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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f57f44 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,13 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text +*.htm text +*.html text +*.png binary +*.jpg binary +*.svg text +*.pdf binary +*.bmp binary +*.zip binary +*.midi binary +*.mp3 binary diff --git a/79291-0.txt b/79291-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..60489d9 --- /dev/null +++ b/79291-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7655 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79291 *** + +Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed. + + + +[Illustration: "COME TO GRANDAD, MY BEAUTY."] + + + + THE MYSTERIOUS LOCKET + + + BY + + RUTH LYNN + + AUTHOR OF + "CITY SPARROWS, AND WHO CARED FOR THEM" + + + _WITH COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS_ + + + LONDON: + THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY + 4 BOUVERIE STREET AND 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD + + + + CONTENTS + + [Illustration] + +CHAP. + + I. NO LIFEBOAT + + II. MISS SILEXA + + III. THE LOCKET SET IN PEARLS + + IV. THE DESIRED HAVEN + + V. THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER + + VI. A LIGHT IN THE TUNNEL + + VII. A PARABLE FROM NATURE + + VIII. A SHADOW ON THE THRESHOLD + + IX. A SUNNY GLEAM + + X. THE GOLDEN SHORE + + XI. THE SAINTED WELL + + XII. THE LAIRD OF MUIRSTANE + + XIII. BAFFLED HOPES + + XIV. NANNIE'S HOME + + XV. DAVID AND EUDORA + + XVI. LOST AND FOUND + + XVII. THE TREASURE CLAIMED + +XVIII. CONCLUSION + + + + THE MYSTERIOUS + + LOCKET + + [Illustration] + +CHAPTER I + +NO LIFEBOAT + +THE harbour of Porthmynwr lies in a deep cleft, between high rocks, +through which the sea flows inland, changing the voice with which even +in summer it wails at the foot of the cliffs, till it whispers softly +to some cottages in a sheltered valley. + +The entrance to the little port is marked on one side by a bold point +of dark red rock; on the other by a small jetty, which is said to have +been built by the Romans, and which flings itself across, curving round +with a graceful sweep. + +The creek winds a little on its way up the valley, so that looking down +from the hillside the water appears like a blue and silver snake lying +between heather-clad rocks. The hills on either side rise steeply; and +in summer on their sunny slopes purple and gold flowers bloom among +the bracken fern, rustling grasses bend to the breeze, the honey-bee +murmurs with sweet content, and the grasshoppers raise their chirrup; +while around there floats that indescribably sweet smell, which comes +only from the warm breath of summer, of dried grass, scented leaves, +and flowers pressed under foot. + +In winter, the great waves, angry with breaking against the point of +rock, come riding in over the jetty, curling into each miniature cavern +of the little bay, while the snowy sea-foam drifts up the gorge till +it rests on the fields beyond. Yet even then, the harbour looks what +it is, a haven of rest, offering safe shelter from the raging waters +to such small craft as can make its narrow entrance. In the calm of +summer weather, as the tide rises, slate and culm hulks ride in sleepy +security. Higher up, some rowing boats chained to the rocks swing to +and fro with each swirl of the advancing waters, which creep up and up +until they lip the boundary line marked by the preceding tide against a +sloping stone causeway on the right, and lay a fresh tribute of green +seaweed on the stones and sand that almost touch the meadow-land beyond. + +To the left are limekiln, whose white heat quivers in the still air, +and where men burn the stone the hulks bring into harbour. A clear +little stream comes chattering down the valley, to find its way to the +ocean through the creek, and at the point where the fresh water mingles +with the salt, ducks wade in and out, occasionally sailing towards +the sea, but afraid to venture far when they feel the heave of the +wave-swell against their breasts. + +The white-roofed cottages are dotted about here and there, some on the +hillside, and others close to the water's edge; the pastures stretch +upwards among tracts of purple moorland, intersected by roads branching +right and left, one of which leads to the town of St. Elvis, lying at +the head of the valley. + +A cottage stood by itself at the head of the creek, close to the +stone causeway, where carts passed every day at low tide to take the +culm from the stranded vessels. It was built on a promontory of red +sandstone, covered with earth and tufts of coarse grass, and bounded at +the foot by a kind of outwork wall, below which was a huge boulder of +rock, with an iron ring firmly fastened into it, for securing the boats +in rough weather. + +The cottage was ancient, and of a shape difficult to describe, for it +seemed to have had lean-to additions made at different times, thus +presenting the appearance of three buildings joined together. One bit +of the roof was slated, but the slates being very old had here and +there started apart, and lichens and bright mosses filling up the +interstices gave it a gay patchwork look. The rest was thatched, and +heavy stones were placed upon it to keep the reeds from being blown off +in the fearful storms that in winter sweep up through the ravine from +the sea. Tufts of yellow flowers and grasses clung about the straw, and +flourished; birds alighted to chatter round the dilapidated chimney, +while beside it, ever in changeful rhythm, the brooklet sang an eternal +song of longing towards the sea. + +It was October, and all the summer songs were ended. + +The autumn rains had turned the silver-shining stream into a turbid +current that shot swiftly through the valley past sedge-lined banks, +bearing on its bosom dead