<p>Mona turned hastily, startled out of her abstraction, to meet the
+thoughtful face and earnest eyes with which she had grown distantly
+familiarised in Church the last few Sundays.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Prior is so kind as to come and see Nannie and read to her," Madge
+said quietly, yet with a ring of pleasure in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>And then Mona saw what Madge had been aware of for two or three minutes
+past, that Nannie was wide awake, and ready to bestow attention on
+anybody.</p>
+
+<p>But Mona had never exchanged a word with Mr. Prior since that terrible
+moment in the dark tunnel underground, when his voice had helped to
+awaken her to a sense of her loss; and the association of ideas was
+almost more than she could bear. She strangled back the threatening
+rush of tears, but Mr. Prior seemed to understand all at a glance. He
+had taken her hand in greeting, and pressing it kindly, he said—</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind, don't stay in here just now. I am going to have a chat
+with this poor little maiden. Will you wait in the next room, Miss
+Clyde? I have been wishing to make your acquaintance, and perhaps you
+will let me escort you down the hill."</p>
+
+<p>And Mona did not dream of resistance. She was glad to escape at the
+moment, but waited patiently in the front room so long as he chose to
+stay with Nannie.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image025" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image025.jpg" alt="image025"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image026" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image026.jpg" alt="image026"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_10">CHAPTER X.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>A LETTER.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"I SAY, missus!"</p>
+
+<p>Nat Tyrrell's hearty voice rang through the cottage from the
+suddenly-opened door. Mona rose to her feet, and Nat pulled off his cap.</p>
+
+<p>"Beg pardon, Miss. I didn't know a lady was here. I've summat to give
+Madge that 'll please her mightily."</p>
+
+<p>The inner door opened as he spoke, and Madge came out, following Mr.
+Prior, who nodded pleasantly to the new comer.</p>
+
+<p>"Good afternoon, Tyrrell. I think I have spoken to you before now. How
+are you all at home?"</p>
+
+<p>As there was scarcely an individual in the parish, of any age or
+standing, with whom he had not exchanged at least a few kind words
+during this first month of his residence in Alyn, he was pretty safe
+in making the assertion. It had grown, however, to be a saying in the
+place, that Mr. Prior never forgot a face he had once seen, and Nat was
+highly flattered at the present recognition of himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, sir; we're all pretty well. Leastways, except that my
+wife's laid up with the rheumatics. I say, Madge, I've a letter here
+for you, right away from Australy. It's come in one from young Ned
+Blayney to his mother, and she's give it to me to bring up to you. I've
+come off as quick as ever I could, for I knew you'd be main glad to get
+it, eh, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>She had received the letter from him mechanically, and now stood like
+one in a dream, clasping it firmly between two hands, with her eyes
+gazing into vacancy.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, she don't understand," said Nat, coming a step nearer. "I say,
+Madge, I'd open and see, if I was you. It's from Neill himself, and
+'taint bad news, I can tell you too, for Mrs. Blayney said he was all
+right."</p>
+
+<p>"Neill?" repeated Madge.</p>
+
+<p>"To be sure, yes. Why, one 'ud think you didn't care about it, instead
+of being properly thankful for your mercies," said Nat, rather
+scandalised at such an unedifying fashion of receiving the news.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, Tyrrell, don't tease her," interposed Mr. Prior, in a low tone,
+seeing deeper than Nat could do. "Have a little patience."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I didn't think she'd have took it so cool, I do confess,"
+muttered the disappointed Nat, while Madge lifted a pair of dim eyes to
+Mona, and said softly,—</p>
+
+<p>"Neill! It's his own hand too. But 'he' wanted me to think I'd never
+hear from my boy again."</p>
+
+<p>"Then he was very wrong," said Mona impetuously, aware who was meant.
+"Madge, don't you want to know if Neill is coming home?"</p>
+
+<p>Madge looked down on her own trembling fingers, as they clasped the
+folded sheet, and then again she glanced up, this time at Mr. Prior.</p>
+
+<p>"Seems to me I'm like Peter's friends, when they wouldn't believe their
+prayer for him was heard,—oft as I've blamed them! I've been thinking
+I'd faith in the power of prayer, and thinking I was looking out,—and
+now it's come, I can't believe 'tis true."</p>
+
+<p>"'Like as a father pitieth his children,'" was the quick and suggestive
+answer. "Like as you pity and love your boy—"</p>
+
+<p>Madge drew one deep breath, half of oppression, half of relief. "Ay,
+and God knows all along," she murmured. "Knew my weakness, didn't He,
+before I found it out myself?—And yet the letter's come. Miss Mona, I
+don't seem as if I could read. Maybe—"</p>
+
+<p>She held out the sheet beseechingly.</p>
+
+<p>Mona opened it, and read aloud the contents in their large scrawled
+handwriting:—</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"DEAREST MOTHER,<br>
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I've been a bad boy to you, haven't I? But somehow I don't think
+you'll have forgot your Neill by this, though I don't deserve you
+should think of me again. It's a shame I've never wrote to you all
+these years, but when a fellow's going on bad as I have been, he don't
+feel much like writing home, and I've had nothing good to tell you.<br>
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"It is just a few days since I met Ned Blayney. Did not know he was
+out here at all, and had not seen him since we was both at school
+together, and I used to plague him for his red hair. 'Tisn't red now,
+though. He's growed up a fine fellow. And I wish I'd gone to sea, like
+him, 'stead of trying the bush out here.<br>
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"'Twas a mere chance our finding each other out, and my happening to
+be in Melbourne at all when he was. Ned says 'twas no chance at all;
+but all I know is we comed flop across each other in the middle of
+the street, and I'd have passed him by, if he hadn't known me. And if
+I hadn't have met him just then, I'd have gone off next day to the
+diggins with Will Davis,—not the sort of fellow you'd like, mother,—and
+goodness knows where I'd have turned up next.<br>
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I ain't going to the diggins now, though. Ned's been at me about you,
+till he's brought me round. His ship's a-starting for home again next
+week, and I've promised to come aboard and work my passage. And the
+jolly part of the matter is that it's one of the Messrs. Dundrearys',
+and it'll come straight to Alyn. So mind you keep a look-out, mother,
+for the 'Flying Albatross'—'tis a wonderful slow and dirty-looking sort
+of albatross, too—for your boy 'll be aboard. And if you don't want to
+have me, you've only to say so in a word, and I'll be off to Australia
+again a deal quicker than I come home. So no more now, mother,—<br>
+<br>
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;">"From your affectionate son,</span><br>
+<br>
+<span style="margin-left: 21.5em;">"NEILL HARDWICKE."</span><br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Miss Mona," were Madge's first words, and then she added
+softly,—"He's coming."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, he's coming home to you again, Madge," said Nat Tyrrell. "You'd
+ought to feel a deal of thankfulness."</p>
+
+<p>"He's coming," repeated Madge. "And I'll see him again. He's coming
+home to me."</p>
+
+<p>She put down the letter, and began arranging the few things which lay
+scattered on the table, as if making tidy for her boy's arrival. The
+quick restless movements were unlike Madge's usual composure, and the
+shaking hands and trembling lips showed that the very intensity of joy
+had thrown her off her balance.</p>
+
+<p>Nat Tyrrell looked at her in perplexity, and opened his lips to speak
+again, but he thought better of it, in consideration of Mr. Prior's
+presence, and wisely went into the garden.</p>
+
+<p>"Neill coming! Don't it seem strange now?" said Madge, approaching the
+table.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Prior sat there waiting in silence for the right moment. He leant a
+little forward now, and simply said:—</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Hardwicke, shall we thank God together?"</p>
+
+<p>Madge knelt down instantly. The words following were few in number, but
+Madge was weeping unrestrainedly before three sentences had passed his
+lips, sobbing an inarticulate response to the fervent thanks he offered
+in her name. And when, after a brief pause, they rose, she had her own
+calm face again.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, sir, it's just what I wanted," she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>He said good-bye, and shook hands with her kindly. Then offering his
+arm to Mona, he went out of the cottage.</p>
+
+<p>"She will be better alone now," was his remark in the garden. "Ah,
+Tyrrell has gone, I see."</p>
+
+<p>"I am so glad you were there," said Mona. "That man did not understand
+her in the least. Poor Madge! How happy she is!"</p>
+
+<p>"She is a woman of faith," said Mr. Prior, holding open the little
+gate for Mona to pass. "I am glad to have made her acquaintance more
+thoroughly."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you have been to see her before," said Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,—and heard her history at least half-a-dozen times. The good folks
+of Alyn are extremely communicative. What a pretty view this is, Miss
+Clyde! The outline of that headland is particularly striking."</p>
+
+<p>"You think, then, that Neill is coming home in answer to her prayer,"
+said Mona, as he paused at the edge of the cliff, with evident
+enjoyment of the scene.</p>
+
+<p>"'If ye have faith as a grain of mustard-seed—'" he answered. "But
+Neill has not come home yet. Don't hang your faith on one particular
+answer to one particular prayer, or it may perchance come to shipwreck.
+God does 'not' always see it right to grant His children's desires. You
+must look upon the matter as a whole."</p>
+
+<p>Mona's sigh was so low that he must have had a quick ear to hear it.
+"People sometimes do that," he said, after a pause. "They stake all
+their hope and trust on one single prayer, setting their whole heart
+upon the answer. And if God wills to deny that especial wish, away
+goes all their faith, and nothing remains but a tangle of gloomy
+doubt—doubts of His love, and doubts of His power, and doubts as to the
+use of prayer. What if a child tested his earthly father's affection
+and resources in that fashion?"</p>
+
+<p>What in the world had made him stumble on the very subject, of all
+others, most suited to her present frame of mind? Mona wondered not a
+little how it had come about, forgetting that he must have been well
+acquainted with the views and character of the man with whom the course
+of her life was now thrown. And she did not know how compassionately
+he had often thought of the poor young girl, whose acquaintance he
+had first made in such a singular manner, nor how he dreaded for her
+the meshes into which he too well knew she might be drawn, nor how he
+desired to rescue her. Neither was she aware of the keen intuition, by
+means of which he had already, perhaps almost unconsciously divined
+certain facts concerning the bias of her mind.</p>
+
+<p>If he had not known it before, her startled look up, as he spoke of
+doubts, would have shown him that he was on the right tack.</p>
+
+<p>"I heard of a good piece of advice once given on that subject, by
+the bye," he said, disentangling one spray of bramble from another
+with busy fingers. "A man complained to his friend of troublesome
+questionings on the subject of religion, and asked what he should
+do with them. The answer was, 'Put them aside for awhile. If they
+are worth anything, they will keep, and you can give them fuller
+consideration at some future time. If not, they will die a natural
+death. Put them aside for the present, and take your Bible, and go and
+read to dying men in the hospital about their Saviour.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Was that the best plan?" asked Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"That was one plan," he said, smiling. "Another is to meet and conquer
+them boldly—only, don't attempt it in your own strength. You will not
+get through the battle without some such temptations. Don't be afraid
+of them when they come, but meet the tempter bravely, and cling fast to
+your Lord through all."</p>
+
+<p>"But clinging is faith," said Mona wonderingly. "How can there be faith
+and doubting together?"</p>
+
+<p>"Did you never read a certain prayer, 'Lord, I believe, help Thou mine
+unbelief.' You may doubt with the head, and yet believe with the heart.
+Look here, Miss Clyde." He went a step nearer to the cliff as he spoke,
+putting aside the bramble-bushes. "Suppose you were to slip over this
+cliff, and fall down to that ledge below. Do you see it?" He held her
+hand firmly, while she leant forward to peep over, half shuddering as
+she did so. "How should I save you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I should think you would let down a rope."</p>
+
+<p>"True—or I might prefer to come down with it myself, if there were any
+one else to hold it above. But the simple rope let down by myself for
+you to grasp, is enough for my illustration. Now how much of faith
+would be needful on your part to ensure your safety?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of faith?" said Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, faith in the strength of the rope, and in my power and good-will
+to draw you up."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I don't see that faith would have much to do with it, so long as
+I held tight to the rope, Mr. Prior."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you hold tight, if you were convinced that you could not be
+saved in that manner?"</p>
+
+<p>She understood, and shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"There are three lines of conduct between which you might choose. In
+the first place, you might feel absolute faith in the strength of the
+rope and in me, and hold to it with cheerful unquestioning firmness.
+Then you would be safe. In the second place, you might be troubled with
+a great many doubts and speculations, as to my possible carelessness or
+indifference, and as to any possible weakness in the rope itself; and
+while tying it round you, and letting yourself be drawn up, you might
+suffer from much giddiness and fear and trembling. But then again, you
+would be safe—not one iota less safe than in the first instance, though
+far less happy. In the third place, you might place no confidence
+whatever in the offered means of escape, and insist obstinately on
+trying to climb up the cliff without its aid. And in that case, you
+would soon be dashed to pieces on the rocks below."</p>
+
+<p>"I think I see what you mean," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"You must 'lay hold on eternal life,' and that 'laying hold,' as you
+truly said, is or implies faith. But there may be faith with assurance,
+or faith without assurance. And there may be doubts with faith, or
+doubts without faith. Your head-doubts will make no difference as to
+your safety, so long as your heart clings by faith to the Saviour,
+though they may and will make much difference as to your peace."</p>
+
+<p>Mona wondered a little whether the pronoun were used in a general or
+personal sense. It was impossible to tell from his manner.</p>
+
+<p>"That is to say, they don't affect your safety, just so long as they
+do not cause you to loosen your hold on the rope," Mr. Prior added.
+And his next move was to hold out a spray of fine blackberries, with a
+pleasant,—"You don't despise country wild-fruit, do you?"</p>
+
+<p>"O no, I like it very much, thank you."</p>
+
+<p>"When are you coming to make Mrs. Prior's acquaintance? She is a
+prisoner to her sofa, or you would have seen her before now."</p>
+
+<p>"I should like to call some day," said Mona shyly.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, and make friends with my little boy too—that is, if you are fond
+of children."</p>
+
+<p>And they chatted so cheerfully while going down the hill, that
+Mona, when she looked back to their conversation afterwards, almost
+reproached herself for unseemly brightness so soon after her mother's
+death. But she was glad she had seen Mr. Prior, and glad he had
+talked to her thus. Her troubles were not indeed cleared away, yet
+on one point she had gained a ray of daylight through the mist. She
+was no longer tormented by the dread that because doubts assailed
+her, all faith on her part must needs have perished; or that because
+questionings rose thickly, she must not dare to pray.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image027" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image027.jpg" alt="image027"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image028" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image028.jpg" alt="image028"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_11">CHAPTER XI.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>AWAITING THE MASTER'S WILL.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"IT'S going to be a tremendous gale to-night, or I'm no
+weather-prophet," said the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>He had just stepped inside the house one dark wintry afternoon, and the
+wind, rushing in after him, flung Mona's dress fantastically to and
+fro, as she stood there,—besides threatening to put a speedy end to all
+light from the gas-burner. Mr. Chetwynd succeeded in shutting the door,
+after a short but severe struggle, and began divesting himself of his
+wraps.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been listening to the wind for the last hour," said Mona,
+helping him to disentangle one arm from a rather tight coat-sleeve.
+"Isn't it dreadfully boisterous, uncle?"</p>
+
+<p>"It carried away all my breath, my dear, and I have pretty powerful
+lungs too. It would sweep you off bodily, I suspect. Whew!—It's cold.
+My hands have nearly disappeared, so far as sensation is concerned. I
+hope nobody is going to be taken ill to-night. It's the sort of weather
+to make a man prefer his own fireside."</p>
+
+<p>"I have built up a fine large fire," said Mona, retreating before him
+into the drawing-room. "Don't you call that a splendid glow? What a
+gust! It seems as if it would shake the house down."</p>
+
+<p>"The house was built to withstand a considerable amount of shaking,
+fortunately for us at the present moment," said the doctor, expanding
+himself before the blaze with an air of enjoyment. "Thank you, my
+dear,—you know how to make a man's home comfortable, I see. Better in
+here than out on the sea to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, I was thinking about the poor sailors."</p>
+
+<p>"I went to see Mrs. Blayney, an hour ago," said Mr. Chetwynd. "Found
+her in a great state of anxiety, poor thing, and no wonder. It seems a
+fast steamer has just come in, which sighted the 'Flying Albatross' a
+few hours back, and it is expected to arrive to-morrow morning."</p>
+
+<p>"The 'Flying Albatross!' What—the ship which is bringing Neill
+Hardwicke home?"</p>
+
+<p>The doctor nodded. "Couldn't be a worse night for a ship to be near
+this coast. I only hope they will have the sense to put out to sea
+again before it is too late."</p>
+
+<p>"O poor Madge! What will she do?" exclaimed Mona pityingly. "O uncle, I
+wish I were with her."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, you might as well try to fly as to walk up the hill in this
+wind. In fact you would be much more likely to fly than to walk,—after
+a certain fashion!"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't think what she will do all night."</p>
+
+<p>"Stay quietly in her cottage, and go to bed, like a sensible woman. She
+won't be half so excited as Mrs. Blayney."</p>
+
+<p>"You have not seen Madge, have you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not I. I had had enough of fighting with the elements by the time I
+reached my own door. Just hear that howl round the house now! It sounds
+as if all the furies were set loose together."</p>
+
+<p>"And Madge has nobody to speak to—nobody to cheer her," said Mona, half
+to herself, as she knelt before the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"I declare, I always thought Madge was a pretty good friend of mine,"
+said the doctor with a half-injured air, settling himself comfortably
+in his arm-chair, "but you seem to have run ahead of me. What makes you
+take to her?"</p>
+
+<p>"What made you, uncle?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very discreet on your part. Why, simply and solely because I could not
+help it."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose it is the same with me. But do you know, I have often
+wondered where she got that pleasant manner of hers, so quiet and
+self-possessed. And I have found out now. She used to be head-nurse in
+Sir Arthur Bolton's family—in that great house, you know, standing in a
+park, which you showed me one day when you took me such a long drive."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, I know," said Mr. Chetwynd.</p>
+
+<p>"Madge told me she was nursery-maid there from the time she was
+fifteen, and had risen to be under-nurse, and lastly head-nurse for
+two years, when she married Ned Hardwicke. And she says she had only
+been married three months when she first saw you. She was twenty-five
+then, so she had been ten years in the house, and that explains how she
+gained her soft nice sort of manner—just the manner of a very superior
+upper servant in a good family. Did you know that Sir Arthur Bolton
+settled a pension on her, when her husband was killed?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have heard the fact, though I believe I had forgotten it. I knew she
+had a little income of some sort, and that her cottage was her own."</p>
+
+<p>"I had a talk with her only yesterday," said Mona. "And she was so
+happy about Neill's coming home—looking forward so brightly. Poor
+Madge! I wonder what she is doing to-night?"</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image029" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image029.jpg" alt="image029"></figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>If Mona could have taken a glance into the little</b><br>
+<b>cottage, she would have seen Madge Hardwicke steadily engaged in</b><br>
+<b>washing up her blue cups and saucers.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Not sitting down to cry, or fluttering about in restless anxiety, as
+many might have done under like circumstances. If Mona could have
+taken a glance up the stormy hill-side, and into the little cottage at
+that moment, she would have seen Madge Hardwicke steadily engaged in
+washing up the blue cups and saucers, used for her early tea. Scarcely
+two hours had elapsed since the news first reached her of the expected
+arrival of the "Flying Albatross" next morning. But beyond a red spot
+on either cheek, and the least possible shaking of her hands, causing
+an occasional and unwonted rattling of the plates, as she rinsed and
+dried them, Madge looked very calm. Much more calm than little Nannie,
+who was lying wrapped up on two chairs and on numerous pillows before
+the fire, watching her friend's face, and listening to the gale with
+a very anxious and excited countenance. Many weeks had gone by since
+Nannie first fell beneath the weight of her father's hand, but it was
+not many days since she had quitted her bed, and she had not yet set
+foot to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>If the wind sounded boisterous down at the doctor's house, it claimed
+fuller attention here. The little cottage fairly shook like a ship from
+"stem to stern," and the fierce rattling of every pane of glass made
+Nannie ask fearfully,—</p>
+
+<p>"Madge, don't you think the windows 'll come to smash?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe not," said Madge quietly, putting away the last blue saucer.
+And then she dried her hands, and hung up the cloth, and went to take
+a look through that same little frail transparent shield,—all that was
+interposed between her and the wild blast outside.</p>
+
+<p>"It's an awful night, ain't it?" said Nannie, shivering beside even
+those bright flames. "Madge, I don't seem as if I'd like to go to bed.
+I think I'll be afraid."</p>
+
+<p>"You're just as safe in bed as by the fireside, Nannie," said Madge,
+coming away again. For beyond the low clouds, scurrying wildly past,
+there was nothing to be seen. Even they were but dimly visible in the
+blackness of darkness outside.</p>
+
+<p>And where was the "Flying Albatross?" And where was Neill? How
+joyfully would Madge at that moment have yielded her own life, if
+she might thereby have secured the life of her boy! But she could do
+nothing—nothing except wait. She might not even go out in the fierce
+wind, and watch the waters with her own eyes, as she longed to do.
+Little Nannie could not be left alone in her helplessness.</p>
+
+<p>"Madge, are you dreadful frightened about Neill?" asked the child, with
+bated breath. "Are you thinking a deal about him this evening?"</p>
+
+<p>Was she thinking of anything else? It seemed to Madge that her whole
+being was bound up in that of her boy, and that if her body were
+sheltered in the little cottage, her spirit was away with him, wherever
+he might be, over the mad wild waters. But she only said, "Yes, I'm
+looking to see him safe in the morning, if 'tis God's will, Nannie."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think God will take care of him, and bring him home all right?"
+asked Nannie.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm hoping it," said Madge.</p>
+
+<p>And then she took out her work-basket, and sat down to sew. But to keep
+that up long was beyond the strength of even her resolute will. She put
+the unfinished seam aside, at the close of half-an-hour, and going to
+the window, stood gazing out again into the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>Nannie lay looking, not at the window, but at Madge. She had a sort
+of notion that it was best to keep silence, and for a while, though
+her lips sometimes moved with a barely-checked exclamation, she did
+not break her childish determination to be still. But the sight of
+that absolutely motionless figure became at length more than she could
+endure, and the little voice said softly,—</p>
+
+<p>"Madge!"</p>
+
+<p>No answer came. Perhaps the word was lost in the angry gust which swept
+at that moment over the hill.</p>
+
+<p>"Madge, I'm ever so frightened. I wish you'd speak."</p>
+
+<p>Madge turned from the window, and came to the table, with a pale face,
+and an unwonted look of dreaminess in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm ready, Nannie," was all she said.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm only frightened," pleaded Nannie. "'Cause the wind does make such
+a noise; and if it was to blow away the cottage, we'd maybe get hurt,
+wouldn't we, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think we'll be taken care of," said Madge, who had no heart to spare
+for any danger to self, though she spoke soothingly for the child's
+sake.</p>
+
+<p>"And don't you think Neill will be took care of too, and brought back
+safe?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe," said Madge, resting one hand on the table. "I've been trying,
+and I can't ask it, though."</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't you a-going to pray he may be safe?" asked Nannie wonderingly.</p>
+
+<p>Madge shook her head slightly.</p>
+
+<p>"Not ask?" repeated Nannie. "Why, Madge, if you don't make haste, it'll
+maybe get too late, and the ship 'll be gone down under the waves. I
+wouldn't wait a minute, if I was you," pleaded the child.</p>
+
+<p>"It's never too late for the Lord," said Madge calmly. "He answers
+oftentimes afore we pray. I've put into His hands to do just as seemeth
+best to Him, and I've prayed for my Neill to be safe for ever and ever.
+I can't do more."</p>
+
+<p>"Not do more? Why, Madge, what are ye thinking of?" demanded Nannie
+passionately. "So often as you've asked for little things, and got 'em
+too, and now you won't ask to have Neill brought home!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, for my Master's oft spoken to my heart afore now, Nannie, and
+said, 'Ask what ye will, Madge,'" was the answer, in monotonous
+half-absent tones, as if addressed rather to herself than to the child.