stalks and russet leaves. All day long the +sullen sea had been surging and moaning, in anticipation of the coming +storm, which, as the darkness deepened, seemed to gather all its +strength for a stern struggle. + +Seabirds circled and cried towards shore, as if sharing in the distress +of the sailors who stood on the slippery jetty in the mist and spray, +watching with hopeless eagerness the signals of distress from a ship +which they knew, alas! was drifting surely on to her doom; for both +wind and tide carried her each moment closer to the teeth of the jagged +rocks, which must soon seize her for their prey. + +"It will be too late soon, Father Roger," said a boy, whose impetuous +youth chafed against the apparent calmness of the older men. + +The sailor appealed to turned impatiently, only saying— + +"Do you want to drown with them? Where's the good of talking like +that?" adding to himself, "God help her now, for 'we' can't! What boat +of ours could live in that sea?" + +The white mist which enveloped the watchers drifted gradually on to the +cottage, and covered it up; and the wildest of winds howled round it as +if to tear it in pieces. + +The red glow from a steadily burning fire of culm and clay lighted +up the interior, revealing the shelves hollowed in the wall full of +crockery, the wooden settle by the hearth, and the two cupboard-beds +which stood like huge chests in the centre, dividing the room as by a +partition. Above, among the rafters in the heather-lined roof, hung an +empty wooden cradle; and as Lettice Gwynne knelt to pray for the safety +of her old sailor-father, she looked up at it now with tear-dimmed +eyes. Five-and-thirty years of life's toil and trouble had left their +traces on the pale, sweet face, and to-night it wore an anxious weary +look, as she heard the rising waters plash and gurgle against the +boundary wall, and sudden gusts of wind shook the cottage to its very +foundations. + +"My little Ruth," she murmured; "my own baby; no need to rock the +cradle now. The Good Shepherd has you in His arms, my lamb, and the +cradle-bed in the churchyard is green and still. There will be wild +work to-night," said she, rising, and sighing heavily. "I wish father +had the boats anchored by this time. Oh, my God, keep him safe, this +awful night." + +A sleeping child was breathing softly near her in one of the +cupboard-beds. And as he stirred, she looked lovingly at the boy of +eleven years, David, her only son. His rosy sunburnt cheek was lying +on one of the brown hands, and though his face was turned towards the +flickering firelight, the eyelids were fast sealed, and no noise of +rain or tempest without could disturb the youthful dreamer. + +But his mother could not keep an easy watch beside him long; she must +go to the door again to listen. In vain did she strain eyes and ears +against the darkness and noise; the only sounds distinguishable were +the booming waves breaking across the jetty, and the sullen sobbing of +wind and rain. + +"Is that you, Nancy Lewis?" cried she, suddenly catching sight of a +fluttering shawl. "Come in, come in." + +"Yes, I'm most drowned and torn to pieces with being out in such +weather; there's no standing on the jetty, and 'tis as dark as pitch. +I've come up to tell ye what's going on down there," rejoined the +woman, pointing in the direction of the sea. "There's a fine ship gone +to pieces out beyond the sunk rocks, and my Jem and your old father, +with some more of 'em, have put off in a boat to try and pick up some +of the poor creatures. But they'll all be drowned; nothing but a +lifeboat could live in such a sea; and more's the shame there's never a +one belonging to Porthmynwr. The water seems as if devils were raving +in it, indeed it do." + +Lettice could not answer; her lips and cheeks were ashy pale, for +Nancy's words had recalled with terrible vividness a night-scene two +years ago, when she had waited to welcome her husband, brave Richard +Gwynne, and he had been borne home by his comrades, pale and silent in +the death that had overtaken him amid those cruel, hungry waves. Never +since that night had Lettice joined the groups of watching women on +cliff or shore when a gale was blowing. She preferred to plead alone by +her widowed hearth for the safety of those at sea. + +"Did you say my father was gone?" she gasped, drawing Nancy in, and +shutting the door. "Are you quite sure?" + +"Yes, indeed," said Nancy; "he was the foremost to go, for all he's the +oldest among 'em. None of 'em would have gone if it hadn't been for +him," she added, sobbing; "and now I shall lose my Jem, and there's all +those six little blessed innocents lying asleep to wake up fatherless +in the morn. You've only one; 'tis not so hard on you." + +The sharpest sting of all lay in this selfish ending of the speech, but +Lettice pressed her lips together with a hard-set expression and did +not speak. She was sending up a silent prayer from her stricken heart, +whose anguish God alone could know, while Nancy ran on unheeding with +her stream of words. + +"I've been looking for this for weeks and months; I knew there'd be +death close to us soon. I and my neighbours have seen the corpse-lights +again and again blazing like a ball of straw, and there's many a one as +has watched the ghost-funerals walking through the churchyard, and old +Di Jones said to me, says she, 'Nancy, there'll be a funeral go up from +Porthmynwr to St. Elvis afore we're many days older.'" + +"Don't listen to her," said Lettice sharply; "she is always trying to +frighten folk like that. Those who have the true light in their souls +need not fear the corpse-candles. The good Lord would tell us in a +better way than that, if He meant us to know things beforehand." + +"Ah, it's fine talking," broke in Nancy, "but you know you wouldn't +walk through St. Elvis