+"But He don't say it to-night; leastways, I don't hear His voice. I
+can't pray till He give me strength; and He don't give me strength to
+do more than just lie in His arms, and wait to see His will."</p>
+
+<p>"Madge, do you think it's 'cause the ship won't get safe to shore?"
+asked Nannie, with heaving breath.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think nothing about that," said Madge, speaking softly and
+slowly still. "I only know He holds 'the waters in the hollow of
+His Hand,' and Neill's there too—Neill's in His Hand—safe in His
+keeping—for I've put him there, and I wouldn't dare to take him out
+into my own again. I've tried and wanted to pray to have Neill back,
+but I can't—seems like as if 'He' was holding me back from it. Maybe
+I'm mistaking; only one thing I'm sure of, and that is, I durstn't
+fight for my own way. 'They' did, and they had it, and the Lord
+'sent leanness into their souls.' Maybe He'd take the shining of His
+countenance from me."</p>
+
+<p>"Wouldn't you bear that awhile, if only Neill might come to ye?" asked
+Nannie.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd sooner have my Lord's smile than aught on earth beside."</p>
+
+<p>But Madge's own sweet smile was tremulous. And when she had spoken, she
+knelt down suddenly, with her hands against the oaken table and her
+face bowed upon them. Was she praying for Neill's return at last?—Or
+only resting on the Mighty Arm which sustained her, and calmly "waiting
+to see her Master's will?"</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image030" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image030.jpg" alt="image030"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image031" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image031.jpg" alt="image031"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_12">CHAPTER XII.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>THE "FLYING ALBATROSS."</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>THE tardy dawn of a winter's morning had begun to break, when there
+came a hurried knocking at Madge Hardwicke's door. She had not removed
+her dress, or extinguished her candle, through all the long hours of
+that stormy night, and now she came and stood outside, with the gusty
+breeze blowing about her gown, and her pale face wearing the look of
+one who had passed through no common vigil.</p>
+
+<p>Her early visitors were four in number. Madge glanced from one to the
+other, then singled out the doctor, as he stood with the slight cloaked
+figure of Mona Clyde holding fast to his arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"They have sighted the 'Flying Albatross,' Madge."</p>
+
+<p>She knew from his tone that it was not good tidings which he had come
+to bring.</p>
+
+<p>"They've seen it," she said. "Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Ask Tyrrell. He brought me the news."</p>
+
+<p>She turned to Nat mutely. "She's bearin' down right upon the rocks
+below the Point, Madge," he said huskily.</p>
+
+<p>"Is she in the current yet?" asked Madge.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis hard to say of a certain in this light, but she's dismasted, and
+seems pretty nigh disabled. If you've a wish to come down in the town,
+Madge, my wife 'll stay with little Nan."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you. It's good of you both to think of me," said Madge. "I'll
+get my hood."</p>
+
+<p>Quickly, but not hurriedly, she tied it on, and came outside again.</p>
+
+<p>Mona took hold of her for a moment as they were starting. "Madge, don't
+be too anxious; don't give up hope," she said softly.</p>
+
+<p>"Neill's in better hands than mine, Miss Mona," was the response.</p>
+
+<p>Steadily and swiftly she led the way down the steep hill-side,
+faltering not for one instant. At another time, she would have gone
+modestly behind the doctor, but now all minor considerations were lost
+in her overwhelming desire to reach the shore. The force of the wind,
+as it swept past in furious gusts, made the doctor stagger, and caused
+even Nat Tyrrell to pant for breath, but Madge seemed proof against
+the strongest blast, and pressed ever onwards, with scarcely quickened
+breathing, and never a hesitating footstep.</p>
+
+<p>They were down on the shore at last, in the little shingle cove, with
+sailors standing about in groups, and spectators scattered amongst
+them. Away to the left rose the smooth white cliff, on the summit of
+which Madge Hardwicke's little cottage might be seen, standing dimly
+out against the sky. Away to the right stretched the dark outline of
+Lion Point, rearing its massive head in rock-like repose amidst the
+tumult of the elements. And to left and right and front lay the wide
+reach of stormy sea, lashed into a seething mass of dark heaving water
+and snowy foam.</p>
+
+<p>Water, water everywhere. It seemed to Madge that the whole world was
+made of water that morning. The gale had spent the worst of its fury,
+and the wind, in all its strength, was but a breeze compared with what
+had been. But it looked as if nothing ever would or ever could calm
+down that great waste of watery hills, perpetually rising and falling,
+curling their crested summits in giant-play, chasing each other to
+the shore in fierce frolic, and breaking there with a never-ceasing
+roar, made up of crash after crash in unbroken succession. There was
+a clear sky overhead, above all this tumult, and one bright star,
+growing dim in the dawning light, shone placidly through the last bit
+of transparent cloud remaining.</p>
+
+<p>"She's there," Madge was the first to exclaim, as her quick eye caught
+the faint outline of the dismasted ship, floating, to all appearance
+helplessly, amid those gigantic waves. One moment uplifted against the
+horizon, the next lost absolutely to view, yet again emerging from the
+trough to mount another hill, only to sink deep into another valley. No
+wonder all eyes were riveted.</p>
+
+<p>"They've hoisted signals of distress," said Nat Tyrrell. "And they
+don't know that nothing can be done."</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing!" repeated Madge, looking up to scan with a flashing glance
+the faces around. "What are all of you men going to stand safe here,
+and see your follow-creatures perishing right afore your eyes?"</p>
+
+<p>"You're quick to blame us, Mrs. Hardwicke," rejoined a sailor. "But
+what if we've tried an' failed? No boat but a life-boat could live in
+such a sea."</p>
+
+<p>"And you'll give up with one try?" asked Madge. "You'll leave them to
+certain death, when another try might save them?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Tain't certain, Madge," said Nat Tyrrell, coming up. "Old Robin knows
+more than most men, and he says now the tide's turnin', they'll have a
+chance—though 'tis the barest chance—a chance of just weathering the
+Point. They're just so far out as for that, he says."</p>
+
+<p>"And if they don't?" demanded Madge.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a man 'll reach the shore alive," spoke a voice from among the
+throng.</p>
+
+<p>"And ye'll give up helping them with 'one' try," reiterated Madge, a
+touch of scorn in her tone. "Three, did you say it was? Well, I'm glad
+for your sakes 'tis more than one. But will you make a fourth? The
+tide's going down and launching 'll be easier now. I'll come in the
+boat myself, men, and take an oar. Will you all hold back where a woman
+would go?"</p>
+
+<p>"If the ship don't weather the point, Mrs. Hardwicke, we'll try a
+fourth, an' a fifth, an' a tenth, an' a twelfth time," the same voice
+said. "But 'tis useless danger trying, till we're sure our help's
+needed. They're puttin' up a jury-mast and sail now. We'll soon see
+what's to come."</p>
+
+<p>Madge saw the sense of the words, for not even in sorrow and suspense
+was she unreasonable. She said no more, but sat down to wait, with Mona
+leaning on her uncle's arm close by. Other women were on the shore,
+fellow-sufferers with Madge, and some were sobbing and wringing their
+hands, and some were calling aloud hysterically in their fear and
+agony, for many Alyn sailors were aboard. It was terrible to look on in
+safety and helplessness,—to see loved ones borne slowly slowly onwards
+to almost certain death.</p>
+
+<p>But Madge neither wept nor cried out. She only sat upon a low rock,
+with her hands folded together on her knee, and her eyes fixed over
+upon that dark hull as it rose and sank by turns. And minutes passed
+by, one after another, and no one dared address words of cheering to
+Madge. No one dared speak to her at all. Even Mona felt that such
+suspense as hers must be borne alone in the depths of her strong
+woman-nature. It was too soon yet to offer the comfort which might
+by-and-by be needed, and too soon yet to speak of hope.</p>
+
+<p>But the ship drew slowly nearer and nearer, and the dawning light grew
+clearer and clearer, and a gleam of fluttering brightness began to
+illumine the anxious faces around. Whispers here and there passed from
+one to another, as to a growing probability of escape. And all at once
+Madge herself stood upright, and held up both hands, clasping them
+tightly over her head, and cried in clear tones, which reached the ears
+of all present,—</p>
+
+<p>"They're safe! Men, they're safe! They have passed the rocks."</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image032" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image032.jpg" alt="image032"></figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>"They're safe! Men, they're safe! They have passed the</b><br>
+<b>rocks," she cried.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Almost before the words had crossed her lips, a cry was heard: "They're
+saved! They're saved!" And such a cheer burst from the assembled
+crowd that the roar of wind and waters grew faint for an instant by
+comparison.</p>
+
+<p>Safe at last! Or the danger was so far lessened, that, unless the
+ship were more disabled than appeared to be the case, there was small
+further cause for anxiety. She rolled indeed heavily, and made but
+tardy advance, seeming, as one man with a telescope observed, to be
+"pretty nigh water-logged." But though she advanced slowly, she did
+advance. And gradually hope brightened into confidence, and confidence
+into certainty.</p>
+
+<p>Madge Hardwicke's momentary excitement had again disappeared, and
+calmly as before, she waited; only the red glow in her cheeks and the
+sparkle in her eyes told that less of composure lay beneath. Neill was
+coming at last! Her own Neill! After all these years of separation.
+No wonder that the mother's heart should beat, and her eyes should
+glisten, with a joy so intense as to be almost pain.</p>
+
+<p>The sun had risen, and was shedding his beams over the unquiet sea, and
+the scarcely less unquiet assemblage of Alyn folks upon the shore, when
+the half-disabled ship at length reached the pier. For Alyn harbour lay
+to the west of Lion Point; and having failed through stress of weather
+to enter the harbour, nothing remained to the "Flying Albatross" but to
+"make" the pier running out from the shingle cove, which had, in fact,
+been built for nothing else but such emergencies.</p>
+
+<p>Madge remained near the entrance of the pier, hearing and seeing
+nothing that went on around her. She had no eyes or ears for aught
+but the coming figure of Neill, which yet did not come! Nat Tyrrell
+had gone to find and bring him to her, and Nat Tyrrell's approach was
+perhaps the only one, beside that of Neill, which would have made any
+impression on her senses. But she heard his step in a moment, though
+not looking in that direction, and she turned her eyes quickly to his,
+shining with happy expectation.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" she said. "And have you seen my boy? And is he coming to me
+soon?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've seen the captain and Ned Blayney, Madge."</p>
+
+<p>"And Neill?" said Madge. "Will they let me go to him, Nat?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm very sorry, Madge," faltered Nat.</p>
+
+<p>And there he stopped. But an exclamation of sorrow escaped Mona's lips,
+and Madge Hardwicke turned instantly pale and cold and gray. She said
+nothing, but looked steadily at him.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm ever so sorry for you," repeated Nat; "but—fact is, Madge, Neill
+hasn't come at all."</p>
+
+<p>"Neill not come!"</p>
+
+<p>"No. He didn't ever show himself again afore the ship sailed, and Ned
+Blayney don't know nothing of why, nor what has become of him."</p>
+
+<p>One cry of deep heart-agony broke from Madge, and no more.</p>
+
+<p>Mona would have taken her hand in pitying sympathy, but it was drawn
+away, as if any outside touch were pain too keen to be endured. She
+could hardly bear the doctor's face of compassion. For the moment she
+felt wild, and dark thoughts of fierce rebellion crept into Madge
+Hardwicke's soul, against the Hand which had directed this heavy blow.</p>
+
+<p>What was it that kept her from uttering her thoughts? What was it that
+made her hide her feelings? Why did she not look up at Mr. Chetwynd—as
+she "could" have done, if her own strength had been all that remained
+to her at that moment—and speak bitter faithless words concerning
+prayer and its working? Why not? Why, but because Madge was one of
+those who are "kept by the power of God,"—one whose constant desire was
+for His glory, and who in this instant of dire temptation was therefore
+not permitted to fail.</p>
+
+<p>"I am very sorry for you, Madge," were the first words that reached her
+ears, in the doctor's voice.</p>
+
+<p>She stood upright, and looked at him. "Thank you, sir, I know you are.
+It's hard to bear, but God can bring him back yet, if 'tis His will.
+I'll have to wait awhile longer. Good-bye, Miss Mona. I think I'd
+sooner go home alone, please."</p>
+
+<p>They held back, one and all, with respectful pity. Every one knew
+Madge, and no one knew without loving her. But she saw nothing of any
+of them now. The earth and sky and sea had all changed into one silent
+shield of utter blackness. Neil had not come!</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to Madge that all hope and joy in life had died out for
+evermore. She did not look to see him now again on earth.</p>
+
+<p>Steadily and rapidly she pressed on, away from the beach, through the
+town, and up the steep hill-side. And she never slackened a moment for
+weariness or want of breath, until the cottage-door was reached.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Tyrrell came out to meet her with a smile of congratulation, but
+her cheerful look turned to one of dismay at the sight of Madge's face.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Mrs. Hardwicke—you don't mean now!" she ejaculated. "They telled
+me the ship was safe."</p>
+
+<p>"Neill's not come," said Madge quietly. "Thank you for staying with the
+child, Mrs. Tyrrell. I think I'd best be alone now, please."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure, an' it 'is' a disappointment. And ye won't let me stay awhile,
+and help to cheer ye up?" added the good woman coaxingly.</p>
+
+<p>As if any puny words of hers could touch the passionate aching of the
+poor mother's heart. She saw in a moment that it would not do, and with
+a brief good-bye, she went off, not even stepping inside the door again.</p>
+
+<p>Madge entered instead, closed it after her, took off her hood, and sat
+down.</p>
+
+<p>"Is Neill come?" asked little Nannie's voice.</p>
+
+<p>Madge looked vacantly across, drawing deep breaths, as if of oppression.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't dishonour Him," she muttered. "Thank Him I didn't—for I'd a
+mind. And the doctor would never have forgot. I didn't say what I felt,
+but I did feel it."</p>
+
+<p>"Madge, where's Neill?" asked Nannie.</p>
+
+<p>"God knows," said Madge calmly. "He's not brought Neill home to me,
+Nannie."</p>
+
+<p>Nannie stared with wide-open eyes. "Ain't Neill come, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Madge. "The ship's all right, Nannie, but Neill ain't
+aboard. Don't talk to me awhile,—please."</p>
+
+<p>She did not move, but sat with her head bent down wearily, and
+no particular feeling of any kind in her mind, beyond a sense of
+deep desolation. She did not think she should ever care to look up
+again,—ever care to pass cheerily through life as hitherto; and it was
+with a sensation of restless impatience, that she heard the door-latch
+lifted, and raised her head to look round.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you'd please leave me. I don't want—" Madge stopped, for it was
+Mr. Prior.</p>
+
+<p>"May I come in?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>And she rose and gave him a chair, resuming her own immediately, as if
+hardly conscious of what she did.</p>
+
+<p>He sat down, after a kind word to little Nannie, whose face gave him a
+hearty welcome, and said simply,—</p>
+
+<p>"Madge, I was with you when your good news came, and rejoiced with you.
+Will you let me sorrow with you now?"</p>
+
+<p>She put up her hand, to still the quivering of her lips. "It's hard,
+sir,—you don't know how hard."</p>
+
+<p>"Madge is dreadful disappointed, 'cause Neill ain't come home after
+all," said Nannie, thinking Mr. Prior needed information on the
+subject. "She wants a deal of comfort."</p>
+
+<p>Nannie evidently considered Mr. Prior well able to give the same. He
+looked back at the child with a grave smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Little Nannie, Madge has a better Comforter than you or I, only
+perhaps she has hardly had time yet to listen to His gentle Voice."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Nannie. "He'll whisper to her down in her heart, won't He?"</p>
+
+<p>"If Madge will listen," said Mr. Prior.</p>
+
+<p>Madge lifted her gray face to his. "'Tis all true, sir, and my Lord has
+sent His Comforter many a time afore to me, but I don't seem to hear
+nor feel nothing now."</p>
+
+<p>"'I will pray the Father, and He shall give you another Comforter, that
+He may abide with you for ever,'" said Mr. Prior. "He doesn't come and
+go, Madge."</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir; only I can't see nor hear," said Madge patiently. And then,
+in a mechanical sort of way, she added, "I'll hear reading if you like,
+sir, but I don't seem to feel it'll do me good."</p>
+
+<p>"Not reading to-day, I think, Madge. Perhaps to-morrow instead. I will
+only give you one little verse now,—'As one whom his mother comforteth,
+so will I comfort you.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, sir. I'd ought to feel right; I know I ought," said poor
+Madge despairingly. "But 'tis hard to bear. I've prayed and waited so
+long, and it did seem as if Neill was coming at last. And now—"</p>
+
+<p>"And now God has denied you, or perhaps has put off for awhile granting
+your request. Madge—" Mr. Prior went on—"I think there is something
+here not quite as it should be. Have you been demanding as a right from
+God that which you had no right to demand?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. I've never put up a prayer for Neil to come back, without
+saying, 'If it be Thy will.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Nor ever cherished, down in some secret corner of your heart, the
+feeling that in return for all your loving faith in God, He surely must
+and 'ought' to grant your request? Madge, what do you think?" he asked
+softly.</p>
+
+<p>He had touched the right chord now,—had struck to the root of the
+matter. Madge sat for a moment like one awakened from a dream, and then
+bursting into tears, sobbed out, "It's true, and I didn't think it. I
+didn't think I'd so much of wilfulness unconquered in me yet. I don't
+deserve one bit better than my Lord's sent me—not one bit."</p>
+
+<p>And after that burst of weeping and contrite sorrow, Madge's heart
+was no longer closed, in its aching pain, to the sweet voice of the
+Heavenly Comforter.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image033" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image033.jpg" alt="image033"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image034" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image034.jpg" alt="image034"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>THE DOCTOR'S PROHIBITION.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>THE storm of that night ceased, as other storms have done; but the
+turmoil of the waters was not so easily quelled, and massive breakers
+swelled and rolled and broke with thundering crashes on the shore,
+through many an hour after. There is always for a while a ground-swell
+remaining.</p>
+
+<p>The brief storm in Madge Hardwicke's life was over, and its usual calm
+had set in. But the sense of disappointment, and the renewal of the old
+blank, and the fluttering of spirits, and the wakened restlessness of
+desire, were not to be easily stilled. A heavy ground-swell remained
+behind, and Madge had many a battle to fight in the weeks succeeding,
+which showed not at all to the outer world.</p>
+
+<p>And little Nannie had passed through her small storm,—only it was not
+small to her feeble strength,—and had come through it. She was up and
+about again, much sooner than the doctor had expected to see her. A
+fragile creature she looked, with her pale face, and her long black
+hair, and her pleading eyes and gentle manner. There had grown to be
+something about Nannie of late very winning to all the world, except
+her own father, for whose love Nannie would have gladly given away all
+the rest. But when she went back to his cottage, as she persistently
+begged to do from the moment she set foot to the ground, he gave her
+nothing of a welcome. And Nannie, in her dread of being taken away,
+or of drawing punishment upon him, evaded all inquiries respecting
+his treatment of her. Amos Ackman had grown more cautious before
+spectators, and Nannie kept steady silence as to kicks and blows behind
+the scenes. But Nannie too had her ground-swell, and that no light one.</p>
+
+<p>And Mona had passed through the worst of "her" storm. Through a very
+tempest of doubts and questionings, beneath which she had for a while
+almost succumbed, while her sky above had been wild and black, and the
+angry gale had whistled past with a sound which struck chilly to her
+very heart. The autumn and early winter months of that year were dark
+days to poor Mona Clyde, bereft at one blow of all joy in this world,
+and almost all hope in the next. For a while, it had seemed to her
+that all her faith was gone. And though gleams of light had been sent
+now and then, through the dense mists which had gathered around, yet
+the mists were long in dispersing. So Mona also had her ground-swell
+remaining.</p>
+
+<p>January, February, March, and April were made up of a succession of
+dismal days. Dull warmth and cloudy cold—damp chilliness and dry
+east winds,—rain and snow,—fog and sleet,—hail and mist,—alternated
+persistently; and the only thing which seemed not to take a share in
+these recurring changes was sunshine. People tried to get up jokes upon
+the danger of forgetting the colour of the sun, or even of doubting
+the fact of his existence altogether, beyond the low gray mantle which
+perpetually enveloped this lower earth. Even Madge Hardwicke's equable
+spirits felt the depressing influence of the weather; and no doubt the
+sum-total of ill tempers in Alyn much exceeded the average.</p>
+
+<p>Then came the sweet month of May, and upon the very first day a change
+took place; and spring, in all its luxuriant beauty, burst upon the
+Alyn world. To Mona it was like a repetition of the tunnel's darkness,
+and the light beyond, with the same sweet meaning. Never had she known
+so sudden and joyous a burst of spring, just because never had she
+known so dreary a winter preceding—dreary in more senses than one.</p>
+
+<p>It was upon one of the fairest of warm May evenings that the doctor's
+chaise stood before his door, and the doctor himself stood upon his
+doorstep, pulling on a pair of gloves, for he had just received an
+unexpected summons to a distance, at the close of his daily round.
+He accomplished the business deliberately—the call in question not
+being especially urgent, though too important to leave till next
+morning,—buttoned each glove with unnecessary care, and finally took
+his seat. Just as he had gathered up the reins, Mona came along the
+path.</p>
+
+<p>"Hallo! My dear, where are you going now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Up the hill to see Madge Hardwicke, uncle."</p>
+
+<p>"Where have you been?"</p>
+
+<p>"Only to look up one of my Sunday scholars who was absent last Sunday;
+but he is ill, poor little fellow, so it was not his fault."</p>
+
+<p>"Which?"</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle, you won't know his name—Tommy Talbot."</p>
+
+<p>"Not one of the Talbots in Wall's Alley?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he lives there."</p>
+
+<p>The doctor's hand gave an involuntary jerk to the reins, which made the
+horse start forward. He pulled in again.</p>
+
+<p>"If your Sunday-school work takes you to such places as that, you had
+better give it up altogether."</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle, I never meet with rudeness. The people are as respectful as
+possible."</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say! I dare say!" repeated the doctor impatiently. "You don't
+go there again without my leave."</p>
+
+<p>"But, uncle—," and Mona looked rather rebellious.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't," said Mr. Chetwynd decisively.</p>
+
+<p>"Tommy will expect me to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"Let him! How often have you been, pray?"</p>
+
+<p>"This is the first time since Sunday. Once last week I went, not
+because Tommy was ill, but only he was a new pupil the Sunday before,
+and I always go to see them in their homes. He is the first I ever had
+from that alley."</p>
+
+<p>"Last week—what day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Friday. Tommy was so pleased when I came in. And he took me into the
+next room to see a poor little playfellow of his who was not well."</p>
+
+<p>Another sharp jerk at the reins. Mona looked in perplexity at his
+knitted brows.</p>
+
+<p>"You haven't seen 'him' again, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I was with Tommy all the time this morning. It was very stupid of
+me, but I was thinking so much of him that I quite forgot even to ask
+after the other child."</p>
+
+<p>"It is to be the first and last of your visiting there, if you please,"
+said the doctor. "That alley is a perfect nest of—"</p>
+
+<p>"Of what?" asked Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"Wickedness," said Mr. Chetwynd, omitting, for a particular reason, the
+word he had intended to use.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think, really, that you need fear for me, uncle."</p>
+
+<p>"Dare say not," muttered Mr. Chetwynd gruffly. "Mind,—no more going
+there, Mona. Ha! Here comes Mr. Prior. I'll give him a hint on the
+subject some day—can't have you encouraged in that sort of thing."</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle, indeed it was all my own doing," said Mona eagerly, and then
+Mr. Prior came up with a cheerful—</p>
+
+<p>"Just the person I wanted to see. No, not you, doctor; only please give
+leave, before you go, for Mona to take a drive to-morrow afternoon."</p>
+
+<p>"Anywhere, except to Wall's Alley," said the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>But he went off with something of a frown, and Mona said in
+explanation: "He is rather vexed at my going to see some of my
+children—one of them I mean."</p>
+
+<p>"Not in Wall's Alley?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, little Tommy Talbot."</p>
+
+<p>"How came you to go there?" he asked, as if involuntarily.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Mr. Prior, is it such a dreadful place?" inquired Mona, in
+surprise. "It looked very much like any other alley."</p>
+
+<p>His smile was in the least degree forced. "About the worst in Alyn I
+suppose. Don't visit in it again at present,—I will see after Tommy for
+you. Are you going indoors now, and shall you be very busy to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>"O no; can I do anything for you, Mr. Prior?" She had felt strangely
+weary all day, with a heavy spring-tired sort of feeling, but she
+brightened up as she spoke. "I was just going up the hill to see Madge
+Hardwicke."</p>
+
+<p>"The very thing. I am on my way to that poor creature dying in the
+cottage beyond the cliff, so our road is the same."</p>
+
+<p>"One moment, please," and she ran into the hall, coming out again with
+a basket full of small bunches of garden flowers. "I am ready now, Mr.