churchyard after dark to save your life." + +"And why not?" answered Lettice. "What harm would the dead quietly +sleeping do to me? If I could help a living person by walking there, I +would go any night with all my heart. What cause for fear have they who +love the Lord Jesus, who 'died, and rose, and revived, that He might +be Lord both of the dead and living'? Didn't He say, 'Nothing shall by +any means hurt you'? I believe 'that,' Nancy, before all the old wives' +words. And when I walk home from St. Elvis of a night, I always like to +think His angels are walking beside me, and I say to myself,— + + "'I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me,' + +"And He never lets me be afraid." + +Nancy shook her head incredulously, saying, "There's wiser folk than me +nor you as have seen the corpse-lights and funerals, and it's a lucky +thing for you that you are not afraid of them, and that's all I've got +to say. And now I must be off again, and see what's doing down the +creek. That's my Jem's voice," she cried, springing towards the door, +"or I'm not a living woman. Ay, they're calling and hollering fine +about something." + +"Stand back!" shouted Old Roger Rudd, as Lettice stepped forward with +her companion to welcome her father. + +"Don't be frightened, my lass; there's work for you to do, though I +fear it be too late. A wreck and all hands lost!" + +No need to add more, for the light streaming upon the causeway from the +cottage showed what the sailors were carrying. + +"Try and save her, Lettice; mayhap some brandy might bring her round, +though indeed," added poor Old Roger, trembling, "I fear it's no use +now. Well, well, only to think! They were both lashed to a spar, and +it's all that's left of the noble ship." + +A baby's cry made Lettice deaf to the remainder of the sentence, and +Old Roger, placing in her arms an infant a year and a half old, wrapped +in a bit of old fishing-net, turned to assist the other men in carrying +the silent sleeper within shelter of the cottage. One look at the young +face showed Lettice that the sail which carefully covered the slender +form was a shroud for the dead. + +"Can nothing be done?" said Roger, as tears coursed down his +weather-beaten cheek. "Poor lass!" he added, seeing Lettice shake her +head. "The storm has, I hope, landed her in the haven where she would +be safe with the Lord who walked on the waters. The vessel foundered +upon yonder reef, and I reckon the fog hid the lighthouse. The sea is +running mountains high, and no boat could have got near them." + +"Poor young thing!" said Lettice. "Not more than twenty-five, I should +say." + +And the widow wept as she turned to hush the wailing of the motherless +babe. Tenderly she carried it to the fire, and taking off the coarse +netting and soaked little shirt, chafed the tiny limbs until they +warmed and revived. + +Only a year ago her own baby-girl had thus lain upon her knees, but God +had taken her away to Himself, and the cradle had been left empty. How +often, with sore eyes and heart, had Lettice looked at it! She could +not bear to put it away quite out of sight, so for months it had hung +among the heather up in the roof. + +And now some baby garments were taken from the chest in the corner, +and as the little hands passed through the sleeves Lettice whispered, +"Darling little Ruth! The daisies are growing on your cradle-bed, and +you are singing with God's angels above the sky." + +And laying the helpless little stranger down on the settle, she mounted +a chair and unfastened the cradle from the rafters. The mother's heart +ached as she set it on the floor, but the rescued babe knew nought of +this as, in a soft blanket, it was gently laid within it, and rocked to +rest before the bright fire. + +Roger went out with the other sailors to make fast his boats and see if +there was anything more to be done before night. And Nancy stayed with +Lettice to assist in arranging the body. + +Lettice had no fears as she closed the dead eyes, and folded the small +hand with the wedding ring on it over the other across the breast that +had done with life's heavings now. While doing so, she observed a small +gold chain and locket set in pearls round the throat, which she gently +disengaged and put carefully aside. Inside the locket were two curls of +hair and a monogram worked in gold thread across them. It was the only +token by which to identify the body or discover the story of this life +so early closed, for the silent lips could not reveal the secret. + +They laid her in an inner room, where nets and fishing-tackle were +strewn about, on a mattress taken from one of the beds, and, according +to the custom in those parts, placed lighted candles at the head and +feet. + +Lettice kissed the lovely face, and then covered it reverently, saying, +as she closed the door, "May God's angels keep watch here to-night, as +they did by our blessed Saviour's tomb." + + + +CHAPTER II + +MISS SILEXA + +THE small town of St. Elvis was early astir the following morning with +tidings of the wreck. Dick Rees, from Clythwr Farm, half-way down the +valley, had been among the first to bring the news, and knots of eager +talkers and listeners soon gathered in the principal street, round +the steps of the old stone cross, to add to the gossip which grew as +rapidly as a rolling snowball. + +"Who could she be? What would happen to the child? Who would be at the +inquest? And when would the burying take place?" were the foremost +among the questions on that autumn morning. + +The small corner shop, kept by Meg Evans, the postmistress, was soon +filled to overflowing, and Nancy Lewis found herself a most important +personage, as she let out, bit by bit, all the slower in proportion to +the anxiety of her hearers, the particulars of the sad scene of the +night before. + +"She's a lady, whatever