+Prior."</p>
+
+<p>"Those little nosegays look tempting," he said, as they passed into the
+road. "Are you disposed for a drive to-morrow, Mona?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who with?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"All of us. The truth is—" and he laughed slightly—"my sister Rachel
+has taken a warm fancy to Madge Hardwicke."</p>
+
+<p>"I felt sure Miss Prior must like her," said Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"And having discovered a certain plan of the said Madge's, she can't
+rest without adding her quota to the general enjoyment."</p>
+
+<p>"What the excursion to Bentley Dingle? Madge told me, but I thought it
+was to be quite a secret."</p>
+
+<p>"Rachel found out the secret somehow,—though I confess it is rather a
+mystery to me still. I only gather that Madge has a certain treat in
+store for certain children, that my sister does not think there will
+be buns enough to the fore, that she therefore intends to act carrier
+gratis for the occasion, and that I am expected to take my share as
+driver. Who are Madge's children, if you can tell me?"</p>
+
+<p>"A dozen or more poor little things, who run up to her cottage on
+Saturday afternoons to read the Bible with her. They are as fond of her
+as if she were their mother."</p>
+
+<p>"I understand. And she plans an excursion for them to the Dingle?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, in a break, and they will make tea there, and eat buns and bread
+and butter. The truth is, Madge had a present lately from her old
+master, Sir Arthur Bolton, and that I suppose put it into her head."
+Mona did not add that she had herself given a liberal contribution
+towards expenses, but only said, "I wished so much I could have been
+present."</p>
+
+<p>"Just what Rachel feels. Her plan is to drive over to the Dingle,
+without a word to Madge—so don't drop a hint of her intentions this
+evening—and to appear suddenly on the spot with a supply of provisions,
+after the fashion of a fairy godmother, taking them all by surprise."</p>
+
+<p>"That will be very nice," said Mona, warmly. "How delighted Madge will
+be! Is Mrs. Prior going?"</p>
+
+<p>"I hope so, and she sends a particular message to say that you are to
+have a turn at sitting on the front seat, and taking the reins. My
+opinion is not asked about the matter, so I submit, and only hope that
+may tempt you, if nothing else does."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't need any tempting," said Mona, with a smile. "I shall enjoy it
+of all things. Why, Madge seems holding quite a levée up on the hill."</p>
+
+<p>"Giving a lecture," suggested Mr. Prior. "You ladies usurp everything
+in these days."</p>
+
+<p>"Madge would not thank you for calling her a lady. O I remember—Nat
+Tyrrell is to drive the break, and Ned Blayney and his mother are going
+to help take care of the children. I dare say they are talking over
+arrangements—but I don't know who the third man is. Not Amos Ackman at
+all events, for I can see him at his own cottage-door."</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image035" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image035.jpg" alt="image035"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image036" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image036.jpg" alt="image036"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>GOD'S MYSTERIES.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"BELIEVE in it? No, I don't," said Nat Tyrrell, with decision. "Nor I
+don't see, for my part, how any reasonable being who trust in God's
+goodness, can put faith in the notion for one single instant."</p>
+
+<p>"'Tisn't so very long, Nat, since you were all for setting me to rights
+for a crank you said I'd got," Madge remarked quietly, as she sat
+knitting on the bench in front of her cottage-door.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Tyrrell, a silent sensible woman, sat beside her, occupied in like
+manner. Nannie was down on the ground close to her feet, after the
+fashion of a faithful little dog. Nat stood exactly in front, with his
+back to the garden-gate; while on one side of him lounged the stalwart
+figure of Ned Blayney, who was listening with a good-humoured smile to
+the discussion; and on the other stood a small sickly-looking man, Joe
+Whilly by name, and cobbler by profession, with a face of such rigid
+melancholy, that it was hard to imagine he could ever conjure up a
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Seems to me," Madge added, "that the crank's on your side now, Nat."</p>
+
+<p>"Begging your pardon, but it's nothing of the kind," responded Nat,
+with a degree of tartness, for he was by no means so ready as Madge to
+admit the possibility of being mistaken. "You and I think alike in a
+many things, no doubt, but we don't think alike here, and I dare say we
+never shall. I'll never believe salvation ain't freely offered to every
+man, woman, and child upon earth, to accept it if they will."</p>
+
+<p>"Did I say it wasn't, Nat?" Madge began, but she checked herself, for
+another voice was saying,—</p>
+
+<p>"Good evening, Tyrrell. How are you to-day, Mrs. Hardwicke?" And then
+after a few words of greeting to each, not omitting little Nannie, Mr.
+Prior added, "You seem very much interested about something, all of
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"Just a talk we've got into," responded Madge. "I'm glad you've come,
+sir. Will you please to sit down, and Miss Mona too?"</p>
+
+<p>"What has the talk been about?" asked Mr. Prior, accepting the
+offered chair. "It is so pleasant up here that I really think I must
+spare a few minutes before going on. But don't let me interrupt your
+discussion."</p>
+
+<p>"We'd scarce got into a discussion yet," said Madge, half-smiling. "Joe
+Whilly had given us his mind, and Nat Tyrrell was giving a bit of his."</p>
+
+<p>"Nat Tyrrell had better give the rest," suggested Mr. Prior.</p>
+
+<p>"Have out with it, lad," said Ned Blayney encouragingly, as Nat
+shuffled about a little. "Parson never lets a fellow off, and he likes
+us to tell out our thoughts."</p>
+
+<p>"Right, Blayney. I wish you to consider me one of yourselves for
+half-an-hour. What is it all about, Tyrrell? Let me see if I can help
+you in your perplexity."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, I don't know as I'm much perplexed neither," said Nat
+honestly. "I don't pretend to be anything of a born genius,—" Nat did
+his best to look modest,—"but I hope I'm equal to the understanding of
+this, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"If you be, you're a deal cleverer than I," muttered Ned Blayney,
+rubbing his forehead disconsolately. "Whilly and you atween you has set
+all my wits and notions buzzing, like the bees in mother's hive."</p>
+
+<p>"Let me hear," was all Mr. Prior said.</p>
+
+<p>Nat had no objection at all to state his views. "Well, sir, 'tis just
+this. Whilly he don't hold with me. He goes in downright for the
+doctrine of election, sir. Now I don't."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't go in for it?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. That's to say, I don't hold it. I've my Bible, sir, and I
+reads it night and morning, and I hope I understands what I reads. And
+my conclusion as I've come to is this. The doctrine of election is no
+Scriptural doctrine at all, sir. For why?" Nat was growing more at his
+ease now, and he began laying down the law, with the forefinger of one
+hand upon the palm of the other, as he was wont to do when expounding
+his own views among his fellow-workmen,—a very different matter, be
+it remarked, from expounding Bible-truths, though the two are often
+confounded together.</p>
+
+<p>"For why, sir? Ain't it in the Bible, clear as daylight, that Jesus
+Christ died for all men, and that His salvation is freely offered to
+all? That's what 'I' hold to, sir. I'll preach and teach the Gospel
+with my latest breath, but I'll never be one of those who goes about,
+talking of election, and how God has chosen some men from all eternity
+to everlasting happiness, and created some only for everlasting misery,
+and man to have no choice at all in the matter, and however much he may
+wish to be saved, yet, if he isn't elect, he's lost to all eternity.
+No, no, I'll never go in for that. I believe salvation is offered to
+all, and all may be saved,—only men are so perverse and wrong-headed
+that they won't accept salvation, and so the blame is on their own
+heads. Why, sir, looking at it in any other light, I'd have to say the
+blame is with God, not man."</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, beware, Tyrrell! You are saying words now, which no living man
+may utter and be blameless," said Mr. Prior with much seriousness.</p>
+
+<p>"Joe Whilly's got hold of quite another side of the question
+altogether," remarked Blayney. "As you'll hear, sir. He don't agree
+with Tyrrell. He's all t'other way."</p>
+
+<p>"No, he don't agree with me," said Nat, recovering from the momentary
+effect of the rebuke he had received. "He'd never dare offer the free
+gift of salvation to any man, but only go tell him he hopes he's one of
+the elect, for if he's elect, he'll be saved, and if he isn't, why he's
+mighty sorry for him."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't put it that way neither," said Joe Whilly. "But I don't deny
+there's some truth in Tyrrell's words, sir. I'd tell men, sure enough,
+of the Saviour,—but I couldn't in conscience tell 'em to come and be
+saved, without reminding them that they hadn't no power to come, unless
+they were called."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, those are his views," said Tyrrell loftily. "I'm right glad
+they're not mine."</p>
+
+<p>"I'd be sorry to have to settle atween you both," remarked Blayney.
+"One thing's certain—one of you's right, and one's wrong. Leastways,
+both can't be right, though maybe you be both wrong. And that's all I
+knows about the matter."</p>
+
+<p>"I have a word from the Bible for each of you—for Tyrrell on his
+side and Whilly on his," said Mr. Prior. "But first, we must find
+a stand-point from which to look upon this matter. It won't do, if
+you wish to take a wide view of the country round, to get among some
+bushes, where your range of sight is shut in to about six yards."</p>
+
+<p>Ned Blayney laughed. "No, sir; the mast-head's the place."</p>
+
+<p>"True; we must climb to the mast-head. And the first step towards
+that, is to take good heed that we come to this question in a frank
+and simple spirit of inquiry, anxious to find the truth, and ready to
+believe whatever the Word of God may state, but not caring to defend
+our own views merely for the sake of triumph in argument."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope I'm not over proud to acknowledge myself mistaken, sir," said
+Nat Tyrrell.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope so too. But now for the mast-head. There are two simple truths
+about which you must be perfectly clear, before you can safely venture
+to look into any of these questions. You seem to me, Tyrrell, to have
+lost sight of one, if not of both."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm ready to hear, sir," said Tyrrell, more submissively than was his
+wont.</p>
+
+<p>"Then remember this. Whatever you find of doubt and perplexity—whatever
+seems to you hard to understand, or impossible to explain,—take care
+that you never for a moment lose sight of one grand truth,—'The Lord
+is righteous in ALL His ways, and holy in ALL His works.' 'There is no
+unrighteousness in Him.' He is 'of purer eyes than to behold evil.'
+'There is none holy as the Lord.' 'A God of truth and without iniquity,
+just and right is He.' His very 'Name is Holy.' Take hold of that
+truth, and never let it go."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," Tyrrell assented.</p>
+
+<p>"Secondly, remember that as God is absolutely holy, so man is
+absolutely sinful. Man, as man, can put forth no shadow of a claim upon
+the mercy of God. The whole of mankind lies deep down in the very dust
+beneath His feet, justly condemned to eternal death. Salvation, from
+first to last, is a free and utterly undeserved gift."</p>
+
+<p>"I see what you mean, sir," said Tyrrell slowly.</p>
+
+<p>"Then, putting those two great truths together, let me warn you to take
+your stand upon them, and never again to use the dangerous line of
+argument you seemed inclined to use just now. Never dare to say, 'If
+such and such a thing were true, I could not believe in the holiness
+or mercy of God.' There is fearful presumption in it, Tyrrell—though
+many a good man unthinkingly makes use of such words. Such and such
+a thing may be true, though you cannot see it so; and where do you
+find yourself then? You must have your position at the mast-head. 'The
+Lord is holy and true, just and righteous, merciful and loving. Man is
+sinful and worthless. What the Lord hath said, that will I accept, and
+unquestioningly believe.'"</p>
+
+<p>Nat looked thoughtful, but did not speak.</p>
+
+<p>"And now to come to the point," Mr. Prior went on. "As regards the
+doctrine of election, I do not ask you to take my views, or the views
+of any man. But what do you think of this?" And from his little
+pocket Bible Mr. Prior read aloud—"'He hath chosen us in Him before
+the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and without blame
+before him in love: having predestinated us unto the adoption of
+children by Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the good pleasure of
+His will.' And again, 'Being predestinated according to the purpose
+of Him who worketh all things after the counsel of His own will.' ¹
+Nothing can stand against that, you see—that almighty changeless Will
+of God."</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<br>
+¹ Eph. i. 4, 11.<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>"Clear enough about election, ain't it," said Joe Whilly.</p>
+
+<p>"What of this also? In the ninth of Exodus God says about Pharaoh, 'In
+very deed for this cause have I raised thee up, for to show in thee my
+power.' And in the following chapters, we are more than once plainly
+told that 'The Lord hardened Pharaoh's heart,' though at the same
+time we must not forget that we are told how Pharaoh hardened his own
+heart also. And again, with the wicked sons of Eli, we find that 'they
+hearkened not unto the voice of their father,'—why?—'"because" the Lord
+would slay them.'"</p>
+
+<p>"That's awfully strong," said Nat, in a subdued tone.</p>
+
+<p>"It is truth, Tyrrell. You cannot set it aside. True also—by their sins
+they had made Him so to will. But as clay in the hands of a potter, ²
+so are we in the hands of God. He chooses whom He will, and He rejects
+whom He will. 'Therefore hath He mercy on whom He will have mercy, and
+whom He will He hardeneth.' No power in heaven, or earth, or hell, can
+for one instant stand against that eternal Will of God. And no man
+living has power to turn to God, or even to wish so to turn, without
+the working of the Holy Spirit in his heart. As the Saviour said, 'No
+man can come to Me, except the Father which hath sent Me draw him.'"</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<br>
+² Rom. ix. 21.<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, it just comes to this," said Tyrrell gloomily. "If you're
+right—and I won't deny you've Scripture on your side—I don't see, for
+my part, how man is to blame."</p>
+
+<p>"Just the answer made in St. Paul's own days. 'Thou wilt say then unto
+me, Why doth He yet find fault? for who hath resisted His will? Nay,
+but, O man! who art thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing
+formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus?' ¹ What
+are you and I, Tyrrell—mere worms of the dust, rebels against Him from
+our birth—to dare to question the dealings of the Lord Almighty?"</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<br>
+¹ Rom. ix.<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>He spoke in a deeply solemn tone, and the men looked impressed, while
+Mona sat, with bent head, taking to heart a lesson which she had sorely
+needed. There was a little pause before Tyrrell remarked—</p>
+
+<p>"Still, there's no denying, sir, that if men are mere puppets in the
+Hands of God, to be saved or lost as He wills, I don't see for my part
+how they're to be justly blamed."</p>
+
+<p>"Does the Bible say men are mere puppets in the Hands of God?" asked
+Mr. Prior.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, it comes to about the same thing."</p>
+
+<p>"No; there we touch upon one of the wonderful mysteries of God, which
+are beyond man's grasp. 'There is no searching of His understanding.'
+'Great things doeth He which we cannot comprehend.' The sooner you
+accept that fact in all its fulness, the better for your peace. True
+it is that man is absolutely in the Hands of God, as clay in the hands
+of a potter; nevertheless, and at the self same time, he is a free and
+accountable being. What do you say to that?"</p>
+
+<p>"You wouldn't try to make out, would you, sir, that there was anything
+of free choice to be found in the Bible, alongside of the other
+doctrine?" asked Nat incredulously.</p>
+
+<p>"You could not possibly have used a better word. 'Alongside'—that is
+exactly the way in which these great 'opposition-truths,' as they have
+been called, are given to us. Lying side by side, placed there by God
+Himself, to be believed by us unquestioningly, whether or no with our
+present powers we may be able to reconcile them. It has been said with
+much force, that in looking at these deep mysteries of God, a man must
+not attempt to step with both his feet at once. First one foot, and
+then the other. We have taken a step with the right foot; now let us
+take a step with the left. We have proved from the Word of God the
+doctrine of election; now let us see what the same Word has to say on
+the other side of the question."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll hear what you have to say sure enough, sir," said Nat slowly.
+"I'll not deny you've shown me I've been wrong, putting aside a
+doctrine so clear in the Bible as that. I'm not too proud neither to
+'say' I've been in the wrong, and to change my old view for a new one.
+But if you're going to ask me to stick by the old, and take up the new
+as well—why, sir, I've only to say it's just a moral impossibility. The
+thing can't be."</p>
+
+<p>"No; and I'm on the same side as Tyrrell now, sir," added Joe Whilly.
+"If a man can't be saved unless he's elected, and can't come unless God
+makes him able, where's the good of telling him he 'may' come?"</p>
+
+<p>"We will come back to that directly," said Mr. Prior. "But just now
+we are taking a glance at the other side of the question. You can't
+look to the north and the south of a landscape at the same moment, you
+know. What do you both think of these words, spoken by God to the whole
+nation of the Israelites, and through them to the world at large?</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"'See, I have set before thee this day life and good, and death and
+evil; in that I command thee this day to love the Lord thy God, to walk
+in His ways, and to keep His commandments . . . But if thine heart
+turn away so that thou wilt not hear'—not canst not, but 'wilt' not—'I
+denounce unto you this day, that ye shall surely perish . . . I call
+heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before
+you life and death, blessing and cursing; THEREFORE CHOOSE LIFE, that
+both thou and thy seed may live—'<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>"Is no freedom of choice offered there, Whilly?"</p>
+
+<p>"Seems so, sure enough," said Whilly, rubbing his head with a perplexed
+air.</p>
+
+<p>Tyrrell did not speak.</p>
+
+<p>"This is in the thirtieth of Deuteronomy, and you will find much
+the same in the twenty-fourth of Joshua, where again the Israelites
+are plainly bidden—'"Choose" you this day whom ye will serve.' Note
+also the words of our Saviour—'Ye "will not" come to Me that ye
+might have life.' Not 'ye cannot come.' And again, 'Strive to enter
+in at the strait gate;' 'Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his
+righteousness;' 'Seek, and ye shall find.' Power of choice and action
+are implied in all these."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," answered Whilly, who seemed to have stepped into the office
+of spokesman.</p>
+
+<p>"Then listen to a few words from the eighteenth of Ezekiel on the
+same subject. 'Have I any pleasure at all that the wicked should
+die, saith the Lord God, and not that he should return from his
+ways and live? . . . Repent, and turn yourself from all your
+transgressions . . . and make you a new heart and a new spirit; for why
+will ye die, O house of Israel? For I have no pleasure in the death of
+him that dieth, saith the Lord God; wherefore turn yourselves, and live
+ye.' And also in the thirty-third chapter—'Say unto them, As I live,
+saith the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but
+that the wicked turn from his way and live; turn ye, turn ye from your
+evil ways, for why will ye die, O house of Israel?'"</p>
+
+<p>Tyrrell was silent still, gazing steadily on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, I won't deny there's a deal to be said on both sides from
+the Bible," said Whilly, in a thoughtful tone. "But how you're going to
+reconcile them two doctrines passes my comprehension."</p>
+
+<p>"And mine also," said Mr. Prior quietly. "What of that, Whilly? Are we
+to disbelieve everything we cannot understand? Can you suppose for a
+moment that the mind of a mere created being shall have power to grasp
+the mysteries of his Creator? Tyrrell thinks himself well able to take
+in and weigh these mighty truths, though, as he says, he is no genius.
+If he were the most brilliant genius the world ever saw, it would make
+no difference. Possibly he might reach a little farther than you or
+I could reach—just as a tall man may wade a little deeper into the
+sea than a short one can do. But in either case, the end is the same.
+Whether he be tall or short, whether his mind be great or small, he
+soon comes to a point where his powers serve to carry him on no more.
+After that, he must take refuge in one of two things—speculation or
+faith."</p>
+
+<p>"Seems to me, Tyrrell and Whilly had ought to be mighty pleased, both
+of 'em, seeing they're both proved to be half-ways right, and not all
+wrong," Blayney remarked quaintly.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe I am," said Whilly. "Then, sir, you'd have one offer salvation
+to all men without a bit of reservation, would you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No more reservation than the Bible itself makes, Whilly. Look at the
+breadth of the Gospel invitations, and don't dare to narrow them by a
+single word. 'Ho! every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters,'
+must never be cut down into, 'Ho! all ye "elect" that thirst.' 'Come
+unto Me, all ye that labour,' must not be changed into 'Come unto Me,
+all ye "elect" that labour.' There is a very clear command given—'Go ye
+into all the world, and preach the Gospel to every creature.' You may
+find me, if you can, a single injunction to preach the Gospel only to
+the elect of God."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, sir. You've given me something to think about, anyways,"
+said Whilly.</p>
+
+<p>"The truth is, Whilly, this doctrine of election, though a thought full
+of comfort and joy to the assured Christian, is a doctrine with which
+the unsaved man has nothing whatever to do. 'Repent, believe, and be
+saved,' are the words spoken to him. Take care that you carry him the
+right message—not the wrong one."</p>
+
+<p>And then, turning from Whilly, Mr. Prior said,—"Well, Tyrrell?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, you'll maybe think me a bit obstinate, but I can't in reason see
+how them two things can exist together," said Tyrrell rather doggedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me give you an illustration I have heard used, to make it clearer.
+Did you ever see the flying bridge over the river, two or three miles
+from Bentley Dingle?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've seen it, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Prior took out his pocket-book, and slightly sketched the scone for
+the benefit of those who had not.</p>
+
+<p>"There is the river. There are the chains upon which the bridge
+depends. Now, look at those chains. You see them plainly at that end,
+and at this. What becomes of them in the space between?"</p>
+
+<p>"They're under water," Nat answered, at the same moment with Blayney.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know? You cannot see them there."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, I knows sure enough, if I sees each end of a chain going
+down under water, that it's joined below," said Blayney.</p>
+
+<p>"That is to say, you 'believe' it to be so, and your belief amounts
+to certainty. Just so with these great 'counter-truths' of the Bible.
+You see each end of the chain, but the point where they join—the point
+of reconciliation—is in the depths, beyond your grasp. Faith must
+come in there to supply the place of sight. You say they can't be
+reconciled. That merely means that 'you' cannot reconcile them. They
+are reconciled, though God alone knows how, and that is enough for us.
+There ought to be no 'if' in speaking of God's revealed truths. 'The
+Lord hath spoken,' is answer enough for every perplexity, and every
+seeming contradiction."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe," Tyrrell muttered.</p>
+
+<p>"The truth is, we are mere children before God, and know nothing
+whatever of these matters beyond what He has graciously made known to
+us. He speaks to us as to children, and tells us just so much as it is
+needful for us to know—but no more. If you receive His Word as a child,
+you will know peace. The road to heaven is a very simple one, and 'the
+wayfaring man, though a fool, shall not err therein.' But once go off
+from the plain path of safety, and get yourselves entangled in these
+mazy questions, which have puzzled tens of thousands before you, and
+you will find yourselves in a very quicksand of doubt and misery."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe so, sir," said Tyrrell. "I don't deny you've a deal to say from
+the Bible for your way of looking on the question. But, nevertheless,
+'tisn't in my power to set aside altogether the common-sense view of
+the matter. And that is, that 'if' men have it in their power to choose
+between good and evil, then salvation can't depend on election; and
+'if' the doctrine of election is true, then free choice can't be, and
+men may just as well sit with their hands before them, waiting to see
+whether they're elect or no. For in that case, if a man's elect, he'll
+be saved, and if he isn't elect, he won't be saved, and small blame to
+him either if he isn't. I don't see, for my part, how you're ever to
+get over that difficulty, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, Tyrrell, it is you, not I, who have to get over it," said Mr.