they may say," repeated Nancy, "for her hands +are as white as yon cloud, and never been used to hard work, for sure; +and her beautiful long hair was a-hanging about her like seaweed when +they brought her in, and the baby bleating like a lamb for its mother. +Indeed, it's as sweet a corpse as ever I looked upon." + +"Ah well, ah well, poor thing, her troubles are over now." "Indeed +and indeed, I'm sorry from my heart," said one and another, while +each woman secretly resolved to visit Lettice Gwynne's cottage before +the day was much further advanced; for a death in St. Elvis or its +peculiarly healthy neighbourhood was such a rare event that the sight +of the body was not to be resisted. + +Old John Jenkins, the pew-opener, discussed the matter with Will Jones, +the ancient gravedigger, who stood leaning on his spade just inside the +churchyard gate. And Old Dinah Jones, wife to the latter, lost no time +in hurrying up in high hat and cloak, stick in hand, from Porthmynwr to +the Rectory kitchen. + +There Miss Silexa Pryse found her scaring Molly the servant with facts, +which Dinah affirmed to be a perfect fulfilment of her prophecies +concerning corpse-lights and ghost-funerals. The girl stood, kettle +in hand, with wide staring eyes of fright and wonder, watching her +narrator, while Eudora, a little child of six years old, crouched +beside the dresser, terrified by this dismal story of death and +drowning. + +The effect of Miss Silexa's entrance was like that of a flash of +lightning. + +"What are you standing staring there for, you great goose?" said she, +angrily facing the petrified girl. "Get on with your work, and remember +life's short enough to do it in; that's 'your' lesson for to-day if +you'll learn it, you idle wench." + +"Eh! But, Miss Pryse—have you heard?" interrupted Old Dinah. + +"Heard!" screamed Silexa. "Who could help hearing, I should like to +know; with all the women like a pack of crows over a bit of meat, and +the men with their tongues wagging like a thirsty dog's? Of course we +have heard. You didn't think but that the Rectory would be the first to +be told. And now I suppose you've been gabbling on to Molly all your +pack of lies and nonsense about corpse-candles and such-like rubbish, +and you think it all true because God in His wise providence has chosen +to take that poor soul unto Himself, and her body is to lie with us +here at St. Elvis. 'Tis a pity you have not got something better to +think about. + +"Here, Dora, child, run and feed the fowls; they are calling for their +breakfast. You will find the corn-basket on the store-room table. + +"I should have thought you would have known better," she added, as the +child ran off, "than to talk such stuff before that baby, who is as +frightened as a bird at all times, with that scared look in her blue +eyes. Go home, Di. I've no charing to be done to-day, and you only +hinder Molly if your hands are not scrubbing or carrying, and she's +idle enough as it is. Here, wait a minute." + +And the mistress dived into the larder, reappearing in the space of +time that the old woman took to hobble across the kitchen to the door. +"I expect you haven't had your breakfast; gossip is as satisfying as +food, no doubt. Take this plate of potatoes and this bit of dripping, +and fry yourself a good meal, and to-morrow there'll be a day's work +for you here, for we shall be busy." + +Old Dinah grasped the plate with a thankful clutch as her bright +eyes twinkled greedily over it, but with her thanks there mingled +disappointed mutterings about the news she thought she had been the +first to bring, and Miss Silexa's reception thereof. + +Miss Pryse waited until her old pensioner had hobbled across the +courtyard, and out at the gate, then she shut the door with a sharp, +decisive slam, as if setting the seal to what she had been saying, and +stepped briskly through the now empty kitchen. + +Molly, at the present juncture of things, thought it prudent to be out +of the way. So, quickly putting on the kettle, she vanished into the +front parlour to set the breakfast. + +Her mistress did not follow her there, but turned into her father's +study, where we will take a sketch of her for the reader's benefit. + +The peculiarities of her morning toilet did not set off her tall, gaunt +figure to the best advantage—the faded calico lining pinned up round +her waist being all that was seen of the skirt of her dress. An old +brown woollen shawl, crossed and tied behind in a clumsy knot, covered +the body, and a pocket-handkerchief was bound closely over her hair in +lieu of a cap. She was nearly forty, but her keen grey eyes still kept +the restless activity of youth, and only the purest truth could stand +before their penetrating gaze. The broad forehead, the aquiline nose, +and firm, decisive lips, still bore testimony to the beauty of former +days, though time had robbed her face of its freshness. She was a lady +born—no one could doubt it who looked at her for an instant—but one who +utterly scorned appearances, or what people might say or think of her. + +The sun rarely caught her napping; for generally long before his rays +had warmed the shady corner of the valley in which the old house stood, +she was attending to her live stock in the farmyard, or, as she termed +it, "getting beforehand with the day." + +Sometimes there were visitors staying at the Rectory, but though it +were my Lord Bishop himself, it made no difference to Silexa Pryse—her +broom would be heard thumping down the staircase as usual, and her +voice calling to the luckless Molly to come hither and thither. St. +Elvis would have thought something had surely happened to the good +lady, if it had not seen her day by day tramp in high pattens to and +from the village well, with arms bared to the elbow, carrying her +dripping buckets, or holding her apron full of vegetables culled from +the kitchen garden on the opposite side of the road. Her hand, rough +and red with honest labour, was stretched out in friendly clasp, alike +to rich and poor, for a hearty shake. + +She was a general favourite, in spite of her sharp manner and still +sharper tongue, for no case of real poverty or deserving distress +was ever disregarded by her, though she was altogether merciless and +without pity, where virtue was held lightly or deceit discovered. +Kind-hearted to the very core, she yet lacked tenderness in manner; +and this it was that made little children tremble and turn away, and +the timid shrink from telling her their troubles. The hard, uninviting +shell held a sound kernel, but those who failed to penetrate the +outside would never know the worth concealed within. + +The study of the Rev. Theophilus Pryse appeared to have been furnished +nearly a century ago. The carpet scarcely revealed the straggling +pattern on its shabby thread-worn surface; the table with its numerous +clawed legs seemed ever on the defensive, and the straight-backed +chairs were about as hard and uncomfortable as wood and horsehair +combined could make them. Nevertheless, Silexa's duster still made its +daily careful circuit over the most superannuated furniture until the +last speck of dust sped swiftly off to settle elsewhere. + +On one side of the fireplace, against the dingy red and buff paper, +hung a framed sampler, which informed the inquiring reader that one +Margaret Pryse achieved this work of art early in the century. The +design was unique. Two trees of the candelabrum type stood on either +side of a square house, above the smoking chimneys of which rose an arc +of birds and flower-buds of rainbow-hues, surmounted by two crab-like +cherubs, who struggled to support between them a golden crown twice as +large as themselves. The words, "Be thou faithful unto death, and I +will give thee a crown of life," and "Gloria in excelsis," filled the +remaining space, beyond which an elaborate border completed the whole. + +Corresponding to this, on the other side of the old-fashioned chimney +mirror, was a portrait of a young girl roughly sketched in chalks. +Silexa remembered watching her brother draw every line of it, and as +she looked, the long, dreary distance of years seemed suddenly spanned, +and her only sister was standing beside her again. The story of the +wreck and the motherless babe at Porthmynwr recalled the history of +another life so vividly, that ere she was aware, tears had stolen into +her eyes, and she sunk down on the nearest seat, covering her face with +her hands. + +But the sound of the child's footsteps in the garden at once restored +her frigid dignity, and she hastily rose, vexed with herself for +having yielded to her feelings. No one should ever see her sorrow; it +was sacred, and invited no sympathy. None but God knew of the well of +tenderness that lay so deep beneath the still surface. + + +Meanwhile Eudora, on being dismissed from the kitchen, gladly escaped +into the dewy sunshine of the garden. The little lawn lay green and +sparkling in morning light. And though the storm of the previous night +had snapped the fastenings of the rose-trees nailed against the wall +of the house, leaving trailed and draggled branches desolate on the +ground, and leaves and twigs hurled and scattered about, there still +swayed a cluster of monthly rosebuds above the study window, freshly +opening in pearly pink, and shaking off showers of shimmering drops as +the breeze tossed them to and fro. + +The sight of sunshine and flowers brought a smile into the pale, +frightened, little face, their life and beauty dismissing some of the +fear that held her spellbound while listening to Di's dismal tale. On +she ran, brushing past the wet bushes until she came to the farmyard, +when the cackling chorus that always greeted the corn-basket began +at once, bringing more and more cheer into the child's heart, as she +watched the fluttering fowls scuffle and scramble for the scattered +seed. But while the small hand let the grain fall, her heart pondered +the words she had heard in the kitchen. How she longed to run to +Lettice Gwynne and ask her all about the matter!—Dear, kind Lettice, +whose cottage was of all others the retreat she loved best. + +But Di had said the dead body was lying there! Perhaps it was stretched +out beside the old chest where she and Davie played, and arranged their +seaweed and shells. No, she could not go there. But the dear little +baby! Di said there was a baby. Oh, how she had longed for a little +sister to play with and love in her lonely hours. She could remember +Ruth, and how Lettice used to let her hold her in her arms as she +sat on a low stool beside the cottage hearth, and now there was only +a daisy-dappled grave, and baby had gone away to God. Had God sent +Lettice this baby instead? Oh, if Davie would come and tell her. She +dared not ask Aunt Silexa. How could she find out? + +The child sauntered slowly back to the rustic seat beneath the willow +tree, thinking, thinking, until she was suddenly startled from her +reverie by her aunt's sharp voice calling her to come to breakfast. As +she ran lightly across the sward to obey the summons, Miss Pryse cast +another lingering look at the picture on the wall, mentally comparing +it with the one in the garden. The same blue eyes, shaded by soft, +silky hair, looked up towards the window, but the face of the little +one was paler and more thoughtful. + +"Come, Dora, be quick, and see that you rub your shoes clean before you +come in. There is always so much mud brought into the house, one would +need to be for ever cleaning here." + +The words fell chill and cold on the child's heart; she longed to ask +about the little baby at the cottage, as she came forward to join