+Prior, smiling. "I am content to accept the truths of God as He has
+given them to us. You cannot rest without trying to bring them all down
+to the level of your own understanding—which is about as reasonable an
+attempt, as if you were to set yourself to squeeze the ocean into a
+tumbler. But I will have a word again with you on this subject, only
+just now I must say good-bye, as it is getting late. Think over the
+matter carefully, and pray for right direction as you do so."</p>
+
+<p>He lingered a minute still, exchanging pleasant remarks with the
+different members of the party. Then bidding them all farewell, he
+continued his walk—not without a nod and smile at parting to little
+Nannie, for Mr. Prior was one of those who have caught a reflection
+of the Saviour's peculiar tenderness towards the lambs of the flock.
+And Mona, having presented to Madge her basket of nosegays, for the
+children on the morrow, went soberly down the hill-side.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image037" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image037.jpg" alt="image037"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image038" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image038.jpg" alt="image038"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_15">CHAPTER XV.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>THE DINGLE.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>IT was a sweet wild place, this Dingle, coming after a long reach of
+flat and lonely moor. There was a deep dip, and a grassy space below,
+with one tiny cottage built beside a running stream, while all around
+the rocky sides rose steeply, clothed with brushwood and small trees,
+amongst which the brilliant spring green of the larches was the most
+conspicuous. And from this little hollow or basin, the pathway—about
+as wide and rough as a mountain sleigh-path, and much overgrown with
+grass—leading up alongside of the sparkling stream, rose winding in a
+narrow gorge, with rocks and trees still closing in on either side.
+Several threatened endings proved only to be fresh turnings of the
+path, until at length the summit was attained of a certain round green
+hill, with a good view of the surrounding country, and a number of
+larches and silver beeches growing down its sides.</p>
+
+<p>A month or two later, the pretty spot would be almost overrun
+by excursionists, but it was quiet now, with the exception of
+Madge Hardwicke's party, who made noise enough for fifty ordinary
+pleasure-seekers. Madge loved nothing better than to see "her
+children," as she called them, enjoying themselves. They had all
+arrived at the Dingle by three o'clock, and many games in the "green
+basin" followed.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Blayney and her son, and Nat Tyrrell and his wife, were by no
+means useless additions to the party. Madge alone would have been
+hardly equal to the task of keeping all those busy little feet out of
+perilous spots, but for their aid. As it was, they had enough to do,
+all five of them, during the first hour and a half. It was somewhere
+about the close of that time that a little basket-carriage was seen
+approaching, drawn by a pretty grey pony, and a shout was immediately
+raised:—</p>
+
+<p>"I say,—if it ain't the Parson a-driving up here!"</p>
+
+<p>No unwelcome arrival was that little chaise, though nobody yet knew
+what lay hidden under the seats. The children came crowding around, to
+receive kind words and smiles, alike from Mr. Prior, and from the pale
+lady beside him, who never left her Rectory home save in a carriage,
+but was no stranger to them all nevertheless. As for the small boy,
+Georgie, with his knickerbockers, and straw hat, and floating blue
+ribbons, he was out on the ground in a moment, at the imminent risk of
+his legs, ready for any amount of play.</p>
+
+<p>"So you are all enjoying yourselves here, Madge," said Mr. Prior, as
+she stood, smiling, near at hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, the children seem to find a deal of pleasure in it," said
+Madge.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't think we are going to intrude, Madge," said Miss Prior, the
+clergyman's sister. "We can drive up the Dingle, and leave you all to
+play, you know. Only we wanted to bring just a little contribution to
+your feast, as you—naughty woman that you are—didn't take the trouble
+to invite us."</p>
+
+<p>"You're welcome enough, ma'am, if I'd thought you cared to come," said
+Madge placidly. "Miss Mona has nigh as much to do with the matter as I."</p>
+
+<p>But her face lighted up a good deal at the sight of the hamper, and the
+children's consequent delight. And when it was opened, and the contents
+began to appear, the little ones did not seem to know how to smile
+broadly enough for such a grand occasion. Miss Prior was satisfied
+so far, and began now to talk of driving on, but Madge interposed.
+Wouldn't they stay, and help to eat up the feast?</p>
+
+<p>"Spoil the fun?"</p>
+
+<p>Madge laughed her low quiet laugh at the idea. And Nannie, creeping up,
+looked with a pair of pleading eyes, which added weight to the words of
+Madge.</p>
+
+<p>"You two together are irresistible," Miss Prior said. "I am vanquished
+at all events. What will the rest of you do?"</p>
+
+<p>"I never intended to do anything but stay, all along," said Mr. Prior
+composedly, and Madge's gray eyes flashed a look of merry appreciation.
+No arm-chair being at hand, Mrs. Prior had to keep her seat in the low
+basket-chaise, but the pony was taken out and tied to a tree, and half
+the children gathered round to feed him with handfuls of grass, while
+the other half watched the unlading of the hamper with eager eyes.</p>
+
+<p>It was no meagre fare that Mr. and Miss Prior had brought for the
+occasion. Madge's buns found themselves in a very small minority,
+compared with the varieties of provisions now produced. A white
+cloth had not been forgotten, and amid much fun and laughter, the
+table—otherwise the ground—was laid; hot water was procured from the
+cottage; and tea was at length ready.</p>
+
+<p>Then they all sat round in a circle,—Mr. Prior being honoured with a
+seat upon a stump, and having a bodyguard of small children at his end
+of the cloth. Nannie crept to his side, and sat there, almost too happy
+to eat. Poor little child! This day was one of radiant experience in
+her cloudy life. She had not known many such.</p>
+
+<p>It was a mixed sort of company gathered there to dinner, or tea, or
+whatever they chose to term that five o'clock out-of-door feast on the
+grass. The hamper-full would almost have served to supply a meal of
+either description. Mixed as the company might be, however—including
+the Priors and Mona, the children and Madge, a sailor and his mother, a
+carpenter and his wife,—it was a very merry and a very happy party. Had
+Mr. Chetwynd been one of the number, he would probably have felt a good
+deal out of his element, from the fact that he would have been troubled
+with a certain amount of anxiety as to his own dignity.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Prior, whose pleasant ease of manner, and entire
+self-forgetfulness, were equally to be seen on all occasions, whether
+his companions might chance to be earls and baronets, or masons and
+plumbers, suffered from no such uneasiness. He kept up a cheery flow
+of conversation, just suited to those present—bright, cheerful,
+kindly, with many an illustration for the men, and many a story for
+the little ones, not lacking a vein of quaint humour, and yet having
+an under-current of serious purpose, which now and then rose to the
+surface, like a golden thread in a many-coloured pattern.</p>
+
+<p>The feast over—and very thoroughly it was over, little but crumbs
+remaining—there was some talk of the chaise and its inmates driving
+on. Miss Prior protested. She at least must have one game with the
+children first. Wouldn't Mona join? Mona did not object, but for all
+Miss Prior's twenty years' seniority, Mona seemed of the two to have
+the less appreciation of the fun. She very soon found her help was not
+really needed, and slipped away.</p>
+
+<p>"Mona, you are not well to-day," said Mrs. Prior, as she came up.</p>
+
+<p>Mona flushed suddenly. "I have rather a headache, Mrs. Prior; I dare
+say it will go off soon."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't tire yourself, dear. My sister likes nothing better than a game
+with the little ones. Would you not rather go home at once?"</p>
+
+<p>"O no, thank you! We are to walk up the Dingle," said Mona, unwilling
+to check the general enjoyment, though she really did feel far from
+well. "They say the view from the top is lovely."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; and I am told that the path is quite fit for our little chaise,
+so we will all go up together," said Mr. Prior, making his appearance
+at this juncture. "Here come Tyrrell and Blayney to harness in the
+pony."</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad Mrs. Prior will be able to come too," Mona remarked.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image039" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image039.jpg" alt="image039"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image040" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image040.jpg" alt="image040"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_16">CHAPTER XVI.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>NAT'S COTTAGE.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"IT ought to be well done certainly, with three of us to accomplish
+the business," said Mr. Prior, patting the pony's head as he began to
+loosen the rein. "Unless indeed it were a case of 'too many cooks,'
+Tyrrell."</p>
+
+<p>"Dapple ain't the sort of 'broth' to be so easy spoilt, sir," said Nat,
+with a laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope not. By the bye, Tyrrell—yes, you can tighten that strap a
+little—did I not hear that you were thinking of changing your cottage
+soon?"</p>
+
+<p>"At quarter-day—yes, sir," said Nat, looking flattered at the interest
+shown in his affairs. "You see, sir, the one we're in now, though
+it's a neat place enough, is over small, and it's draughty and smoky
+besides. So now I'm getting on a bit in the world, we thought we'd look
+out for a better."</p>
+
+<p>"You have not found one yet, I suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, no, sir, and I'm not sure after all that I haven't been imprudent
+in giving notice about this, before we'd some idea of a new one like to
+suit us."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor fellow—but of course you could not help that, though it was
+unwise," said Mr. Prior compassionately.</p>
+
+<p>Nat Tyrrell was not the only one present who stared with open eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Prior looked back so calmly, however, that even Mrs. Prior began
+to fancy she must have been mistaken, in thinking that her husband had
+said anything extraordinary.</p>
+
+<p>"I had an idea, now,—but of course it is not worth my while mentioning
+it to you," said Mr. Prior thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"An idea about what, sir, if I might make bold to ask?" inquired Nat
+Tyrrell, with curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>"O merely an idea, not at all worth mentioning. Of course it could make
+no possible difference in the end," said Mr. Prior, leading the pony
+towards the carriage.</p>
+
+<p>Nat followed, wondering what in the world had come over Mr. Prior, and
+half disposed to fear it must be a case of sun-stroke.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd be very glad of any advice, sir," he said, by way of testing the
+soundness of Mr. Prior's mind.</p>
+
+<p>"You are not looking out for a new cottage, of course," said Mr. Prior.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed, sir, but I am. You don't happen to know of one, do you, sir?"
+asked Nat, with some eagerness.</p>
+
+<p>"You do not really mean to say you are giving yourself any trouble
+about the matter!" said Mr. Prior in a tone of astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"To be sure, I should just think I was too," said Nat rather
+indignantly. "A pretty thing it would be, if we waited with our hands
+before us till we found ourselves homeless."</p>
+
+<p>Nat suddenly stopped and looked rather foolish, remembering the last
+time he had used that expression. A faint idea of Mr. Prior's meaning
+began to dawn upon his mind.</p>
+
+<p>"So if you don't look out for another cottage, you think that may
+probably be the result," said Mr. Prior.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see what else would be like to happen," Nat answered in a
+subdued tone.</p>
+
+<p>"True, but then, if it were so, it would have been fore-ordained by
+God," said Mr. Prior. "And what is fore-ordained must come to pass."</p>
+
+<p>Nat seemed at a loss what to reply.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, Tyrrell, I am a firm believer in the doctrine of God's
+foreknowledge and pre-ordering of events," continued Mr. Prior. "It
+is told very plainly in the Bible—'He doeth according to His will in
+the army of heaven, and among the inhabitants of the earth, and none
+can stay His hand, or say unto Him, What doest Thou?' And again He
+says, 'I am God, and there is none like me, declaring the end from the
+beginning, and from ancient times the things that are not yet done.'"</p>
+
+<p>"They're wonderful texts, sir. I don't know as I ever saw 'em before,"
+said Nat thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"There are truths in them which cannot for a moment be set aside. Now,
+looking upon the matter in that light, knowing that your future life
+is, as it were, all marked out in the secret mind of God; how can I for
+a moment suppose that 'you' have any freedom or choice as to your own
+actions? How can I in common fairness blame you for doing that which
+it has been fore-ordained from all eternity that you should do? I must
+rather look upon you as the unhappy victim of circumstances, as a mere
+puppet in the hands of a superior Power, with nothing more of praise or
+blame attaching to anything you may do or think, than to the movements
+of a hammer or saw in the hands of a workman. As for believing in
+God's absolute power and fore-ordering of all things, and at the self
+same time treating you as a reasonable creature, worthy of blame or
+praise—why, looking upon the matter in a common-sense light, the thing
+seems simply impossible."</p>
+
+<p>Nat fidgeted uneasily, but did not speak.</p>
+
+<p>"You were saying just now that you had given notice to your landlord
+rather early," Mr. Prior went on. "It sounds imprudent, to be sure.
+But then, poor fellow, no one can dream of laying blame upon you. For
+it was all fore-ordained that you should give notice upon just that
+particular day; and if it was to be, how could you help it? How could
+you possibly have acted otherwise?"</p>
+
+<p>Nat's bronzed cheek took a deeper hue than its wont. "Well, sir, you
+have me there for certain!" he said frankly.</p>
+
+<p>"You say you are looking out for a cottage," continued Mr. Prior, in
+the same deliberate manner. "And it did occur to me that I knew of one
+which might just suit you."</p>
+
+<p>"No! Do you, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"But I have decided that it would be quite useless trouble on my part
+to mention particulars. For if that identical cottage is pre-ordained
+to be your home, it will be your home, whether I tell you about it or
+no. And if it is not pre-ordained to be your home, then no words of
+mine or efforts of yours can make it so. Whatever the result may be,
+one thing is clear, and that is that nobody can be blamed."</p>
+
+<p>"But, sir,—" Nat began, and paused.</p>
+
+<p>"So you see it is a very simple matter, Tyrrell, looking upon it in
+this light. If a chosen home awaits you, that home will in time become
+yours. If you don't look out for one, and find yourself brought down to
+sleeping in the open air, why, it will no doubt be something of a trial
+to you and your family, but you must comfort yourself with the thought
+that all things are pre-ordained by God, and that you,—not being a
+responsible creature,—can be justly blamed by no one."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't seem to me as that 'ud be much of a consolation neither," said
+Nat, rather humbly. "Please, sir, if you wouldn't mind after all
+telling me about that there cottage—"</p>
+
+<p>"It is a very nice cottage," said Mr. Prior. "A particularly nice one,
+Tyrrell. I do most sincerely hope, for your sake, that it may prove to
+be your pre-ordained future home. I should advise you on your return
+this evening to sit quietly down, with your hands before you, and
+patiently await the opening out of events, through which in the course
+of time you will learn exactly what is to happen to you."</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon, sir, but I think I'd be better satisfied, and not
+such a fool neither, if I was to see the landlord, and set the matter
+going,—if you'd be so very good, sir, as to tell me where that cottage
+is," added Nat, growing beseeching.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, now, we will make an agreement. If you will do one thing for me,
+I will tell you what you wish."</p>
+
+<p>"Anything, sir," said Nat eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"I would not promise rashly, if I were you. Of course you fully
+believe, Tyrrell, that all things are fore-ordained by God?"</p>
+
+<p>"Seems clear enough in the Bible about that, sir, any way," said
+Tyrrell.</p>
+
+<p>"And that every event of your future life is in His hands,—that He
+arranges matters, and moves the hearts of men, according to His divine
+will,—that you cannot take one step or lift one finger, unless He gives
+you power,—that nothing in heaven or earth can come about without His
+permission!"</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis all true," Tyrrell answered.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet you seem to think that you have some sort of voice in the
+matter,—that you have a certain freedom of will and a certain liberty
+of action,—that events may be brought about by yourself,—that you might
+be fairly blamed and might justly suffer, from refusing to take certain
+steps which appear to you wise and right."</p>
+
+<p>Tyrrell nodded silently.</p>
+
+<p>"Then, Tyrrell, there lie two great and wonderful truths side by side.
+Will you kindly reconcile them for me? Please to explain to me in clear
+terms, by the light of reason and common-sense, exactly how they both
+exist, and how they work. If you can reach to the bottom of this deep
+mystery of God, which no living man has ever yet fathomed, you shall
+command me to do what you will about the cottage, or any other earthly
+matter."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll have to wait long enough for the cottage, if that has to come
+between," said Nat, in a low voice. "Sir, I never did see the matter in
+that light before, I must confess."</p>
+
+<p>"Nor I neither," said Blayney.</p>
+
+<p>"No, because in every-day practical matters, you put aside theory and
+attend to fact. You 'know' God's power to be boundless, and you pray
+Him to guide you in your way, and He guides you. You 'feel' you are
+free to act, and you act. You don't trouble your head with trying to
+settle exactly how far your own freedom in action may reach, or how far
+God chooses directly to control your mind and the minds of those about
+you. But when you touch upon the question of salvation, you must needs
+perplex your brains by trying to understand what can't be understood,
+and struggling to reconcile truths which God has not given us power to
+reconcile, till you end by putting reason in the place of faith, and
+working yourselves into a perfect maze. It is dangerous work, men."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, I believe you're about right," said Tyrrell soberly. "Maybe
+I've been rash in things I've said."</p>
+
+<p>"As most men are who attempt to get to the bottom of these questions.
+It is like a bather who cannot swim, getting out of his depth in the
+sea. We are mere children, looking upon the outside crust of God's
+great universe. But mystery lies beyond wherever we turn, and deep
+as men fancy themselves able to dig, they still only end in mystery.
+As for saying we won't believe God's truths, just because we cannot
+understand them, that is simply and childishly absurd."</p>
+
+<p>"But a great many deep thinkers do doubt," said Mona involuntarily.</p>
+
+<p>"And a much greater number of shallow ones. The truth is, all these
+questionings are just going off from the simplicity of the Word. God's
+linked commands and promises are very easy to understand. 'Believe,
+and thou shalt be saved.' 'Ask, and ye shall receive.' It is perfectly
+true that you cannot act, or will to act, without grace from above.
+Nevertheless 'act'—don't lie helplessly on the ground—only act, ask,
+believe, and safety is yours."</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis hard to have to make up one's mind one can't understand things,"
+said Nat.</p>
+
+<p>"May be so—to the 'pride of human intellect,' of which we hear so much
+in the present day. But the greatest minds are those which bow most
+meekly before the Word of God, and feel most deeply their own utter
+littleness. There is nothing for these matters but simple trust."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you'd just have us shut our eyes to such difficulties in the
+Bible, sir," said Nat.</p>
+
+<p>"No, certainly not. I would have you neither shut your eyes to them,
+nor shuffle over them in alarm, nor believe one side to the exclusion
+of the other, nor stake your faith upon the power of man to reconcile
+them. Don't be afraid to look the matter in the face, and to confess
+frankly that there are many things which you can't understand, and
+never will understand in this life. Only make a firm stand upon the
+justice, and holiness, and love of God, take each revealed truth as God
+has given it to you, let it lie alone where God has placed it; and be
+content to believe where you cannot see, waiting till fuller sight is
+given to you. For a time will come—and to all of us I trust—when our
+training as children will be over, and these perplexities shall pass
+away, like mist on the mountain-side, in the glorious light of our
+Saviour's unveiled presence."</p>
+
+<p>Then after a short grave silence, Mr. Prior said cheerfully—</p>
+
+<p>"And now, Tyrrell, I am ready to give you all the information in my
+power, about the cottage I have seen."</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image041" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image041.jpg" alt="image041"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image042" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image042.jpg" alt="image042"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_17">CHAPTER XVII.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>A FOG.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>UP on the top of the Dingle.</p>
+
+<p>One after another arrived there, panting more or less with the
+scramble. It was a disappointment that the sun had vanished, and thick
+mists were gathering over the landscape. The children did not so much
+care about the lost scenery, but Madge regretted that Mona could not
+see her favourite view in all its beauty.</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind, Madge. I'll come again some day, and mean time, I must
+take your word for granted," Mona said, as she sat breathlessly on
+a green bank. She had declined to drive up, partly from pity for
+the pony, partly from catching a momentary infection of the general
+enthusiasm, and she was one of the first to reach the top. Her white
+lips now made Madge uneasy.</p>
+
+<p>"You're overdone, Miss Mona, I'm afraid."</p>
+
+<p>"A little tired. No matter. Do you often come here, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>"I used in old days, Miss Mona—when Neill was with me. He and I'd walk
+it, and think nothing of the distance,—for a day's pleasuring, you
+know."</p>
+
+<p>Mona looked into the calm face wistfully. "Madge, do you never feel
+impatient now to hear from him again?"</p>
+
+<p>"The feeling comes,—once in a while," said Madge, plucking a small twig
+of budding May. "I'll hear in right good time, Miss Mona—whether I meet
+him in this life, or not till in the next."</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps she found it a little hard to talk about him, for she moved
+away slowly, and the next instant, a rush of children claimed her
+attention. Hardly ten minutes later, Mr. Prior came up.</p>
+
+<p>"Madge, it won't do to stay here. The fog is coming on fast."</p>
+
+<p>She had been so busy, as not to notice how rapidly the change in the
+weather was taking place, and a passing look of consternation showed in
+her face, when she took a glance round.</p>
+
+<p>"There's nothing for it but to be off as sharp as possible, sir," she
+said. "I never know a fog come on so quick after so bright a day."</p>
+
+<p>"It will be on us completely soon. Call the children, Madge, and keep
+them together. We must get out of the Dingle at once."</p>
+
+<p>A scramble down that rough pathway in a dense fog would be no trifle,
+with so many little ones in the party, and more especially for the pony
+and chaise. Tyrrell and Blayney, remarking on the latter point, advised
+that Mr. Prior should descend to the "Basin" immediately, taking down
+as many of the party as were already at hand. Mr. Prior would trust no
+one but himself at the pony's head.</p>
+
+<p>The fog thickened rapidly during even that brief discussion, and
+wreaths of white smoke-like mist came rolling and curling around them,
+pouring up from the low country round the Dingle. Most of the children,
+being happily near at hand, were despatched at once to scramble after
+the sure-footed little pony, under the guardianship of Ned Blayney and
+his mother. Three only were missing, besides Mona, whom nobody had seen
+since the few words exchanged between herself and Madge. The party had
+scattered so widely over the hill, however, at the first moment of
+arrival, that it was not surprising that all did not at once respond
+to the call, and the two Tyrrells, with Miss Prior and Madge, remained
+behind to hunt up the missing individuals.</p>
+
+<p>With the help of a little shouting, the children were speedily found,
+rather in a state of alarm at having missed their companions in the
+fog. They were at once sent after the rest down the hill under charge
+of Mrs. Tyrrell. Mona, however, was not with them. Nobody seemed to
+know anything about her, and very bitterly poor Madge blamed herself
+for not having paid more regard to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense, Madge; it was the most natural thing in the world," Miss
+Prior said kindly. "We shall come upon her directly."</p>
+
+<p>But as the minutes passed, and the fog grew more dense, and they still
+sought and called, and called and sought in vain, the matter began to
+look more serious.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you all?" in a shout from Mr. Prior, was a welcome sound to
+the searchers. They gathered together, unable to see each other's faces
+at a few yards' distance.</p>
+
+<p>"Not found yet?" he asked. "This is extraordinary!"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't imagine where the poor child can have wandered," said Miss
+Prior. "If she is near, she must hear us calling; and yet surely she
+would not have walked far."</p>
+
+<p>"Tyrrell's gone down the side a good way, to look," said Madge. "But my
+fear is lest she should have slipped somewhere, sir, and maybe stunned
+herself."</p>
+
+<p>It was the fear of all of them—that or worse. Why otherwise should she
+not answer?</p>
+
+<p>"I trust not," he said. "But she can hardly have gone far in any case.
+She would never have left the hill."</p>
+
+<p>They separated to search again more thoroughly,—Miss Prior, as a
+stranger to the ground, being left upon the summit, in case of Mona
+appearing there.</p>
+
+<p>About ten minutes more of fruitless effort passed away. Then Madge and
+Mr. Prior meeting unexpectedly, stopped to speak together, and broke
+off with a simultaneous exclamation.</p>
+
+<p>"Madge!"</p>
+
+<p>"Sir!—What's that?"</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image043" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image043.jpg" alt="image043"></figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>"She's asleep, sir," Madge said, in utter amazement.</b><br>
+<b>"It's enough to give her her death of cold."</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Six steps, and they had found her,—quietly lying on the ground, with
+her eyes closed, and her hand under her cheek, and her black dress
+spreading over the grass. Their first impression was that she must have
+received some injury, their second, that no fall was possible in that
+spot. She had chosen the softest of flat mossy ground, with not a rock
+near.</p>
+
+<p>"She's asleep, sir," Madge said, in utter amazement. "It's enough to
+give her her death of cold. Miss Mona, dear—do wake up now."</p>
+
+<p>"It is not natural sleep, surely," said Mr. Prior, in an uneasy tone.
+"Mona, my dear child, you must not lie here."</p>
+
+<p>She sat up wearily, in answer to their efforts, and then leant against
+Madge Hardwicke.</p>
+
+<p>"O do let me rest a little longer—so early—and my head aches," she
+muttered drowsily.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Mona, dear, you're not in bed. You're up here, on the top of the
+hill; and you've got to come down the Dingle as quick as can be."</p>
+
+<p>Mona opened her eyes more fully, and gazed round in bewilderment. "The
+Dingle!" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you know where you are?" asked Mr. Prior.</p>
+
+<p>"It's the fog confuses her," said Madge. "Isn't it, Miss Mona? You
+didn't think you'd wake up, and find the Dingle all misty, like this,
+did you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh—fog—I see," said Mona, in a more natural voice. "How stupid of me!
+I thought I must be going blind at the first moment. What makes it so
+foggy?"</p>
+
+<p>"It comes on sometimes like that," said Madge. "Do you feel better now,
+Miss Mona? Can you walk down the hill?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I must have been asleep," said Mona, standing up. "How could I be
+so absurd! Why, Madge—"</p>
+
+<p>"What made you go to sleep, Mona?" asked Mr. Prior, making her lean
+upon him, as they moved towards the path, while Madge went to relieve
+the minds of the other searchers.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," said Mona, looking ashamed. "I think I felt dull and
+giddy, so I just lay down for a minute on the grass, to see if it would
+do me good. And the next thing I remember is, that I fancied I was
+being called in the morning to get up."</p>
+
+<p>"You had a sound sleep at all events. Not a very safe sort of a couch
+to choose, though."</p>
+
+<p>"No; it was stupid of me," said Mona languidly, for the exertion of
+walking was bringing back the feeling of sick giddiness which had
+assailed her before.</p>
+
+<p>She had not much to say to Miss Prior, who came up the next instant,
+full of relief and curiosity, and rather disposed to scold playfully,
+till Mona's white lips stopped her.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid your grassy siesta hasn't been a very refreshing one," she
+said. "Poor child! It's of no use for you to try to walk fast. I'll go
+on, and tell them all that you are found, and get the children packed
+into the break. We had better be off as quickly as possible now. What a
+fog it is, to be sure!"</p>
+
+<p>"It seems an unfortunate sort of ending to your bright day, Madge,"
+said Mr. Prior.</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't mind anything else, if Miss Mona was well," said Madge.</p>
+
+<p>But Mona looked up with a smile and said, "O, I shall be all right,
+Madge—only sleep made me feel heavy. I have had a headache for two or
+three days past. The scrambling brought it on worse, I suppose,—but it
+isn't anything to signify."</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image044" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image044.jpg" alt="image044"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image045" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image045.jpg" alt="image045"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_18">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>THE DRIVE HOME.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>THEY found that Mrs. Prior had been moved into the back seat of the
+chaise, where she sat with Miss Prior and Georgie, leaving the front
+for Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"What, is she to be under my charge?" asked Mr. Prior. "Not quite fit
+for a turn at the reins to-day, I think, Mona."</p>
+
+<p>"I should be sorry to drive in this fog," said Mona, as she took her
+seat. "And I wish Mrs. Prior had not moved on my account."</p>
+
+<p>"Better, Mona?" asked Miss Prior from behind. "Come, you must wrap up
+well, or we shall have you taking cold. Here is another shawl."</p>
+
+<p>She looked so much more comfortable, leaning back in the easy front
+seat, that Madge went off to the break in a tolerably satisfied frame
+of mind,—far better satisfied than Mr. Prior, who had a certain secret
+source of disquietude, about which Madge was ignorant. He allowed
+nothing of his disquietude to appear, however.</p>
+
+<p>Driving through the dense fog was no easy matter. They were in danger
+now and then of running up a bank, or down into a ditch. The break was
+at first near ahead, and the children's voices floated back merrily,
+but the sounds grew gradually fainter as the distance widened, till
+at length they died away. And presently, a white light began to shine
+through the fog, and the dense curtain changed again into masses of
+curling rolls and waves.</p>
+
+<p>"It will clear off now," said Mr. Prior. "Ha! That was quite a
+sunlight-gleam."</p>
+
+<p>"It was curious your saying something about mists to the men," observed
+Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"Did I? Yes, I remember. The Dingle valley is famous for them, which
+may have suggested the idea to me,—not that I expected to find myself
+in the midst of one so soon."</p>
+
+<p>"It seems getting clearer now," said Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"There is sunshine coming before long." And then with a half-smile
+he added, "There are other mists also, Mona, which the sun alone can
+disperse, and that another and a more radiant Sun than this of ours."</p>
+
+<p>Conversation on different matters followed, and as the afternoon grew
+fairer, the drive home proved a more pleasant one than they had looked
+for. Mona was the silent individual of the party, but the others
+supposed her grave looks to arise from fatigue, and did not disturb
+her. They were not far from Alyn, and the occupants of the back seat
+were busily talking together, when Mr. Prior, after seeming for a while
+as thoughtful as Mona herself, remarked,—</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid your day has not been a very agreeable one after all."</p>
+
+<p>"O yes, indeed it has," said Mona, starting. "At least, I am very glad
+I went, and heard your talk with the men."</p>
+
+<p>"What conclusion have you come to in the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think—I have been—very foolish lately," she said, with some effort.</p>
+
+<p>"'Thou knowest my foolishness,'" was the answer to this.</p>
+
+<p>"Only it is hard not to be troubled by these questions sometimes."</p>
+
+<p>"'Neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high
+for me.' David was a wise man."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Mr. Prior—"</p>
+
+<p>And then a pause.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" said Mr. Prior, as they passed under a low-bending larch, the
+boughs of which swept close over their heads.</p>
+
+<p>"It seems as if one never got to the end of puzzles."</p>
+
+<p>"You never will in this life. As I told you this afternoon,—go where
+you will, you still only end in mystery. It cannot be otherwise, with
+our present powers."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Mr. Prior—"</p>
+
+<p>"What is the difficulty now?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"The heathen—" she said slowly. "What of them?"</p>
+
+<p>"As the Lord wills," he answered gravely.</p>
+
+<p>"But—doesn't it seem strange that there should be all those millions,
+who never had the choice given them of believing or not believing?"</p>
+
+<p>"You remind me of a story I once heard. A man was cavilling at the
+text,—'Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated.' Why was it? What
+reason had God for doing so? 'I can tell you,' said his friend. 'Can
+you? Why?' '"Because He chose,"' was the answer. That is answer enough
+for you and me. Whatever He wills, from first to last, is righteous and
+holy and good."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes,—I see—I know—I don't want to cavil," she said hurriedly. "But do
+you think—must they all perish?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can tell you no more than the Bible tells me. For your comfort
+remember,—'He that knew not and did commit things worthy of stripes,
+shall be beaten with few stripes.'"</p>
+
+<p>Mona was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"You had better study the early part of the second of Romans, with
+reference to this subject,—not forgetting that the Gentiles were
+the heathen of St. Paul's day. You will find there mention of 'the
+righteous judgment of God, WHO WILL RENDER TO EVERY MAN ACCORDING TO
+HIS DEEDS,'—whether Jew or Gentile—'indignation and wrath, tribulation
+and anguish, upon every soul of man that doeth evil,' but 'glory,
+honour, and peace to every man that worketh good.' In Revelation, we
+find again that the dead are to be 'judged, every man "according to
+their works."' Natural justice itself asks no more than this which
+God's Word declares."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Prior, the heathen don't know God's will. They can't."</p>
+
+<p>"Then, disobeying unknowingly, they will have the punishment of 'few
+stripes.' Remember too,—'These, having not the law, are a law unto
+themselves; which shew the work of the law written in their hearts,
+their conscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts the mean
+while accusing or else excusing one another.' Has a heathen no sense of
+doing right or doing wrong? Whatever perplexes you in this matter, you
+may always come back restfully to the plain and simple justice of the
+promise, that God 'will render to every man according to his deeds.'"</p>
+
+<p>For some minutes, Mona thought over his words.</p>
+
+<p>"But there is no other way to heaven," she said, as if carrying on a
+train of ideas. "I mean—except Christ."</p>
+
+<p>"No other. Whether Jew or Gentile—whether babe or man—whether under law
+or under Gospel—none find acceptance with God save through the Son."</p>
+
+<p>"Then how—then why—But I cannot understand," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"There is no need that you should. 'The secret things belong unto the
+Lord our God,' and we cannot meddle in them without suffering hurt.
+This is a question about which very little has been told us. A man once
+went to Archbishop Whately, with his head full of some such perplexity,
+anxious to get the opinion of so learned a man. Whately sent him to
+find his answer in our Saviour's words,—'What is that to thee? Follow
+thou Me!'"</p>
+
+<p>"Is it wrong to wish to know more?" asked Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't give the reins to your wish. A child cannot understand all his
+father's actions or motives for action, and strong curiosity may become
+an impertinence on his part."</p>
+
+<p>Then, after a break,—</p>
+
+<p>"There is a more practical light in which to view this matter. The
+command has been given,—'Go ye into all the world, and preach the
+Gospel to every creature.' The real question is not, as men put it, Why
+doesn't God Christianise the heathen? But,—Why don't 'we' do all in our
+power to call lost souls into the flock of God?"</p>
+
+<p>Through the last wreaths of fading mist, he pointed to a field by the
+road-side.</p>
+
+<p>"Look there, Mona. God has given into our hands the task of seed-sowing
+in the material world, and He has given it into our hands in the
+spiritual world also. Every blade of wheat springs up just as He has
+fore-ordained that it should. But none the less certainly, in a field
+amply sown, you may fairly reckon upon a more or less ample harvest;
+while in a field scantily sown, a miracle alone could bring forth more
+than a scanty harvest."</p>
+
+<p>"No,—I understand that," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Paul planted, Apollos watered, God gave the increase. If Paul had not
+planted, nor Apollos watered, God would not have given the increase.
+Take a lesson from that field. You have precisely the same right to
+cavil at the dealings of God, in not converting the heathen nations as
+a body, as every farmer in the land has to cavil at the dealings of God
+in not bringing up a miraculous harvest of wheat, without requiring him
+first to sow the seed."</p>
+
+<p>He let her have a minute to think it over, and then said gently, "Are
+you doing your utmost to save poor lost souls for whom the Saviour
+died?"</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head. "What, Mona! When He has given His precious life
+for you, and suffered untold agony, to save men from eternal death,
+you will not even give your time to telling others of the price He
+paid! You are content to sit with folded hands, calmly criticising your
+Maker's will, in not saving you further trouble by a miracle, which in
+His wisdom He does not see fit to work."</p>
+
+<p>He had said enough now, and he knew it, though her downcast face was
+turned away.</p>
+
+<p>She answered presently in a stifled voice, "Thank you, Mr. Prior."</p>
+
+<p>"And as for these questionings," he said quietly—"'What I do thou
+knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter,' 'Ye shall know that
+I have not done without cause all that I have done in it, saith
+the Lord God.' Put your trust in such promises, and rest upon the
+loving-kindness of the Lord. It is only for a little while,—only a
+little longer of child-like faith without sight,—and then all mist and
+darkness shall pass away for ever."</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later, they were passing up the hill, and stopped short
+at the garden-gate of the doctor's house.</p>
+
+<p>"Better now?" Mr. Prior asked, as he handed her out. "You would not
+like my sister to go in, and see after you?"</p>
+
+<p>"O no, thank you. There is the housekeeper, if I need anything, and
+uncle Chetwynd will be back directly," said Mona. "I shall try to get a
+good night's rest. That is what I want."</p>
+
+<p>"So I hope,"—though he did not like the look of her flushed cheeks.
+"You are going to be a good child, and not lie awake, troubling your
+head with these matters any more."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll try not," she said rather faintly, as she went up the garden-path
+beside him. "Only—I have been so wrong—"</p>
+
+<p>"Just the mistake of a little child, trying to pry into matters
+beyond his understanding. Don't do it any more. The Master knows your
+weakness, and He is 'very pitiful, and of tender mercy.' Put yourself
+back at His feet, dear child, and don't let these things stand again in
+the way of your peace."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you; good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>She could not have said more without bursting into tears, and hastened
+away as she spoke.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Prior only lingered to inquire, "Is Mr. Chetwynd at home?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know when he will return?"</p>
+
+<p>"He didn't say particular, sir, as to the hour. He said he'd maybe look
+in upon the Rectory, and see if you was all back, and that might make
+him later."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Prior went thoughtfully down the garden-path. "If I can catch
+Chetwynd, I shall give him a warning," he said, as he resumed the
+reins. "Mona is very far from well."</p>
+
+<p>"Just a headache from the sun," said Miss Prior. "And I should not
+wonder if lying on the grass in that fashion were to give her a chill."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall be glad if things are no worse. I find she has been visiting
+in Wall's Alley, where there have been six cases of fever lately,—has
+seen a child sickening for it."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't say so! Did she not know of the fever there?"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe Mr. Chetwynd has a theory that girls are apt to catch fever
+through sheer nervousness, and therefore it is best to keep them in
+ignorance of particular cases. I hope this may prove to be nothing—but—"</p>
+
+<p>They all felt that it was indeed a "but."</p>
+
+<p>Mona, meanwhile, had gone up to her own room, merely telling the
+servant, as she passed, that she was tired and meant to go to bed, and
+would ring if she wanted anything. But the first thing she did when
+there was to take off hat and jacket, and throw herself down on her
+knees beside the bed. Too sick and weary for the exertion of steady
+thought, she did not so much pray in words, as feel herself only so
+utterly self-abased and worthless, that no other attitude seemed
+endurable. And though no connected petitions were on her lips or in
+her mind, yet the mere act of casting herself there in helpless lowly
+dependence upon her Lord, was in itself the very essence of prayer.</p>
+
+<p>But an hour later, when Mr. Chetwynd came home, she had not risen. He
+had been made anxious by a word of warning from Mr. Prior, and came to
+the door to inquire if she were ill. All his tapping failed to obtain
+an answer.</p>
+
+<p>She heard him dimly indeed, as she would have heard some far distant
+sound, but the power to reply seemed to have forsaken her.</p>
+
+<p>He came in at length, and lifted her up, and laid her on the bed, with
+his hand pressing her burning forehead.</p>
+
+<p>And then she knew he was asking a question—something—what was it?</p>
+
+<p>"I can't talk, my head aches so," she tried to say. But other words
+than the ones she wanted came to her lips, and she knew by his face of
+concern that she was speaking utter nonsense. "I don't know what I am
+talking about! What makes me feel so strange?" she strove to ask.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, hush, darling; don't say that! Don't you know me, Mona?"</p>
+
+<p>She was aware again that she had not said what she wished. And when she
+would fain have answered, "Uncle Chetwynd," the only words she could
+speak were, "Mother! I do so want mother's sweet cool hand."</p>
+
+<p>"Hartly shall come and put you to bed," said Mr. Chetwynd, and Mona
+acquiesced.</p>
+
+<p>But when the undressing was done, and he stood again by her side, she
+murmured confusedly—</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't said my prayers."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor child! Yes; you were kneeling down when I came in."</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't pray. Will He mind? He knows all. Won't He forgive me?"</p>
+
+<p>What could Mr. Chetwynd say? This was no time for sneer or scorn. She
+turned her shining restless eyes full upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"No, you don't believe it; you don't know. Oh, it has been dreadful.
+But He is tender and pitiful—tender and pitiful. Mother, say me the
+rest?"</p>
+
+<p>What would not Mr. Chetwynd have given at that moment for power to
+repeat the whole verse, whatever it might be!</p>
+
+<p>"I want to hear it all. I think I have forgotten it lately. Prying into
+matters too hard for me. But Jesus knows my foolishness, doesn't He?—So
+foolish and ignorant. He is tender and pitiful. Don't you think He will
+forgive me, though I could not ask Him rightly?"</p>
+
+<p>And Mr. Chetwynd started at the sound of his own voice, saying
+steadily, "Yes, I am sure of it, Mona."</p>
+
+<p>But what if he had spoken a truer word then than for many a year past?</p>
+
+<p>All through the long hours of the night he watched by the side of the
+fever-stricken girl. The look of deep care which came and settled down
+upon his face, was the same as that with which he had summoned Madge
+Hardwicke on the morning of the fatal railway accident.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image046" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image046.jpg" alt="image046"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image047" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image047.jpg" alt="image047"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_19">CHAPTER XIX.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>A BLOW.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"FATHER, it's been just the nicest day I ever had in all my life,"
+cried little Nannie eagerly, as she rushed into the cottage; and it
+was a rare thing for Nannie to have spirits to rush anywhere. "Such
+games down in the Dingle, all of us together, and—oh! father, only
+think—there was Mr. Prior and all of 'em in the carriage, with a real
+great hamper of things for all of us to eat. And we had such fun on the
+grass. O father, it's been just beautiful."</p>
+
+<p>"Nasty foggy sort o' day," growled Amos.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but the fog didn't last long, did it, father? I think 'twas all
+the more fun driving home, when we couldn't see our way. And d'you know
+they lost the pretty young lady for ever so long, and found her asleep
+on the grass, 'cause Madge told me."</p>
+
+<p>"Yer can hold yer clack," said Amos ungraciously, not being of a
+sympathising turn of mind. He did not like to think of the provisions
+which she had had, and he had missed.</p>
+
+<p>"And the parson made me a beautiful basket out of the peel of my
+orange," pursued Nannie, too happy to repress her delight at a moment's
+notice.</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't cost him nothin'," said Amos.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! But he's as kind—as kind—" repeated Nannie. "And the lady that's
+come to the Rectory played some games with us, and then we all went up
+the Dingle."</p>
+
+<p>A grunt was the response. Nannie's excitement was fast cooling. She
+gave one little patient sigh, as she lighted the tallow dip in the
+disjointed tin candlestick, thereby revealing a small sombre room of
+generally musty scent and comfortless aspect. Amos had chosen to close
+the rickety shutter before her arrival, thus cutting off the last
+remains of twilight. What a contrast to the Dingle, with its green
+carpet spreading out in the sunshine.</p>
+
+<p>Nannie felt sobered all at once—hardly knowing why. She talked no more
+of the day's pleasure, but quietly took out her Testament, and began to
+learn her next Sunday-school lesson—a text and part of a hymn printed
+upon a small leaflet. But Amos interposed.</p>
+
+<p>"I say—"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, father."</p>
+
+<p>"Yer can stop that now."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm only learning for Sunday-school," said Nannie timidly.</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't ageing to have ye wastin' candles over that sort o' work. Get
+away to bed."</p>
+
+<p>Nannie knew that remonstrance would be useless. She closed her
+Testament, and put it away quietly. And then, by a sudden impulse, she
+crept close up to his side. Such an unattractive repellent old man—the
+marvel was that she cared for him at all. And yet she loved him.</p>
+
+<p>"Father—" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell ye, yer can get to bed," said Amos, jerking his thumb in the
+direction of Nannie's sleeping apartment.</p>
+
+<p>"Mayn't I say one thing first?" asked Nannie, with a little heart which
+fluttered and yet was brave.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't care!" said Amos surlily.</p>
+
+<p>"Father, I ain't sure as you'll like it," said Nannie. "But I've
+been thinking ever so about you to-day,—and I've prayed you may
+love God,—but I'm so feared every morning that maybe it's the
+Resurrection-Day, and if you don't make haste, you won't be in time.
+I'd want the Day to come, but for that. O father—please!"</p>
+
+<p>The little upturned face was touching in its humility. She had no
+thought of setting him right, or of interfering in matters which did
+not concern her. It was only that she was so anxious and frightened for
+him, that she could not help trying a few beseeching words.</p>
+
+<p>But Amos Ackman was not in a state of mind to bear them patiently.
+Nannie received no answer in speech. His right arm and leg were thrust
+out sharply at the same moment, towards the slight figure of the little
+girl beside him. Not that he meant to hurt her. It was just a momentary
+outbreak of his crusty vicious temper. The candle was struck down and
+extinguished, and Nannie was flung away—somewhere—he did not know
+where, only he heard the sound of her heavy fall.</p>
+
+<p>A fall, and then silence. Not a moan or a murmur broke in upon that
+stillness. A pin-fall would have sounded distinctly through the room.
+How dark it was! Only a glimmer of departing twilight crept in through
+the loosely-shuttered window. Amos did so wish he had not put up the
+shutter that evening. But he did not dare to go and remove it. He did
+not dare to lift a finger. He did not dare to leave his seat, for if he
+moved, he must needs go and see after little Nannie.</p>
+
+<p>And the thought of that was dreadful to him. Amos Ackman was a
+coward at heart. He remembered the words Madge Hardwicke had once
+uttered,—"Thank God He's kept you from being a downright murderer."</p>
+
+<p>Was he a murderer now? Nannie was lying somewhere on the floor in that
+small room—lying dead! Amos felt quite sure on that point. He had no
+doubt at all about the matter. The force of his own blow, as it had
+come back to his ears, and the sound of her heavy helpless fall, and
+the silence following, all told the same tale. Nannie was surely dead.</p>
+
+<p>And he was her murderer! It was her own father's arm which had struck
+the brutal coward-blow. Her own father, whom little Nannie had always
+loved so well. What a gentle little girl she had been to him for years
+past, and especially of late! She had borne his rough usage with such
+patience and fortitude, clinging to him so tenderly through all. How
+bitterly he had seen her cry over his harsh treatment of her, and yet
+how ready she had been in the very midst of her tears to run and do his
+bidding.</p>
+
+<p>And "his" arm had struck the blow. It came over him all at once, what
+a strange and terrible sight that little room would present to any one
+looking in. He pictured it to himself vividly, as he sat staring into
+the darkness, with drops coming thickly out upon his clammy face. The
+broken wooden dresser on one side, with two mugs and three cracked blue
+plates upon it. And the rickety round table in the middle. And the
+two chairs, one having lost a leg, and the other having lost half its
+back. And the old battered saucepan hanging up upon the wall, and the
+blackened pipe upon the narrow mantel-shelf, and the dirty stew pan
+lying down below in the fender among the cold embers. And the figure
+of the wretched bent old man, cowering and shaking on his three-legged
+stool. And the lifeless form of the little child, lying upon the floor.</p>
+
+<p>Amos saw it all in his mind, and he was glad that he had put up the
+shutter after all. There was a sort of shelter in the darkness. He
+felt that nobody could possibly look in and see what had taken place.