her +aunt, but the question died on her lips. Miss Silexa's reserved and +thorny manner drove little Dora daily farther from her, and prevented +her belief in the tender self-sacrificing love that in spite of all +really existed for her. Slowly, she followed her aunt into the parlour, +and in another moment the trembling hand of her grandfather was laid +lovingly upon the flaxen head. She timidly looked up into the face, +furrowed more deeply by affliction than by time, though his scanty +silver locks and bent frame hinted that the appointed time of man's +days on earth had nearly run. + +It needed no scrutinising glance to see that a heavy life-sorrow had +helped to dim the brightness of eyes that looked out with a settled +expression of calm sadness. A great grief was bringing down his grey +hairs with sorrow to the grave; his heart was heavy with the anguish +of a bereavement which is sometimes more terrible than a blank left by +death. + +"Well, my little love," he said, kissing the child; "I have been +waiting for you. Where have you been? Ah, Silexa," he added, turning to +open with trembling fingers the Bible for family worship, "this is sad +news from Porthmynwr." + +"Don't speak of it now, father," interrupted Silexa, glancing towards +the child, whose eyes were eagerly fixed on his face; "she has heard +too much already. I am going down to Lettice Gwynne's after breakfast +to hear the rights of the story; there are too many tongues clacking up +here; one cannot tell how much to believe." + +The elderly man sighed heavily and was silent. Then turning to the Book +of Revelation as Molly entered to take her place, he read,— + + "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the +first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea. And I John +saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, +prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a great voice +out of heaven, saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and +He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people, and God Himself +shall be with them, and be their God. And God shall wipe away all tears +from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor +crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are +passed away." + +The voice read on, though unsteady with emotion, and Eudora's eyes +filled with tears. Molly looked at the grey church tower opposite, +and watched the crowds of cawing rooks alight on the turrets and +grass-tufted niches. Miss Silexa sat stern and erect in her chair +with a determined expression on her face, and only He who knoweth the +secrets of all hearts saw her soul bow in its sorrow when they knelt +to join in fervent prayer for the unknown mourners of the brave men +who had been engulfed in the depths of the mighty waters, and for the +orphan baby cast up by the waves helpless and forlorn. + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE LOCKET SET IN PEARLS + +THE sun shone bright and warm, as Miss Pryse stepped briskly down +through the pasturelands of the valley towards Porthmynwr. + +People hardly ever went this way, because a good firm road ran parallel +to it on a higher level, but Silexa chose it because she wished for +solitude. Already scattered groups of twos and threes were setting +out on their search of inquiry from St. Elvis, and she cared not for +further talk concerning the wreck until she had sifted the subject for +herself. It stirred thoughts within her that made her heart ache with a +keen pang, and in this bitterness no stranger might intermeddle. So the +stream was her only companion, and the murmur of its sweet solo, softly +breaking the silence around, suited well her present frame of mind. + +Sunbeams following upon showers robed the meadows with an emerald +sheen, and the balmy air and quiet heavens told no tale of the previous +hurricane. Some long-horned black cattle, standing about in the +hollows, lifted their heads for a stare of dumb surprise at the lonely +figure, and then resumed their grazing. + +At length, rounding the bend of the hill, Miss Silexa saw the sea, +stretching out in a long sweep of blue across the horizon, smooth and +still. + +To her there was no beauty in the sea. For her, in "the laying bare +of sands, when tides retreat," there was no subtle charm, and her +ears distinguished not the chant of the wave-choir from rocky cavern +depths. The soundings of the sea spoke to her of sorrow and death, and +therefore she never sought the shore from choice. + +Those waters in their immensity never reminded her of the measureless +love of her Father in Christ, because she had never lost herself in its +depths. + +With reverent fear she worshipped Jehovah, as the omnipresent, +omniscient One; and she beheld afar off the Son of His love as the +Saviour of sinners, on whom all hopes of salvation must rest in death. + +But of the believing touch of the garment's sacred hem, and the receipt +of healing virtue in herself for the new life on "this" side the grave, +she knew nothing. Therefore life to her was a strange complexity, an +unravelling of dark threads, a steep hill to be climbed, while clasping +duty as the only way by which to reach the appointed goal. + +Her life lesson had been hard and bitter, and she had not learned its +meaning yet. + +The pierced Hand must uplift the curtain, behind which lie hidden God's +mysteries of love; the scales must fall from the eyes, before the +joyful fact can be chronicled, "Whereas I was blind, now I see." + +Silexa marched on, musing sadly, until the little brook parted company +by suddenly slipping under a fiat stone bridge, and mingling beyond it +with the waters, which now lapped lazily against the boundary wall of +the cottage. + +Beyond the jetty, there was a heaving groundswell, causing all the +boats at anchor to sway and swing against