+By-and-by, as daylight dawned, people would come and find out all,
+and Amos would be dragged away to prison, and had up before the
+magistrates, and then—why, then, if they did not contrive to bring him
+in as insane, which Amos felt quite sure was not the truth, he knew
+the alternative. It was very dreadful to think of all these things as
+coming upon him, but still now—just now—he felt relieved to know that
+nobody could look in through the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>Nobody! What of ONE.</p>
+
+<p>Amos started and shuddered. For happening to glance up, his eye was
+caught by the steady shining of one brilliant star—a planet rather, but
+it was all the same to Amos—the beams of which came through a hole in
+the closed shutter, straight to where he sat.</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"The eyes of the Lord are in every place beholding the evil and the
+good."<br>
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"The darkness hideth not from Thee, but the night shineth as the day;
+the darkness and the light are both alike to Thee."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>Where had he heard those fearful words? What was there in the shining
+of that star to bring them to his mind? Were those the verses little
+Nannie had been conning over so busily in her low clear tones the
+previous Sunday evening? He had listened a minute or two, and then had
+struck her book angrily out of her hand, and sent her off supperless
+to bed. He had little thought those words would ever come back to
+him—words he had learnt at his own mother's knee in early boyhood, and
+had long since forgotten. And here they were in strong living power
+ringing in his ears.</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"The eyes of the Lord are in every place."<br>
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"The darkness and the light are both alike to Thee!"<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>Then His Eyes were there, beholding the little room and all it
+contained. Darkness could make no difference. Darkness was clear as
+noonday to those all-seeing Eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Amos could not stand the radiance of that star. He pushed his stool a
+little on one side, so that he was not able to see it. But he wanted to
+know soon if it were still there, so he pushed his stool back again.
+And next he wanted to know if the star were shining on the spot where
+Nannie lay. He half rose from his seat to go and see, and then he was
+afraid, and sat down again.</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"The wicked flee when no man pursueth, but the righteous are bold as
+a lion."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>What had brought "that" into his head now? He did not remember hearing
+Nannie say it. Possibly he had, however, and that was how it had come
+back to him. It was too bad. Amos hated having those texts ringing
+in his cars. He would take care Nannie should go no more to the
+Sunday-school, and then she would not pester him with them. No, nor to
+Madge Hardwicke's either. Nannie should stay at home and be busy. He
+would have no more nonsense.</p>
+
+<p>Nannie stay at home! Nannie not go to the Sunday-school! Why, he had
+forgotten! What could he be thinking about? If Nannie were dead, what
+had she to do any more with Sunday-school or Madge?</p>
+
+<p>Amos groaned, and let his face drop down in his bony hands. He had
+nobody to help him. He thought how Madge Hardwicke would pray if she
+were in trouble, but he knew nothing of prayer. He had scorned all
+notion of religion. Prayer was a foreign language to him altogether.
+Nobody to help him now. Nobody to love him ever again. Nat Tyrrell
+would never speak to him after this, and Nat Tyrrell was his only
+friend. He had dashed aside the love of the one frail little creature,
+who had held to him so steadfastly. And now—nothing was left to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Father!"</p>
+
+<p>A cold touch came upon his hand in the dark. Amos started back
+violently in his fear. The old ignorant superstitious man did not think
+it was Nannie herself come to see him, in the poor little body which he
+had used so badly, but something of a spirit form—something dreadful,
+unnatural, terrible. He was ready to believe anything that night.</p>
+
+<p>It was Nannie's own little voice, however, which said again—</p>
+
+<p>"Father." And then, as she felt how he shook and trembled before her,
+she added, "What's the matter, father?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Taint Nannie, sure," said Amos hoarsely. "I—I wish yer 'd get along."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, father, don't you know me?" asked Nannie. "I couldn't think what
+you was after, when I got up, and saw you sitting there."</p>
+
+<p>For early dawn was stealing in through the closed shutters, and the
+long night-hours had passed away somehow. Amos did not know how. He
+never would know. He might have lived through ten years, or only ten
+minutes, since the evening before. It was all the same to him. He could
+have believed either assertion.</p>
+
+<p>Nannie went and opened the closed shutters with her little feeble
+hands, which had not much of even their usual strength in them this
+morning. Then she came back again, and for the first time he ventured
+to look at her.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd been thinkin' I'd killed you outright, Nan," he muttered. "I ain't
+agoin' to knock you down again, though,—and I didn't mean to then,
+neither."</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you do it, father, even if I speak to you about the Lord Jesus
+once in awhile?" asked little Nannie, true even in her pain and
+weakness to her constant aim, as the needle to the pole.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll let yer say what yer likes," returned Amos. "Be you very bad,
+Nan?"</p>
+
+<p>Nannie's white drooping face looked up with a brave smile. "I'll be
+better soon, father. I'll go and lie down a bit, 'cause I'm so tired.
+But we ain't going to tell nobody about to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"They'd have me took up an' punished, sure enough, if 'twas known,"
+said Amos in fear.</p>
+
+<p>"No, nobody ain't to know," repeated Nannie. "I think I've been
+stunned, you know, but I'll be better by-and-by. And you're going to
+love me now, ain't you, please?"</p>
+
+<p>She leant against him feebly. "I've been a bad father to yer, Nannie, I
+have," he said self-reproachfully.</p>
+
+<p>And then, with a gentle kiss—the first she had dared to give him for
+a long while past—she walked away and laid herself down on the little
+palliasse which formed her bed. And Nannie probably knew scarcely
+better than did Amos himself that the long unconsciousness which
+followed was not sleep, but alternate fainting and stupor. Poor little
+Nannie! She had no one to help her in her need, so she only lay in
+patient meek endurance.</p>
+
+<p>Somewhere about nine o'clock Madge Hardwicke came to the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Amos—up, are you?" she said. "Where's Nannie?"</p>
+
+<p>"Asleep, an' you'd best leave her," said Amos, not caring that the two
+should meet sooner than was needful.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe the little lass is tired with yesterday. 'Twas something new for
+her, and she don't look well neither of late. Tell her from me, will
+you, Amos, that I'm called off down in the town, and maybe won't be
+back a good many days."</p>
+
+<p>Amos concealed his satisfaction. "What's the matter? Doctor wants yer,
+eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Clyde's down with the fever. Will you give a truthful message for
+me, Amos? Tell Nannie she's to pray. Poor young lady. I doubt me but
+it's a bad case, and the doctor's nigh heart-broken already."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll give yer message," said Amos, anxious to have her gone.</p>
+
+<p>And Madge withdrew, marvelling much what could have made him so unlike
+himself.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image048" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image048.jpg" alt="image048"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image049" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image049.jpg" alt="image049"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_20">CHAPTER XX.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>SUNSET CLOUDS.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>A BEAM of setting sunlight came slanting through the lattice-window of
+Nannie's tiny bedroom, and fell athwart her palliasse. She was lying
+there as she had taken to doing lately, not undressed, but just resting
+patiently, with one little thin hand folded over the other, and her
+wistful eyes travelling to and fro over the bare walls and cobwebbed
+ceiling. The gleam of red light brought a sudden look of pleasure into
+her face.</p>
+
+<p>"O it's pretty. Father, ain't it pretty?"</p>
+
+<p>"Eh, Nan? Did yer call?" asked Amos, shuffling in hurriedly, in his
+uncouth fashion.</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't that a pretty bit of sunlight, father?"</p>
+
+<p>Amos looked hard without discovering any particular beauty, but
+said,—"Sure, yes, 'tis,"—in uncertain tones, wishing to humour her.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't it seem long since Madge went down into the town?" said Nannie
+with a sigh, as a tinge of deeper crimson crept into the red.</p>
+
+<p>"Fortnight to-day," said Amos.</p>
+
+<p>"And the pretty young lady is just as ill as ever," said Nannie
+sorrowfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't know as she ain't better this afternoon, but Tyrrell he
+telled me this mornin' that the doctors said if the fever didn't turn
+soon, as how she'd die."</p>
+
+<p>"Madge said I was to pray, didn't she?" said Nannie, putting the same
+question which she had put twenty times before in the last fortnight.</p>
+
+<p>Amos nodded. He could feel no possible doubt now that he had delivered
+Madge Hardwicke's message faithfully.</p>
+
+<p>"But maybe it 'ud be better for her, if she wasn't to get well," said
+Nannie thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>Amos did not feel himself called upon to hazard an opinion in the
+matter. He waited a moment, and then, finding that she did not speak
+again, went back to his bench. Nannie rose, and followed him out slowly.</p>
+
+<p>"Eh, Nan,—so here yer are," said Amos, looking up. "Seems yer pickin'
+up again."</p>
+
+<p>Nannie smiled thought she did not acquiesce in words. "Will you have me
+read to you, father?"</p>
+
+<p>Amos could not refuse. She had fallen into the habit of reading a
+chapter aloud to him, morning and evening, and though he never troubled
+himself to listen particularly, he rather liked the sound of her voice.
+It gave him a lulled sensation which was akin to repose, and therefore
+agreeable.</p>
+
+<p>So the little brown Testament came out, and Nannie read on for a while,
+in her soft monotonous tones.</p>
+
+<p>Amos worked steadily, and heard in a certain fashion, without paying
+any close attention. When there came a pause, he looked up, and said,—</p>
+
+<p>"Yer a clever Nan to read so pretty,—that's what yer be."</p>
+
+<p>"Father, ain't the words beautiful?" said Nannie wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure, yes," said Amos rather uneasily, for he had not the remotest
+idea what they had been about.</p>
+
+<p>"O father, I wish you cared," said Nannie sadly. "It don't seem to be
+nothing to you. And I'd sooner have you love God, than anything else in
+all the world."</p>
+
+<p>The red gleams of sunlight faded away, as the sun dipped down behind
+the horizon-line of the clear blue water,—not behind West Point at this
+time of the year. The dark headland shone like burnished armour in the
+yellow glow, till the evening shade crept over its brightness, and left
+it gray and cold again. But the clouds were torn about in fantastic
+shapes of wildest beauty; and every pyramid, peak, and mountain, up in
+that watery land, was tinged or deeply dyed with crimson and purple
+and gold. The very air seemed filled with a rich pervading red, and
+Nannie's little white cheeks looked almost healthy for once, as she sat
+there, with her eyes fixed on the wondrous view before her.</p>
+
+<p>"Father," she said suddenly,—"don't you think it'll be like that when
+He comes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Eh?" said Amos, looking down at Nannie.</p>
+
+<p>"He'll come in the clouds of heaven, you know," said Nannie softly.
+"The Lord Jesus, father. He'll come riding in the clouds, with
+thousands and thousands all in shining white coming after Him. O
+father, I'd like so to hear the trumpet, and to see Him,—if only I just
+knowed you'd be caught up with me to meet Him."</p>
+
+<p>"Caught up?" said Ackman. She was talking a foreign language to poor
+old Amos.</p>
+
+<p>"Up in the air," said Nannie, her face shining as if it had caught a
+reflection of the western sky. "All that's loved Him, you know, father.
+He'll call up first them that's died, out of their graves, and then
+all of us that's alive—we'll go up, up, through the air to meet Him.
+And He'll make us beautiful like He is,—all in one moment. And oh,
+father,—think how He'll smile!"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't know," said Amos slowly, looking subdued. "Seems to me He
+wouldn't do aught but frown on me, Nan, for nigh a-murderin' of you."</p>
+
+<p>"O father! But He's died for you too, and He loves you," said little
+Nannie confidently. "And He'll put His Spirit into your heart, if you
+ask Him, and then you'll be quite different."</p>
+
+<p>"Need be, sure enough," said Amos. "Why, Nan, I'd be awful feared to
+see all you're a-telling me of." Something in the child's earnest face
+and manner brought it home to the old man's heart, as it had never come
+home before. His bony hands shook nervously, and his deep-set eyes
+peered up at the clouds, as if he almost expected there and then to see
+an avenging angel's sword flash forth through the radiant air.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe now, father, 'cause you don't know the Lord Jesus," said Nannie
+gently. "I'd a deal of fear once too. I used to think dying in a bed
+all quiet wouldn't be half so bad. It seemed to me as if the great
+trumpet 'ud sound so awful—and then the bright light, and the ground
+shaking, and Him coming in such glory, with the clouds and the angels,
+and all the white shining and dazzling,—I was ever so feared to think
+of it all."</p>
+
+<p>"When you was naughty?" demanded Amos, with a glance towards his own
+troubled conscience.</p>
+
+<p>"Why—yes, father; and pretty near always that was too. It used to
+seem to me as if I was so small and poor, that maybe among such a
+lot as He'd have to catch up into glory, I'd just be forgotten and
+left behind. But I know a deal better now. The Lord Jesus forget!
+Why, father," and Nannie smiled a bright, almost amused smile,—"why,
+father, 'twas the strangest thought ever anybody had, to think He could
+'forget,' after dying for me."</p>
+
+<p>Amos looked at her in wonder. How came this little child to know so
+much, when he, an old man of many long and weary years, knew so little?</p>
+
+<p>"And then I'll have the mark in my forehead, Madge says, for the angels
+to know me," Nannie went on. "Maybe they'd know without, that the Lord
+Jesus loved me, but that 'll make it all as sure as can be. And then,
+you know, father, I don't see how I'll be able to be frightened, 'cause
+it won't be a strange dreadful Judge coming, like He'll be to some
+people, but only just my own Lord Jesus, that's loved me such a while.
+I couldn't be frightened to see Him, could I? And Parson says He smiles
+so on the little children. But,—oh, father, I'd be so happy if I didn't
+be afraid He wouldn't be able to smile on you, 'cause you won't come to
+Him now."</p>
+
+<p>And Nannie put her head down on her father's knee, and burst into
+tears. Old Amos was strangely moved. He could not bear to see Nannie's
+distress, and he shrank in terror from the thought of what might come
+upon himself. How could he, poor miserable old man, stained darkly
+through and through with the unwashed sins of over three-score years,
+dare to meet the Face of Kingly glory, for which little Nannie so
+eagerly waited?</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know nothin', Nan, but I'll do what you tells me," he said
+brokenly. "Maybe your Lord Jesus wouldn't mind if I was to ask Him to
+put me right somehow; only I don't know how, Nan. I be an awful wicked
+old fellow, Nan."</p>
+
+<p>"We'll come right in, and ask Him now, father," said Nannie, rising up
+and pulling at his sleeve.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image050" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image050.jpg" alt="image050"></figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>"Father!" A cold touch came upon his hand in the dark.</b><br>
+<b>Amos started back violently in his fear.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Amos was fain to follow her, though with a half-bewildered look. He was
+too stiff himself to kneel, but he let little Nannie kneel beside him,
+and plead in her simple earnest language, that "God would have mercy
+on poor father, and send His Holy Spirit into father's heart, and wash
+away all his sins in Jesus Christ's blood." And then Nannie looked up
+and whispered, "Just say after me, father,—'For Jesus Christ's sake,
+Amen;' 'cause that 'll mean you really wants it ever so."</p>
+
+<p>"For Jesus Christ's sake, Amen," repeated Amos slowly, like one
+stumbling out a few syllables in an unknown tongue. "Sure enough, an' I
+do want it too. But I say, I don't feel different yet, like you said I
+would be."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but it'll come," said Nannie gently. "We'll go on asking till it
+does."</p>
+
+<p>Then Nannie kissed him, as she had often done of late, and went away to
+her own room.</p>
+
+<p>Amos crept after her in a little while, hardly knowing why, and found
+her lying there in the twilight, with her hands folded together, and
+her eyes looking up to the rough rafters overhead.</p>
+
+<p>"What are yer a-seeing, Nan?" he asked half fearfully. Something in her
+face gave him a strange feeling of uneasiness, for which he could not
+account to himself.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm only thinkin', father, how I'd like to hear the angels' song
+to-night," said Nannie, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Wish yer wouldn't talk like that," said Amos, fidgeting.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, father,—they're singin' about you!" said Nannie.</p>
+
+<p>Amos gave a startled look up and around, as if he expected to catch
+an echo of the wondrous chorus. But the fretting of a bough against
+the cottage-roof was the only sound which came to his ears; and rather
+relieved, though disappointed, he said, "Yer a-dreaming, Nan; I don't
+hear nothin'."</p>
+
+<p>"They're singing," said Nannie quietly; "'cause the Bible says so,
+father. Leastways, it says there's joy among the angels, you know,
+soon's ever anybody turns to God."</p>
+
+<p>Amos did not know anything about it, but he only asked, rather
+fearfully, "Do you hear them, Nan?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, father; not yet awhile," said Nannie. "Maybe I will soon."</p>
+
+<p>And then she shut her eyes, and went peacefully off to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>But Amos stood looking at her for some minutes, thinking how changed
+she had grown of late. He wished Madge Hardwicke would come home, and
+tell him whether she needed anything doing to her. She seemed to have
+faded into such a white frail shadow of a child these last few days.
+She never complained of pain, and only lay about because she was "so
+tired." But somehow, Amos could not overcome the impression that all
+was not quite right with her.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image051" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image051.jpg" alt="image051"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image052" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image052.jpg" alt="image052"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_21">CHAPTER XXI.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>"O THOU OF LITTLE FAITH."</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>THROUGH fourteen weary days and nights Mona had tossed and murmured
+ceaselessly, in burning fever and delirium. And then came the
+longed-for sleep, quieting down the throbbing pulses, and hushing the
+wearing pain. For hours she lay in that deep heaven-sent repose, while
+the flush faded from her check, and the look of suffering from her brow.</p>
+
+<p>Just when little Nannie was enjoying the bright western colouring, and
+when Madge, in her silent watch, had noticed how even the dim sick-room
+was gaining a reflection of the outer glow, there came for the first
+time some words in a clear and natural though feeble voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Madge, what makes the air so full of red?"</p>
+
+<p>It had been "mother" instead of Madge, during the last fortnight, and
+in truth not even Mona's own mother could have nursed her with more
+devoted tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>"It's the sunset, Miss Mona," Madge said gently, while her heart beat
+fast with joyful relief.</p>
+
+<p>A glass of pale liquid on the table awaited this moment of first
+awakening. It was given and taken, and then Mona said drowsily, "I
+should like to see the shining on the water."</p>
+
+<p>She was asleep again before Madge needed to answer, and through the
+two nights and days following, the same calm slumber lasted. They
+could scarcely rouse her at intervals sufficiently to receive needful
+nourishment. Fair and pale as a snow-drop she lay there, with one white
+cheek resting lightly on her wasted hand. And the somewhat oppressed
+and troubled look, which had been visible in her first sleep, was
+exchanged now for an expression of such complete repose, that Madge
+bent many a time over the bed, to listen anxiously for the calm
+breathing which never failed to reassure her.</p>
+
+<p>Nearly forty-eight hours had elapsed since the red sunset, when Mona
+showed symptoms at length of fairly waking up. Mr. Chetwynd was out,
+but the ever-watchful Madge was at hand with proper nourishment,
+delicately prepared and served. Mona seemed ready to take any amount,
+but she obeyed when told she had had enough, and only said, "Come and
+sit down beside me."</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you go to sleep again, Miss Mona?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not sleepy—I am wide awake. Madge, have I been very ill?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but thank God, you're better now, Miss Mona."</p>
+
+<p>A sigh answered her. Madge kept silence, but Mona was evidently in a
+talking mood, for she soon began again—</p>
+
+<p>"I can't remember things clearly. I wish I could. It seems to me as if
+the last clear thing was that drive from the Dingle."</p>
+
+<p>"You were taken ill that very evening, Miss Mona; and Mr. Prior's been
+twice a day since to ask after you, and has prayed many a time by your
+bedside."</p>
+
+<p>"Has he? I am glad," said Mona involuntarily. "But—uncle Chetwynd—"</p>
+
+<p>"He never spoke a word against it, Miss Mona, though he held back from
+joining."</p>
+
+<p>"Madge—have I talked a great deal?" asked Mona suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>"Pretty well, Miss Mona. But I wouldn't begin thinking and speaking
+about all that now, if I was you. It's bad for your head. You'd better
+rest."</p>
+
+<p>"No—I have had rest—I am better now. I wish you would come here and sit
+close beside me. I want to tell you something."</p>
+
+<p>Madge changed her position at once, putting aside her work, and letting
+Mona's head rest upon her arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that is nice. Mother used to do just so, last time I was ill.
+I've seen her so often lately, Madge—not really of course, but—O
+Madge—do you think—"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear Miss Mona."</p>
+
+<p>"Am I wrong?" whispered Mona. "I did think I was going home to
+mother—and I can't be glad now."</p>
+
+<p>Madge's cool fingers were passed lightly over her brow.</p>
+
+<p>"It's best to be willing to wait the Master's own time, Miss Mona."</p>
+
+<p>"I think it is hard not to wish," said Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe the Lord 'll have you wait, dear Miss Mona, till it's Himself
+and not your mother that makes the glory and joy of your heaven."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but it is—it is that too," said Mona quickly. "Not enough, I
+know—but I have learnt more of Him now than I knew before."</p>
+
+<p>Then, after a little break, during which Madge expected that something
+else was coming—"I want to tell you a sort of dream I had."</p>
+
+<p>"Wouldn't it be better to wait till you're stronger, Miss Mona?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I am not tired. It will do me good to talk." She spoke so quietly
+and firmly, that Madge fancied it might be so indeed, and did not
+oppose her.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know when it was, or whether I was wandering or asleep, Madge.
+I have had so many fancies and dreams that I get puzzled among them,
+only this was quite different from all the rest. I thought I was out
+alone in a little boat on the sea—such a wild rough sea. The great
+waves were rising and falling, and flinging their spray all over me,
+and breaking up against one another in the mad sort of way they do out
+beyond the Point on a stormy day. It was such spray, and the mist was
+so thick, that I was half-blinded, and so tired and cold and sad, that
+I seemed to have no strength to row. Just as I have often felt. And all
+sorts of dreadful thoughts and feelings of doubt kept rising up, and I
+had no power to conquer them.</p>
+
+<p>"And all at once I saw a dark gloomy figure coming towards me over
+across the water—softly, slowly, with such an awful stillness, and long
+black robes sweeping down into the waves, which seemed to lull before
+him as he came. Madge, you don't know how frightened I was. For I knew
+I could not escape. I knew quite well that what I saw was the Angel of
+Death, coming to take me. I had not been afraid of death in my illness
+before that, but now in the midst of doubt, and thick mist, and dashing
+waves, it seemed terrible. And there was the bright sword gleaming
+in his hand in the moonlight, and his face was all muffled up, but I
+knew how stern it must be behind. And he never moved faster, but came
+slowly, slowly and steadily on, straight towards me, with the waves all
+still beneath his feet, but dashing more wildly than ever round me.
+Madge, do you see it all as I saw it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm thinking I do, Miss Mona."</p>
+
+<p>"He came closer and closer, and I knew I had no way of escape. It was
+quite hopeless. And I think gave one shriek of fear, as the hem of
+the dark heavy robe first touched me—so heavy and cold it felt. But
+then—then—oh, Madge!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Miss Mona, dear."</p>
+
+<p>"Madge, if you could have seen as I did. He threw aside slowly,
+quietly, the dark cloak, and underneath was all one glory of dazzling
+kingly garments. And the shining sword, as I had thought it, was only a
+sceptre. And He let me see His face, which had been covered up—and oh,
+Madge, it was Himself!—my Lord! And I knew then that the Death-Angel
+was no stranger, but my own Master who loved me, and who had come, as
+I thought, to take me home. Madge, I wish He had. I wanted so to go.
+And the way He took me up in His arms, and held me, and smiled down on
+me, with a smile so sweet and bright that I could scarcely face it,—I
+don't know how I bore at that moment to think how I had doubted Him,
+and dared to question His doings. And the next thing was that I found
+myself down at His feet, clinging there, and trying to sob out a prayer
+for forgiveness—"</p>
+
+<p>Mona was crying so that she could scarcely speak. "No, let me go on,"
+she said, when Madge would have interposed. "I must tell you, and it
+won't hurt me. You don't know how terrible it was to me to think of the
+last few months—and it seemed as if I remembered everything clearly at
+that moment. And I knew He knew it too—and I dreaded even then that
+His anger might be coming. But instead of anger, He only said in the
+gentlest, tenderest tone of reproach—'O thou of little faith, wherefore
+didst thou doubt?'"</p>
+
+<p>"And He does say it to each one of us," murmured Madge. "He's every bit
+the same now as in Peter's days."</p>
+
+<p>"I knew it meant forgiveness," said Mona. "And I thought He was going
+to take me up, and carry me away with Him. For the mist had cleared off
+in His presence, and I could catch a glimpse of glory shining over the
+mountains in the distance. And I knew that my Home lay beyond, and that
+mother was there too. But He only laid His hand on my head, and said
+still more sweetly—'My grace is sufficient for thee, for My strength is
+made perfect in weakness.' And then when I looked up, He was gone, and
+the mist had disappeared, and the water was still, so I just lay down
+in my boat, and went to sleep. And the next time I woke up, I found
+myself in bed, with a strange red look in the air, and you beside me. I
+knew then that I was getting well. O Madge, was it all a dream, or did
+I see Him really?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Twas a word of comfort sent to your heart, anyway, Miss Mona. I'd
+take it so, and doubt no more."</p>
+
+<p>"And you don't think I am wrong to wish I were safe out of all the
+fighting?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe a little wanting in courage, dear Miss Mona. I do think the Lord
+likes us to want to be with Him, and to see His glory. But it wouldn't
+do neither in a battle, if all the soldiers were crying out that they
+were so tired of fighting, they wanted to go straight home and rest.
+I don't know how ever the victory would be won. I think the Captain
+would say—'Fight on, my lads, and conquer first, and then 'll come your
+rest.' And the Master has a right to look for us to be willing and glad
+to do His work, so long as He has work He wants us to do. Home 'll be
+all the happier after, for the waiting."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you ever feel impatient?" asked Mona.</p>
+
+<p>"I've three sorts of feelings about it, Miss Mona. One is, I've a wish
+to stay here just as long as my Master wills I should. Another is, I've
+a deal of longing to see His Face. Another is, I can't help thinking
+how now's the very last time through all Eternity that I'll be able
+to show Him my love, by bearing pain and trouble for His sake. There
+'ll be service and praise in Heaven, but there 'll be no showing of
+patience, under pain and sorrow, to honour His Name. I don't know as
+I'd wish to have it over-much shortened, though I'll be right glad too,
+when the day comes to go Home. But 'tis sweet to be waiting and bearing
+for Him now."</p>
+
+<p>"I never thought of that," said Mona. "And I have borne so little for
+His sake, and hardly worked for Him at all. Madge, I think you have
+made me glad that He has not taken me away just yet."</p>
+
+<p>And Mona fell asleep again, with her head on Madge Hardwicke's arm,
+and a smile upon her lips. She did not know how Madge sat there, and
+prayed that she might be kept by the "Keeper of Israel" through all the
+dangers and difficulties of her future Homeward journey.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image053" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image053.jpg" alt="image053"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image054" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image054.jpg" alt="image054"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_22">CHAPTER XXII.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>WARNING.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"MADGE, she is wonderfully better," said the doctor one evening, two or
+three days later. He had called Madge into his study, for some purpose
+unknown to herself, leaving the housekeeper in charge of Mona, and had
+bidden her take a seat. There was a small fire in the grate, and the
+doctor's fingers were turning up the lamp-wick.</p>
+
+<p>"She is getting on marvellously,—seems to have no end of capacities for
+sleeping and eating. Poor little Mona! I hardly thought at one time
+that we should pull her through."</p>
+
+<p>Madge was silent. The doctor brought his attention to bear upon her
+somewhat curiously, wondering what thoughts might belying beneath those
+intent gray eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"The fact is, your care and splendid nursing have saved her, Madge,
+as they have saved many a patient of mine before to-day. But I never
+thanked you so heartily as now."</p>
+
+<p>Silence still, and there was a troubled look on Madge Hardwicke's face.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you thinking about?" the doctor asked, with a puzzled air.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm thinking, sir, that I'd sooner you hadn't begun with all them kind
+words to me," said Madge quietly, "for I'd a thing I wanted to say to
+you, as wouldn't sound so kind back again."</p>
+
+<p>"You!" said the doctor, opening his eyes. "You're mysterious to-night.
+I've a thing to say to you too. But you shall have your turn first. By
+the bye, you don't mean anything about Miss Mona,—any fresh symptoms?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. I think she is getting on as well as need be."</p>
+
+<p>"All right. I don't mind anything else. What is it, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>Madge looked thoughtfully into the fire for a minute, during which he
+watched her rather comically. There were tears shining in her eyes,
+when she turned and faced him.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, all through the last fortnight you and I've been many a time
+together by Miss Mona's side, and heard the poor lamb's mutterings and
+ravings. And though I've said no word to you, nor you to me, we both
+know well what 'twas all about."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd nodded. He had not expected this, and did not quite know
+how to meet what he guessed was coming.</p>
+
+<p>"And you know, sir,—maybe a deal better than I do, for all she's
+said,—what it was that brought her so much misery."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor little lassie!" he said, with would-be lightness. "Come, I
+acknowledge that I have been rather reckless in my remarks before her.
+Will that content you, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>She passed over the last question as if it had not been spoken.
+"Sir, it's a deal more than that. It's Satan's own work you've been
+after,—going and putting your doubts and unbelief into the hearts of
+those whom the Lord would fain have to be peaceful and happy. It's the
+work of Satan that you've taken up,—and oh, sir, you'll find him one
+day a hard and bitter taskmaster, letting alone the judgments of the
+Lord Himself upon those who dare to meddle in His work."</p>
+
+<p>She spoke solemnly, yet with a strange sort of compassionate longing,
+as if it were rather for his sake than for Mona's that the words were
+uttered. The doctor positively could not find it in his heart to be
+angry, though he told himself that he ought.</p>
+
+<p>"You are hard upon me, Madge," he said. "Are rational men never to
+admit a doubt, where doubts exist?"</p>
+
+<p>"There's two sorts of doubtings, sir. I've nought of blame for them of
+the Master's weaker disciples, who are tempest-tossed, and buffeted
+about by Satan's temptations. I tell 'em only to fight and trust on,
+and in the end He'll bring them through. But there's another sort of
+doubting, that's just a cool pulling to pieces of God's Word, and
+upsetting this, and denying that,—and a deal of it only from a man's
+love of showing his own cleverness. The Lord has one word for all
+such,—'He that believeth not God hath made Him a liar.' It's a plain
+word, sir,—and it's a plain and fearful answer He'll have for all such
+in time to come."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, come, don't be unmerciful, Madge," said the doctor, speaking
+lightly still, though somewhat annoyed. "I'm not one of those folks who
+would throw over the Bible by any means. Don't I go to Church every
+Sunday of my life, and hear it read,—most devoutly I assure you? I look
+upon it as a highly valuable and useful volume in every sense, and
+couldn't do without it at all. Why, Madge, don't you know I have family
+prayers?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir. But the Bible you couldn't do without, sir, is a piecemeal
+Bible of your own, and not God's Word as He has given it to us. Like as
+if I was ill, and you were to give me a prescription to make me well,
+and I was to say,—'No, I'll leave out this and that, lest they're a
+mistake, and have the rest made up, and take it,'—and then was to blame
+you for not curing me, if I found myself dying for want of the right
+treatment! It wouldn't be 'your' prescription at all that I'd followed,
+if I didn't take the whole."</p>
+
+<p>"You're too clever a woman by half, Madge!" said the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>Madge always held to a straightforward course in conversation, and was
+not to be turned aside. "Sir, you know well enough I'm a poor ignorant
+woman, and haven't half your learning. But maybe there are things in
+the hidden life, which I have learnt afore you."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, perhaps I shall learn them too some day," said the doctor,
+hoping to silence her. "Come, I know what you are driving at. I'll
+promise you to guard my words most carefully for the future, in Miss
+Mona's presence. I see the thing won't do. Why, you might have the
+common-sense to know I should do it, for the sake of her health alone.
+She will be unequal to any agitation for a long while to come. Are you
+satisfied now?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd looked at her in surprise. "Not! What next?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've no right to say more," Madge answered sorrowfully. "Save that
+you're always so kind to me, I wouldn't dare to venture. But 'tis that
+very kindness makes it harder to bear, to see you hanging over a great
+gulf, and maybe any moment to go down—down—for ever."</p>
+
+<p>He positively gave a half-shiver, and then laughed. "Madge, you really
+are preposterous. But don't think I'm angry. This isn't the first
+attempt you have made, at converting me to your own views."</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis the Bible views, not mine, that I'd see you converted to, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Madge, haven't I just been telling you that I do read the Bible,
+and value it too?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe you do, sir. I've nought to say against that. But you might go
+a deal farther in the way of reading and valuing, and yet be no nearer
+heaven."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Madge, come,—what right have you to say I'm not so near as you
+are yourself?" asked the doctor, somewhat nettled.</p>
+
+<p>"There's but one road to eternal life, sir," Madge answered. "It is not
+reading the Bible, but believing what's written, which takes a man to
+heaven."</p>
+
+<p>"'I' don't disbelieve the Bible, Madge," said the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't believe it, sir, if you please."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Go on, Madge; I see you
+are determined to have your say, and I owe you too much to grumble."</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, I've no thought to take advantage of that, and I would grieve to
+be of a meddlesome or judging spirit," said Madge gently. "But maybe
+you'll let me put a question to you."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd nodded permission, and waited.</p>
+
+<p>Madge did not speak in a hurry; it was not her way.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, you say you believe the Bible—or leastways, you say you don't
+disbelieve it, which isn't at all the same thing. But will you please
+tell me, or tell yourself—it don't matter which—what 'do' you believe
+in the Bible, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>The question came very calmly and softly. It sounded so simple that he
+smiled at first and said, "To be sure I will; let me think a moment."</p>
+
+<p>But when he came to consider, he found the matter not quite so easy.
+Those gray eyes opposite, watching and waiting, disturbed the current
+of his thoughts. It was more easy to generalise than to descend to
+particulars. He ran over a few ideas in his mind, but could at such
+short notice discover no satisfactory answer. He had set up a very
+comfortable little religion of his own, founded upon certain doctrinal
+theories, most of which he vaguely believed were to be found in the
+Bible. Only there were undoubtedly a good many other things to be found
+there as well, which certainly would not square with the said private
+theological system of his own, and which, therefore, in plain terms, he
+did not believe.</p>
+
+<p>"It is getting late, Madge," he said, with some impatience in his tone.
+"Hardly time to enter upon a discussion on that point to-night, I
+think. At all events, I believe a good many things which you believe,
+and possibly some which you don't. Is your conscience satisfied now?"</p>
+
+<p>The last words were pleasantly uttered. Madge rose obediently, but
+lingered still for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't to satisfy my conscience, sir, that I've spoken, but because
+I couldn't hold in any longer; and I've said little now that I'd like
+to say. Maybe you'll think it over, when you've spare time, and see how
+the Bible is the Word of God Himself, and how, if you do believe it,
+you can't go right against its plain teaching. Maybe you'll remember,
+sir, that there's no middle way for any man, and a half-and-half belief
+is as bad as no belief at all."</p>
+
+<p>"And what if I do not believe the Bible, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>The question came involuntarily. He had not meant to ask it.</p>
+
+<p>The answer was in a tone of deep compassion.</p>
+
+<p>"Then, sir, there's nothing left to you—no hope, no pardon, no Saviour,
+no heaven! You're just a lone and helpless soul, standing apart from
+God for ever."</p>
+
+<p>"Madge, that same Bible tells us, 'God is love'—a God of mercy."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, sir," Madge answered, "and 'our God is a consuming fire'—a God of
+justice. You've got to put the two together, as Mr. Prior would tell
+you. God is love, sure enough, but if His love don't come down to you
+through Jesus Christ His Son, it's little you have to hope for from it.
+And if you don't believe the Word of God, how are you to believe in Him
+of whom the Word all through teaches us?"</p>
+
+<p>She had done now, and moved quietly towards the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Madge," he said, with a little nod, much in his usual
+fashion. "Many thanks for your kind intentions, you know. Tell Miss
+Mona I am coming in directly, to say good night."</p>
+
+<p>"I will, sir; and thank you for letting me speak."</p>
+
+<p>She disappeared with her noiseless step, and the doctor sat for a
+minute with bent brows, thinking over the past half-hour. "Pshaw! What
+is it to me? We all have our own opinions, and Madge has hers with a
+vengeance. Common-sense enough in every-day matters, but quite a 'tête
+exaltée' about religion. Couldn't refuse, of course, to let her speak,
+after her devotion to Mona; but the thing is done now, and having
+relieved her conscience, I suppose she will be content to leave me in
+peace for awhile."</p>
+
+<p>Rather hastily he started up, leaving his lamp burning still upon the
+table, and went to Mona's room.</p>
+
+<p>Madge let him in, without look or sign of consciousness respecting
+the conversation just ended, and he gave her in passing a careless
+little nod, which conveyed condescending forgiveness for anything of
+presumption on her part. Madge received it meekly, and followed him
+towards the bed.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, my dear—getting on all right?"</p>
+
+<p>She put out her hand in welcome. "Madge, I wish you would get me a
+glass of fresh water while uncle is here, and bring it back when he
+goes."</p>
+
+<p>Madge moved off obediently, aware from the manner rather than the words
+that Mona wanted a few minutes alone with her uncle.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd noticed nothing of the kind. He had his finger on Mona's
+wrist.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you fluttering about now, my dear?" he asked, looking keenly
+at her.</p>
+
+<p>She stretched the other hand across, and brought out a little Bible
+from under the bedclothes. "Uncle, I haven't had my reading this
+evening. Won't you read me a few verses?"</p>
+
+<p>"I!" said Mr. Chetwynd. "Isn't that Madge's business?"</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you, for once?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, I really think that is more in her line than mine. I always
+do say it is a pity she could not be a clergyman."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not jesting," said Mona gently. "I should like it so much. You
+have never read to me all the time I have been ill. Won't you, uncle?"</p>
+
+<p>The doctor began to feel rather irritated. "I say, do you know what
+Madge and I have been talking about?" he asked involuntarily.</p>
+
+<p>Mona's surprised look was answer enough. "No,—what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, nothing of consequence; never mind. I was only thinking of a
+curious instance of the doctrine of coincidences," said Mr. Chetwynd.</p>
+
+<p>And Mona wondered whether Madge could by any possibility have made a
+like request, but decided against the supposition.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said the doctor, after a moment's watching of her face, "shall
+I summon Madge and say good night?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not sleepy," said Mona. "You don't always go off in such a hurry.
+Uncle Chetwynd—"</p>
+
+<p>"Some big thoughts troubling this small brain, eh?" asked Mr. Chetwynd.
+"Come, come, you must be a child a little longer, my dear, or you'll
+have quite a disfiguring dent on that smooth forehead."</p>
+
+<p>"I am too old to be ever a child again," said Mona. "But I am quite
+happy now, and I shall be—if—"</p>
+
+<p>"If what?"</p>
+
+<p>"If you will let me,"—and tears rushed to her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>At it again! The doctor's prominent sensation, which was happily of
+care for Mona, barely sufficed to cover his secondary sensation of
+personal aggravation. And this time he really had something of hurt
+feeling as well.</p>
+
+<p>"I let you! My dear child, don't you know yet that you are dearer to me
+than all the rest of the world put together?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know," she said, with trembling lips. "I know you would do anything
+for me—almost anything—and you are as kind as kind can be, except—"</p>
+
+<p>"Except when I am cruel."</p>
+
+<p>He wanted to turn it off lightly, but she answered unexpectedly by a
+faltering—"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Cruel, am I, eh?" said the doctor, rather displeased.</p>
+
+<p>"Only in one thing," she murmured, clasping her hands. "O uncle, you
+didn't think,—but if you knew how dreadful it was all those months—"</p>
+
+<p>"Come, come, my dear, you are excited this evening. What was so
+dreadful?"</p>
+
+<p>"To lose everything—everything," she said slowly, yet with somewhat of
+passionate energy in the low voice. "To lose all faith and hope—all
+hold upon my Saviour—to stand outside in the black darkness, feeling
+that the light was gone from me, and it might be, was gone for ever."</p>
+
+<p>"Mona, I always most conscientiously avoided arguments with you on
+disputed points," he said gravely.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you did, and that was the worst of all, I think. If you had
+even argued, I could have tried to answer, and I might have gone to
+friends to ask what to say. That would have been bad enough, but this
+was worse. There was nothing to take hold of, only those terrible
+things—little things—which you used to say just in passing. And they
+seemed to take hold of me, and shut me in, till I could only feel that
+I was helpless, just drifting farther and farther away from God."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Mona, my dear child, you have been brooding over these ideas,
+till you fancy them ten times worse than they ever were," said the
+doctor, in a tone of expostulation.</p>
+
+<p>"Worse!" She raised herself to a sitting posture, with a gleam in her
+eyes. "You don't know, uncle. I'll tell you what it was like. I used
+to feel that I was standing on the very edge of a slippery precipice,
+leaning over and looking down, and so giddy that I could scarcely keep
+my footing. And I had not only no power to draw back, but I had almost
+left off wishing to draw back, though sometimes I had a glimpse of the
+danger I was in. I think it was a sort of dreadful fascination. And it
+was you who led me there."</p>
+
+<p>"Not intentionally, Mona."</p>
+
+<p>"It was you," she repeated, with unsteady lips. "Thank God, He did not
+let you send me over. But I had gone so far—that at one time—it almost
+seemed—as if nothing could ever draw me back."</p>
+
+<p>He did not choose that Mona should see how closely her words had
+touched him, and only said: "Am I forgiven now?"</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't forgiveness—I don't feel like that about it," she said
+hurriedly. "Only—oh, uncle, if you go and do the same to others, it may
+be they will not be stopped in time, and then their death will be upon
+you."</p>
+
+<p>As with Madge, so here, anxiety for himself came strongly out. She
+caught his hand and held it tightly, with tears in her eyes. "You are
+always so good and kind to me,—like a father," she half whispered. "I
+can't bear to say such things to you. But it frightens me to think that
+all might come over again,—with others, if not with me too. I am very
+weak, and words like that take such hold, even though I know at the
+time they are not true."</p>
+
+<p>"You shall not hear them from me again," he said. "Will that content
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>She looked up wistfully without speaking. He did not choose to wait for
+anything more.</p>
+
+<p>"There, then, that will do. Go to sleep now, like a good child, and
+don't worry your head any more with such matters. I'll send Madge to
+you at once."</p>
+
+<p>"And you don't mind what I have said?" she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>"Invalids are privileged people. Good night, my dear. Shut your eyes,
+and don't think about anything until morning comes."</p>
+
+<p>He gave her a kiss—kinder than usual, if that were possible—felt her
+pulse once more, patted her hand smilingly, and walked away to summon
+Madge.</p>
+
+<p>Mona did as she was told, and went quietly off to sleep.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image055" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image055.jpg" alt="image055"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image056" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image056.jpg" alt="image056"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_23">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>THE WISDOM OF THE WISE.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>BUT Mr. Chetwynd sat long in his study, gazing into the fire, and
+playing with a glass letter-weight upon the table. Somehow he could
+not easily shake off the impression of the double warning which he
+had so singularly received. It was evidently a mere coincidence, and
+quite undesigned, though very probably the result on both sides of some
+conversation upon the subject that afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>And the two coming thus closely together—the warning of Madge
+Hardwicke, the simple-minded strong-hearted cottager; and the warning
+of Mona, his gentle niece—had left an impression behind. It was a
+confused impression at first. A good deal of annoyance, and a good
+deal of hurt feeling, were mingled with some genuine reproaches of
+conscience. The words of Madge alone, or of Mona alone, might scarcely
+have sufficed to do so much, but coming together, they had shaken
+him out of his usual self-satisfied composure. He found there would
+be small likelihood of sleep, till he had come to some sort of an
+understanding with himself. So he sat still, and thought the matter out.</p>
+
+<p>Mona had said some hard things to him—that slight young creature, whom
+he had regarded as scarcely more than a child. If he had ever soberly
+considered the matter, he would have supposed her to be quite incapable
+of entering into the real meaning of such remarks, as those in which
+he had often indulged himself before her. He little knew the dormant
+capacities for speculation in the mind of many such a girl as Mona.</p>
+
+<p>And "he" had led her to the precipice-edge! And "his" words had done
+the mischief! And "he" had been the source of pain and misery to the
+child of his lost and only sister. Why, he would have given his very
+life to save hers any day. And yet—</p>
+
+<p>Amos Ackman had narrowly escaped becoming the murderer of his child.
+But he had had no power, in all his sullen anger, to touch the life
+enshrined within that little frail body. Mr. Chetwynd, it might be, had
+narrowly escaped guilt of a still more awful dye—even the death of the
+soul of one who was to him as a child of his own!</p>
+
+<p>He did not know of the crimson stain, which the old man on the hill
+had so nearly gained. But Mona's words had brought dimly before him
+something of what he himself had well-nigh done.</p>
+
+<p>"It was the work of Satan that he had taken up,—Satan, a hard and
+bitter taskmaster,—letting alone the judgments of the Lord Himself
+on those who should meddle in His work!" What! He—the scientific
+intellectual trusted physician, the clever well-informed leading man in
+Alyn—he a servant of Satan! The words stared him boldly in the face. He
+would not meet them, and turned away—only to find others starting up in
+their place.</p>
+
+<p>"It was you who led me there! Thank God, He did not let you send me
+over! And if you should do the same to others,—" Why, he had done the
+same to others, scores of times. A day never passed that he did not
+indulge himself in some light sneer or cutting sarcasm upon religious
+questions. Was every word thus uttered indeed a drop of poison allowed
+to fall, for which future account must be rendered at the bar of the
+eternal God? Would lost souls be verily laid to his charge—souls which
+but for him might have attained to the joys of heaven?</p>
+
+<p>"Stuff. Nonsense!" he said petulantly. "One would think I had caught a
+reflection of Madge's notions to-night!"</p>
+
+<p>But what if these things were not nonsense? What if he himself stood
+in the black darkness, of which Mona had spoken in such low-voiced
+horror,—if he had stood there so long that he knew not what it was even
+to wish for light?</p>
+
+<p>One after another these questions came to him, in much the same
+speculative fashion in which questions did come to him, by mere force
+of habit and bias of mind, at all times. But he could not now, as on
+other days, shake them lightly aside.</p>
+
+<p>What if he did not believe the Bible to be the Word of God? Could he in
+very truth say that he did? Then—"No hope! No pardon! No Saviour! No
+heaven!"</p>
+
+<p>So Madge had assured him! But who was Madge to dare to speak such words
+to him? What right had she, a poor ignorant cottager, to stamp him as
+a man in such awful case? A desolate helpless creature, standing apart
+from God for ever! He to be thus!</p>
+
+<p>Apart from God! Why, that there was a God he knew full well. His
+doubtings were at least the doubtings of a man of sense as well as
+intellect,—not the mad dreamings of a clever fool. He literally had too
+much of common every-day manly sense, to give in to shallow theories
+of atoms developing themselves into worlds, or of a universe somehow
+sprouting up spontaneously out of nothing. He had some sort of vague
+belief in the Bible, taken generally—only he had always insisted upon
+holding in his own hand the scales of judgment, that he might retain or
+reject each separate doctrine, according as it suited or opposed his
+private notions of truth.</p>
+
+<p>And here had this woman come in, breaking down his calm security,
+dashing aside his proud serenity, and telling him boldly, face to
+face—albeit with all meekness—that no such middle course lay open to
+him, that he must either believe or not believe, that he must either
+accept, with implicit faith, the Word, and the Saviour of whom the
+Word testified, or find himself cut off from God and heaven for ever.