their moorings in noisy play. +The sun shone brightly on torn and flapping sails and outspread nets, +and on the hideous hulks, making their black, wet sides glisten in the +glow of morning. + +The door of Mrs. Gwynne's cottage stood open, and some people who were +talking in knots moved aside to leave space for Silexa to pass. + +The usual greetings in Welsh were exchanged as she went by, but no one +followed her over the threshold. + +The sound of the baby's cry made her stop for an instant. But Lettice, +catching sight of her, came forward quickly; and her calm peaceful face +brightened into a smile as the eyes of the two women met. + +"Ah, Miss Pryse, I'm right glad you've come. I was thinking I had best +step up to the Rectory, but did not see how I could leave until—the +inquest, you know," she added, with a sad look towards the inner door. + +"No, of course you could not," said Silexa decisively. "That is why I +came, but I cannot talk against the screaming of that baby. Poor little +thing! It is a pity it survived its mother, for life is a stormier sea +than the one it was saved from." + +David was seated on a low stool beside the hearth, his round rosy face +wearing an expression of subdued happiness as he rocked the little +orphan to and fro, and pressed the tiny face to his own, to stifle the +persistent cries that grew more piteous every instant. + +Lettice turned towards the old chest in the corner, and a tear fell on +the small flannel hood she took out. + +"Carry her towards the jetty, Davie, and mind you keep the shawl well +round her," she added, taking the baby from him to wrap her up tenderly +in hood and plaid. + +"Yes, mother," said Davie, stepping out with his precious burden in his +arms and a glad smile on his face. Baby's cries grew more distant every +minute. + +"That will be better," said Miss Pryse, seating herself on the settle. +"Now, Lettice, how did it all happen?" + +"Indeed and indeed, I can scarcely say, Miss Silexa. There was no +lifeboat, as you know to put off to save the poor creatures, and more's +the pity for a place like St. Elvis. Father and his mates say there +never has been such a wreck in these parts. To watch the signals of +distress, and see the poor creatures go down, without being able to +stretch a hand to save them; oh, it must have been awful! And the dear +little babe, who can tell us nothing, is the only one saved." + +"The child must go to the parish," said Silexa abruptly. + +"Never, Miss Pryse, as long as I am spared to her! The Lord has taken +my own little lamb to Himself, and she is well off there, though it was +hard to look into the empty cradle. Perhaps it was to make room in my +heart for the motherless babe now drawn from the waters. Anyway I hear +the voice saying plainly to me, 'Take this child and nurse it for me, +and I will give thee thy wages.'" + +"I call that blindly trusting in Providence, Lettice. Why, you cannot +afford to keep your own boy without help. By the way, if you 'do' +burden yourself with the baby, she is as much entitled to be on Lady +Ermyn Brande's fund as David is." + +"True, I did not think of that," said Lettice; "indeed, so she is, for +the mother is drowned, and most likely the father too. But even if the +trustees refuse to give her the grant, I am not afraid to trust to the +promise, 'The Lord will provide,' for I have never found it fail me +yet, never, not in my darkest days." + +Miss Pryse was silent, but her heart's musings ran thus: "A dead sorrow +is better than a living one, and if both burdens are laid upon one +back, it cannot be borne without staggering under the load. When the +future is a blank, with no cheer in prospect, how can one trust and be +thankful? ''Tis our lot, and we must bear it like oxen at the plough.' + +"Well, Lettice," she added aloud, "you see I can't take the child, for +Eudora is enough to provide for and look after. But I will help you all +I can, and stand godmother to the babe at her baptism, which had better +take place on Sunday, after the funeral." + +"As you think best, Miss Pryse, but what name shall we give her? She +may have been baptized already, for anything we know. See, this is the +locket I took off the body last night; perhaps you can tell what the +letters are across the hair." + +Miss Pryse examined the monogram carefully, and her fingers trembled +visibly as she said— + +"It is a double E, Lettice. You must give the child a name beginning +with E. Better call her after Dame Ermyn Brande, as she will be one of +her orphans." + +Before Lettice could reply, a shadow darkened the doorway, and the +village doctor stepped in. + +"I have not had a minute to come before," said he. "Called to a sudden +case ten miles off. Very sad news this, Miss Pryse; ship went down like +a stone, I hear. Several bodies washed in farther down the coast since. +It is supposed to be a ship from Liverpool bound for Ireland. So you've +got the poor baby, Lettice. Well, it has drifted into a mother's arms, +at any rate," he added, as Lettice, opening the door into the inner +room, signed for the doctor and Miss Pryse to enter. + +The calm dignity on the sweet face disclosed to view made the doctor +pause in his speech for a few minutes, and they looked in silence. + +"A strange, sad mystery," he said, at length, "which will be buried +with the quiet dead. Is there no other trace?