+"All Scripture is given by inspiration of God." There lay a hard rock
+against which to stumble.</p>
+
+<p>"What 'do' you believe in the Bible?" The gentle question came back
+and back to him persistently. What did he believe? What did he? Half
+unconsciously, he found himself searching for an answer,—seeking into
+his own belief as he had never honestly sought before.</p>
+
+<p>How about the power of prayer? No doctrine is more closely interwoven
+with the very texture of the Bible, than that of prayer and its
+workings. But Mr. Chetwynd had simply disbelieved it altogether.</p>
+
+<p>How about the fallen condition of man, and Christ Jesus as the only
+hope of salvation? No doctrines in the Bible stand out with more sharp
+and decided outline. But Mr. Chetwynd had rejected all notion of man's
+degradation; and while not denying the great fact of the death of
+Christ, he had had most hazy ideas respecting the necessity for any
+such sacrifice.</p>
+
+<p>How about the hidden spiritual life? No Bible doctrine is more full in
+its development than this. Mr. Chetwynd had sneered at its professed
+experiences, professed lofty superiority to its weaknesses, despised
+its faith, and discredited its very existence.</p>
+
+<p>If these things were true, where was he in his captious standing apart
+from God? If not—?</p>
+
+<p>"He that believeth not God hath made Him a liar." These things were
+plainly written in the Word of the living God. If he did not believe
+them, "then" he believed not God; "then" he made God even as a liar;
+"then" there remained to himself—what? Again Madge Hardwicke's words
+rang mournfully in his ears: "No hope! No pardon! No Saviour! No
+heaven!"</p>
+
+<p>"Anything rather than that!" he murmured. And he rose and took down his
+mother's Bible, unused for many years. He had a dim impression of the
+last time he had ever stood at her knee, and of her making him spell
+aloud to her a few verses in the First Epistle to the Corinthians.
+Like a man revisiting a garden, seen long before, and wandering
+instinctively to one remembered corner,—for notwithstanding all Mr.
+Chetwynd's church-going, family prayers, general knowledge of Biblical
+doctrines, and special knowledge of popular cavils, the Bible had been
+with him for years a neglected book,—he turned to that same Epistle. He
+began glancing through it slowly, as he sat there, with the lamp-light
+falling on his bent and troubled brow.</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"It is written, I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring
+to nothing the understanding of the prudent."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>Was that meant for him? Was he one of "the wise?"</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>He stopped there again, and another verse, learnt in early boyhood,
+flashed across his mind:—</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I thank Thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because Thou hast
+hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto
+babes."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>He thought of little Nannie—of Madge Hardwicke—of Mona. How he had
+looked down upon them, in his conscious intellectual superiority! Was
+it in very truth that God Himself had veiled these matters of mighty
+import from him, in his pride of earthly learning, while revealing deep
+mysteries of love and grace to the simple-hearted women and children?
+Mr. Chetwynd had been wise and prudent in his generation; but these
+things had been hidden from him; so that he, hearing of them, yet in
+his blindness seeing them not, had deemed their very existence but a
+fable.</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Not many wise—not many noble—are called."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>"Not many." But, thank God, it does not say, "Not any." He thought of
+Mr. Prior. Madge Hardwicke all untaught in worldly lore, and Mr. Prior,
+with whose strong intellect Mr. Chetwynd would scarcely have cared to
+measure his own, met here upon the same level. With the one, indeed,
+was to be found the spirit of deep research, and a full knowledge of
+historical and critical evidences; while the other knew and cared
+little for evidences beyond her own practical knowledge of the life
+and truth and peace which she had found in her Bible. But alike they
+entered the Kingdom of Heaven, alike receiving the teaching of the Word
+with the simple loving trust of little children.</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Let no man deceive himself. If any man among you seemeth to be wise
+in this world, let him become a fool, that he may be wise. For the wisdom
+of this world is foolishness with God. For it is written, He taketh the
+wise in their own craftiness. And again, The Lord knoweth the thoughts
+of the wise, that they are vain."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>He read so far, and then he sat and thought—thought, till all in the
+house but himself had gone to bed,—thought, till his lamp flickered and
+failed for lack of oil, leaving the study in darkness. Mr. Chetwynd did
+not even notice the change. He sat with his hand over his eyes, deeply
+communing with his own soul.</p>
+
+<p>Had he ever honestly searched into these matters before? Had he
+not rather skimmed recklessly over their surface, in a spirit of
+semi-sceptical criticism, and measureless self-conceit? There seemed to
+open out before him at last some insight into things unseen—some power
+to pierce through the veil, which for long years past had shrouded him
+in darkness.</p>
+
+<p>"And I have been one of these 'wise,'" he said to himself. "Wise with
+the wisdom which is foolishness in the sight of God! Is that the
+meaning of the intellect, which men worship in the present day? Plain
+words spoken here—uncompromising as steel. Can it be that I have been
+one of these self-deceivers—seeming, and only seeming, to be wise? If
+so, 'let him become a fool, that he may be wise!' Become one! What if I
+have been a fool all along—ay, worse than a fool, daring to set up my
+puny notions in the very face of what God has revealed to us!</p>
+
+<p>"As well meet the matter boldly. I am not a coward, at all events. What
+if I have been altogether in the wrong? 'The Lord knoweth!' How St.
+Paul's words seem to meet one at every point . . . Will Madge think she
+has gained a victory? Not to triumph at any rate. Better that, than to
+find, too late, my whole life a failure,—I, with all my wisdom, shut
+out from heaven,—and very fools pressing in before me!"</p>
+
+<p>He sat upright, felt for a box of matches, took a silver candlestick
+from the mantelpiece, and struck a light. The open page of the Bible
+lay still beside him.</p>
+
+<p>"If this indeed be the Word of God, through and through, the very truth
+of God,—then where am I, and what am I, at this moment?</p>
+
+<p>"Ay,—no doubt what Madge would say. An unsaved sinner,—apart from
+God,—worthless and helpless. I know it all by heart,—have heard it
+often enough,—have laughed the notion to scorn. What if, after all, it
+be very truth—and my wisdom there be very foolishness?</p>
+
+<p>"A helpless sinner,—standing apart from God! So they say,—and so it
+may be. How can I prove the contrary? There are things which the
+wisest living cannot fathom. Suppose a clue lies here. But never mind
+generalities just now. Suppose 'I' am in that condition,—a condemned
+man, cut off from my Maker,—needing—needing what?"</p>
+
+<p>Did he pause here, with a feeling like that which constrained Job, in
+olden days, to cry aloud for a "Daysman" to stand between him and a
+holy God? Something of the kind it must have been. And an answer came
+once more breathing softly across his heart, in words learnt long ago
+from a mother's lips:—</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"There is One Mediator between God and man, the Man Christ Jesus."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>For a moment there was stillness,—a hush of body and mind, as he slowly
+grasped the wondrous words, and caught a glimpse of their boundless
+meaning. And then, he bent his head,—reverently, as for long years past
+he had never done,—and uttered half aloud—</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"God be merciful to me, a sinner,—for Christ's sake."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>The first step was taken. Mr. Chetwynd had a hard lesson to learn, but
+he did not quail before it. He was not far from the Kingdom of Heaven
+that night. Madge Hardwicke's and Mona's words, which but a few weeks
+back might have passed unheeded, save by smile or sneer, had reached
+him at the right moment. They had fallen like seed into prepared
+ground,—prepared, all unknown to himself, through the Holy Spirit's
+guidance, under the influence of Mr. Prior's teaching, and of Mona's
+illness following. And the day was not far distant, when the once
+careless half-unbelieving caviller thanked Madge from his very heart,
+for the kindly boldness of her warning words that evening.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image057" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image057.jpg" alt="image057"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image058" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image058.jpg" alt="image058"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h2><a id="Chapter_24">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></h2>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>HOME!</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"SPLENDID day it has been,—only a trifle too hot for any but a
+salamander," said the doctor, sauntering into Mona's room on the
+afternoon of the following day. "Well, my dear, how are you getting on?"</p>
+
+<p>His pleasant manner that morning to Madge had convinced her that she
+need fear no displeasure on account of the last night's conversation.
+But something now, beneath his would-be careless bearing, gave her a
+twinge of anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>"I am getting on as well as possible," said Mona brightly. "I quite
+want to begin sitting up again."</p>
+
+<p>"Patience awhile before that," said Mr. Chetwynd. "More haste worse
+speed, in some cases."</p>
+
+<p>"But Madge has been reading to me to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing sensational, I hope."</p>
+
+<p>Mona smiled at the idea.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, well, I suppose I may trust Madge. She isn't addicted to that sort
+of literature. Madge, could you be happy to leave Miss Mona for awhile
+this afternoon?"</p>
+
+<p>"If you wish it, sir," said Madge, somewhat surprised.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I have a—an errand for you," said Mr. Chetwynd. "Just call
+Hartly to sit with Miss Mona while you are out, and then come to my
+study. I'll explain to you where to go, and what to do."</p>
+
+<p>"Madge wants a little air, I am sure, after her imprisonment in this
+room," said Mona, trying to be unselfish.</p>
+
+<p>"It's no imprisonment, Miss Mona," said Madge. "I'll come as quick as I
+can, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose there is some shopping for you to do," observed Mona when he
+was gone.</p>
+
+<p>And Madge smiled in answer, though aware that the guess was a wrong
+one. She summoned the motherly old housekeeper from down-stairs, saw
+that everything which could possibly be needed was at hand, went for
+her own shawl and hood, and finally made her way to the doctor's room.</p>
+
+<p>He looked up, as she entered, from the letter he was writing.</p>
+
+<p>"That's right. Hartly has had so much to do with the nursing that you
+need not be uneasy about leaving Miss Mona. And I don't expect to have
+to go out again this evening, so I shall be at hand."</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Hartly can do easy enough all that's wanted," said Madge. "Where
+am I to go, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down a minute, and I'll tell you," said Mr. Chetwynd gravely. "The
+truth is, I called you in here yesterday evening, to mention something
+I had heard, but you put it out of my head, and this morning I thought
+I might as well find out more before making you anxious. About little
+Nannie Ackman, I mean."</p>
+
+<p>He was evidently moved. Madge saw now in what quarter lay the coming
+cloud. The little child up on the hill was very dear to her heart. She
+had not felt surprised to see and hear nothing of Nannie lately, on
+account of the infectious nature of Mona's illness, but now a sudden
+fear took possession of her.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Prior went up to the old man's cottage yesterday morning, and was
+so struck with the little one's altered look that he asked me to go and
+see her. I did not suppose there was any immediate hurry, and I was
+busy, so I put it off till this afternoon. I have just come back from
+there,—but—"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think her ill, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head silently.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, you don't mean that Nannie is in danger."</p>
+
+<p>"She is dying, Madge."</p>
+
+<p>One low sob and no more reached his ears. "How soon?" was asked with an
+effort.</p>
+
+<p>"Would you like to go and see her?"</p>
+
+<p>"I should, sir. She'll want comforts and looking after."</p>
+
+<p>"She is past all that now. If you want to see her again, you must go
+at once. Never mind about Miss Mona. I will arrange all that for a few
+hours. You will be back before night."</p>
+
+<p>She knew he meant that all would then be over. "Is it the fever, sir?"
+she inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"I can hardly say. There may have been a touch of it hanging about
+her. Old Ackman seems stupefied, and can give no particulars, though
+he blames himself bitterly, and with good reason. She was up and about
+yesterday evening, he says, but seemed to break-down this morning.
+Nannie herself was unconscious while I was there. She may rouse up
+again, or may pass away in stupor. But I can do nothing for her."</p>
+
+<p>"And nobody has known the poor lamb to be failing," murmured Madge,
+passing her hand across her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't gather that there have been any indications of absolute
+illness, beyond weakness and languor. My own impression is, that the
+sudden break-down may be the result of some undetected injury, from
+the father's rough treatment awhile ago. But after all, it is a cruel
+conjecture without sufficient proof. She has always been a frail little
+creature. I won't hinder you any longer, however."</p>
+
+<p>Like one walking in a dream, Madge left the house and went up the hill.
+It was three weeks or more since last she had been in that direction,
+for all her few walks of late had been taken in the town, generally
+with the chemist for their destination.</p>
+
+<p>How forlorn her little cottage looked, with its closed door and
+shutters, and its growth of garden weeds. Ah, that had never been, if
+little Nannie had been equal to the task of keeping clear the unwelcome
+growth, in the absence of her friend. Amos Ackman's door was open, so
+Madge walked in noiselessly, leaving her shawl and hood in the outer
+room, but hardly standing still there for a moment on her way.</p>
+
+<p>Her first glimpse as she neared the bedroom was of the old man himself,
+crouching forward on his stool, with his face half hidden by his hands,
+while a low groan broke from him from time to time. And then, as she
+went farther, she saw Nannie. Could it indeed be Nannie?—So white, so
+changed, so wasted! Mona Clyde at her worst had been nothing like this.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, ye've come to see her die, have yer," mid old Amos. "Yer was a
+deal kinder to her than her old father too."</p>
+
+<p>Madge knelt down by the rough mattress, and softly moistened the
+child's parched lips. And all at once Nannie opened her eyes, and the
+wan features broke into a smile of recognition.</p>
+
+<p>"She knows you, she does. Sure she'll soon be well now," said Amos
+falteringly. "Don't yer think so, Madge? I'd be main glad, for 'tis all
+along o' my doing. She'll get well now, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>Madge knew better, and so did Nannie. But Madge thought that the face
+of an angel could hardly have worn a look of more loving compassion,
+than that which shone through those glazing eyes, as they turned slowly
+towards the unhappy old man.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor father!" was softly breathed forth, with an appealing glance
+towards Madge, as if to beg her to comfort him. "There 'll be nobody to
+pray for him now."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll pray, Nannie. Is it that you want?" asked Madge. "I'll never
+let a day pass without praying for him. And God won't forget all your
+back-prayers, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"No, 'cause they're written up there, ain't they?" said Nannie faintly
+yet confidently, with a slight upward gesture of one hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, she's beginning to talk ever so," said Amos, in a pleased tone.
+"Ain't she better now, Madge?"</p>
+
+<p>"She'll be better soon," said Madge. "She'll be better up in the
+Father's Home, Amos. You'd best make sure, and see you're in the way to
+go there too, or it'll be a longer parting for you than for Nannie and
+me."</p>
+
+<p>Amos drooped his head again. "I'm thinkin' it'll have to be a different
+heaven to hold old Amos, from what 'll take in you and Nannie," he said
+heavily.</p>
+
+<p>"There's only one heaven, and one way into it, for her and you and me,"
+said Madge.</p>
+
+<p>And before she could say more, Nannie's lips formed, clearly and
+tenderly, the sweetest Name which language ever framed—</p>
+
+<p>"JESUS!—father."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, it's all Him, and Him alone," said Madge. "You've only to go to
+Him, and ask pardon through His blood, and it'll all come right."</p>
+
+<p>Madge did not know how the poor old sin-burdened man had already begun
+to stumble, with his failing steps, up to the foot of the Cross. But
+Nannie knew, and though too weak to explain, she said in a low voice,—</p>
+
+<p>"He'll come, Madge."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, the Lord 'll surely bring him, Nannie," said Madge.</p>
+
+<p>And then Nannie shut her eyes and lay quite quiet, with her two little
+thin hands folded together, and the panting breath so irregular that it
+sometimes seemed as if it would stop altogether, without another word
+being spoken.</p>
+
+<p>Madge knelt there just as quietly, praying that the little one's
+troubled life might have such a peaceful ending as now seemed likely,
+that no clouds of Satan might be sent to try her faith. And Madge had
+what she wished.</p>
+
+<p>An hour passed, while the life of the summer day and the life of the
+little child ebbed sweetly away, side by side. And the sun went slowly
+down upon the one, but rose in dazzling radiance upon the other. And
+presently Nannie opened her eyes and murmured—</p>
+
+<p>"They're singing—"</p>
+
+<p>"Who are, Nannie?"</p>
+
+<p>"Up, somewhere," said Nannie. "I'll hear 'em now, won't I? O Madge!—I
+won't see the Resurrection-day after all from here."</p>
+
+<p>Was it a momentary feeling of something like disappointment?</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe not from up on this hill, Nannie," said Madge. "But you'll see
+it, sure enough, for you'll rise before we're caught up, and you'll
+come on with the Master in His glory to meet us—if so be I'm spared
+till then."</p>
+
+<p>"With Him!" And Nannie's face, as she uttered the words, lighted up
+with a strange and holy joy. "O Madge! Think what it'll be—this very
+night—to see my own Lord Jesus! Why, Madge!—"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, won't it be—?" Madge had begun, trying to quell the impatient
+longing which throbbed at her own heart, in answer to the child's burst
+of joy. But she broke off, for words from her were no longer needed,
+and a look of glad surprise had flashed into the dying eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Madge! I didn't think it 'ud be so soon, but I'm going quick. I'm
+ready, ain't I?—'cause Jesus died for me, you know. O Madge, I wish you
+was coming with me too. Isn't He—just—beautiful?"</p>
+
+<p>Two long faint gasps between the words,—one sigh,—and Nannie was at
+rest.</p>
+
+<p>Better so. The little worn-out body lay there still. But Nannie—poor
+little Nannie!—after all her hopes and fears and longings, had reached
+the loving circle of the gathering family, in her Father's House above.</p>
+
+<p>Madge knelt on for a minute, with her head bent low. Then, with a calm
+singular smile upon her face, she rose and went to Amos.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you stay here any longer," she said. "Nannie's well off now."</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head, and crouched lower, without response.</p>
+
+<p>"She's well off," repeated Madge. "She's at rest now, poor little lamb,
+and she wouldn't want you to grieve for her over-much. Don't spend your
+time looking back to the past, Amos, but see you make ready to join her
+where she's gone—maybe soon. There's the Blood for your sins and mine,
+no less than for hers."</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't ha' believed it, though, if it hadn't been for her
+praying," murmured old Amos, as he yielded to Madge's guiding touch,
+and went out into the front room, while Madge remained behind, and did
+all that needed to be done to the lifeless body lying there.</p>
+
+<p>Poor little Nannie! More of a martyr was she than even Madge Hardwicke
+guessed. But Madge knew enough to bend over her, and kiss the small
+white cheek, whispering—</p>
+
+<p>"'She's' had her meed of suffering for the Lord, and she's gained her
+rest early; but maybe Nannie's one of the last that 'll be first in the
+Kingdom of Heaven."</p>
+
+<p>Then Madge left the room, and going past old Amos, who in his solitary
+grief refused to answer when she would have set herself to comfort him,
+she passed into the pleasant evening twilight beyond.</p>
+
+<p>Some impulse—she could not have defined it—made her step across into
+her own garden, and stand there near the door, with her eyes fixed on
+the blue waters, and her heart very full of the little friend who had
+been taken from her. Nannie had grown to be almost like a child of her
+own during the past few months. Only the blow had come so suddenly, and
+the passing away had been so peaceful, that as yet she was thinking
+more of what Nannie had gained than of what she herself had lost.</p>
+
+<p>"Beautiful! Ay, she knows the Master's beauty at last,—more than the
+wisest man that ever lived on earth. Little Nannie! I'd like to see
+your joy this very minute. Well, 'tis sweet to think that my turn 'll
+come too, some day. Maybe, I've more work to do first for my Lord.
+She'll never get to the end of knowing His beauty more and more for
+ever; and by-and-by I'll see it too. It's only a glimpse I get now,
+once and again, but He'll shine out there in glory. And Nannie sees it
+now."</p>
+
+<p>The sound of a footstep on the pathway made her turn. A manly figure,
+of somewhat foreign appearance, was briskly advancing towards the
+garden-gate. Madge stood as if rooted to the spot, with a sudden
+dimness over her eyes, and a quickened beating at her heart. Was it a
+dream? Could it be indeed a reality? O faithless Madge even yet.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother!"</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image059" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image059.jpg" alt="image059"></figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>"Mother, I always said to myself that I'd be sure to</b><br>
+<b>find you here, whenever I came, looking out for me."</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Only the one word! Madge did not even exclaim.</p>
+
+<p>But if his strong arm had not in that moment been around her, she would
+have fallen to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother, I always said to myself that I'd be sure to find you here,
+whenever I came, looking out for me."</p>
+
+<p>She did not contradict him, for, in truth, he "had" been in her heart
+and thoughts at that moment, side by side with Nannie. She made no
+answer at all, except by the passionate clinging, which seemed as if
+she could never again loose her hold of him. He began to know now what
+the long agony of suspense had been.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a wicked son I've been to you, mother dear, leaving you all these
+years, and never writing. Only that once, at least. And so much the
+worse then, that I didn't keep my promise. But maybe it's a good thing
+I'm come now, and not sooner, as I once thought to do. I'd have come
+back in a reckless sort of mood at that time; but I've learnt since to
+look on things differently. Mother, will you forgive me, and take me
+home, and teach me the lessons I wouldn't let you teach me when I was a
+little boy? Will you, mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"Forgive you!" Madge said, lifting her face to his, all wet with happy
+tears. "O Neill,—thank God He's given back my boy to me again. It's
+worth all the waiting to have you come like this. And you'll never
+leave me any more?"</p>
+
+<p>"Never more, mother, of my own free will. God alone shall part us now."</p>
+
+<p>She would not take him into her cheerless unprepared cottage, but
+walked up and down with him awhile on the hill-top, in earnest
+conference, till the first excitement of the meeting had in some
+measure passed away. And then they went down the path, and stopped at
+the doctor's house.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd came out to meet Madge in the hall, but he had not looked
+to see that face of chastened brightness.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Madge—" he began, and stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, it is as you thought, and little Nannie has gone to her rest,"
+said Madge. "But the Lord has sent me a blessing alongside of the
+sorrow, and between the two, I'm nigh in as great a strait as St. Paul
+himself, as to whether I'll smile or cry."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd looked from Madge to her companion,—half guessing the
+truth, yet scarcely liking to ask. For the lad he once knew was
+altered; and perhaps only a mother's eyes could have known him again at
+a glance.</p>
+
+<p>Madge put her arm into Neill's, and drew him a step forward.</p>
+
+<p>"It's my boy, sir," she said, and the smile won the day.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd held out his hand warmly. "I am glad to see you home,
+Neill. You have changed indeed since last we met," he said. And then
+in a different tone, turning to Madge—"You were right and I was wrong,
+Madge. Your faith certainly deserves its reward."</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, if you please, you're wrong there," said Madge steadily.
+"I've nought of desert about me, save desert of evil."</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't you say all along that Neill would surely come home some day?"</p>
+
+<p>Madge was silent a minute, seemingly pondering his words.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" said the doctor, and Neill too looked inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, it may be I'm mistaken, but it does seem to me that the Lord has
+just kept back from granting my wish, till He's taught me to lay my
+will in His, and to leave all in His hands. I used to say Neill would
+be pretty sure to come home, and to think it too. I've said and felt
+little of late, save 'Thy will be done!' And now—He's given back to me
+my boy!"</p>
+
+<p>The last words came like a note of sweet and joyous triumph to the
+doctor's ears. "You know more about such things than I do, Madge, but I
+hope I may learn more in time," he said rather sadly. "Neill must sleep
+here of course to-night. You can arrange with Hartly about his bed. And
+to-morrow I suppose you will wish to go home with him to your cottage."</p>
+
+<p>Madge did not gainsay the remark. She felt that her boy must come
+first, and that to prepare a comfortable home for him at once was her
+simple duty. "Only I'll come in as often as I'm wanted, sir, to sit
+with Miss Mona," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"It is well Neill did not return a week sooner, or we couldn't have
+spared you," said Mr. Chetwynd. "But you must spend part of every day
+with us still, or Miss Mona will be lonely. Well, I am unselfish enough
+to be very glad you are so happy."</p>
+
+<p>She had her desire at last. There was joy in the mother's heart that
+night, at the return of the wanderer, and there was joy for her sake
+throughout the doctor's house, and among the inmates of the Rectory and
+the town. But the greatest joy of all was the joy of little Nannie,
+who had passed beyond the mists and the shadows of earth, and had been
+welcomed into her eternal Home.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+THE END.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79005 ***</div>
+</body>
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diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
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+This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
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+[Project Gutenberg](https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook [#79005](https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79005)