—No letters, or papers?" + +"Nothing but this locket," said Lettice; "I was just showing it to Miss +Pryse. Stay," she added, "I was forgetting the little shirt I took off +the baby when she was brought in dripping wet," and Lettice ran quickly +to the hearth where the tiny garment hung. + +The mark was eagerly sought, but though material and work were of the +finest quality, not even a single letter was discernible. While Silexa +searched, she felt conscious of a mist before her eyes. + +And she turned back alone once more into the inner chamber before the +tears had time to gather and fall. What made her bend over the quiet +sleeper and impress a kiss on the smooth brow? She could not tell why +she did it, and almost surprised herself by the suddenness of the +action. This dead stranger was nothing to "her." Why should her heart +be moved towards her, and a yearning pity take the place of frigid +sternness? That kiss was her seal to one of God's beatitudes, though +she knew it not. + +"I am a fool!" she muttered, half aloud, as the cessation of voices in +the next room recalled her to herself. + +She found Lettice alone and the doctor gone. + + +Meantime, David had staggered along with baby over the rough path past +the limekiln, in the direction of the jetty. The brilliant sunshine +made her blink, and she stopped suddenly short in her screaming, to +stare with wondering eyes on the masts and rigging against the blue sky. + +"Davie's darling!" murmured the boy, kissing away the large tear-drops +that rested on the little face. + +And baby stretched out both arms and gave such a sudden jump that he +well-nigh lost his balance. But he held on tight, and in spite of the +fresh sea-breeze that seemed to dispute possession with him by blowing +the corners of the shawl about, he climbed over the last bit of rock +with her, and stepped on the level jetty, finally seating himself on a +bit of timber, where he could look over the wall out to sea. + +"Hulloa, Davie!" cried a sailor. "What's that you've got?" + +"It's our baby," said Davie, getting very red at the thought that +perhaps some one else might claim her. "Our very own—mother said so—and +you'd best not come too near her, or she'll cry ever so again." + +"Why, Jem," said a comrade, "that's the very one Old Roger cut from the +spar and wrapped in the net. Bless her little heart! Let us come and +have a look at her." + +And a group of men soon collected round the children. + +One and another bent down, and tenderly touched the waxen fingers, and +ventured to kiss the little face. But when a pair of brawny arms were +stretched out to take her, she hid her face in David's breast, and +would have cried if he had not quickly changed the game to Bo-peep. + +At this moment, Old Roger Rudd was climbing up the slippery steps from +one of his boats, and came suddenly on the scene unperceived by all but +baby, who began to struggle in Davie's arms. + +It may have been the old man's fancy, but he thought she knew him, and +stretching out his arms to her, he cried, "Come to granddad, my beauty!" + +And baby went with a happy smile, and from that hour the hearts of Old +Roger and his mates were hers for ever, and she took possession of +Porthmynwr in her own right like a little queen. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE DESIRED HAVEN + +IT was Sunday, and the old parish church of St. Elvis had been well +filled for the Welsh and English morning services, which follow closely +upon one another. And during the interval before afternoon worship, a +Sabbath stillness brooded over valley and shore, as if to breathe the +Saviour's loving message to weary hearts, "Come unto Me, all ye that +labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." + +The simple fisher-folk were conscious of the holy hush, as they +gathered in silent groups near the cottage by the creek, outside the +door of which a coffin was resting on wooden chairs. Tears fell softly +from many eyes, as the white-haired and venerable-looking pastor +appeared to take his place among the mourners. + +For a moment he bent his uncovered head in silent prayer, and then in +a distinct, though tremulous voice, gave out the following hymn, which +was sung in Welsh— + + "'Why do we mourn departed friends, + Or shake at death's alarms? + 'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends + To call them to His arms. + + "'Why should we tremble to convey + Their bodies to the tomb? + Since there the dear Redeemer lay, + And cheered its dreary gloom. + + "'The graves of all His saints He blessed, + And softened every bed; + Where should the dying members rest + But with the dying Head? + + "'Thence He arose, ascending high, + And showed our feet the way; + Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly + At the great rising day.'" + +The echoing rocks took up the notes of that song of hope as a gentle +wind wafted it up the valley. And little Dora, who stood next to her +aunt, looked up into the blue sky, and thought the angels must be +singing too. + +The hymn died away into silence, and the long procession wound slowly +along the road towards St. Elvis. The service proceeded, the solemn +silence only broken by the wailing of the babe, who beside the open +grave, all unheeding of what was passing around, cried bitterly in the +motherly arms of Lettice Gwynne. + +"A sorer sight St. Elvis never looked upon," said one of the sailors, +as he followed the others into the church for afternoon service. "God +bless the baby!" + +"Ay, mates, for sure He will. He has given His word for it," was Roger +Rudd's fervent response, as he wiped away a heavy tear-drop with his +coat sleeve. + + +Eudora went meekly into the Rectory pew with her aunt, after a wistful +but ineffectual appeal to be allowed to stay beside Lettice and the +baby. + +To the child, this stately compartment was an imprisoning cage. Once +inside it, she saw nothing but the bobbing up and down of a few high +Welsh hats, even when she stretched her diminutive height to the utmost +while standing on the seat during the singing. + +All that came within her range of vision, when seated in one of the +dusty corners, was first and foremost Aunt Silexa herself, who never +failed to occupy the opposite angle, sitting sideways, so that the +child always saw her sharp profile against the oaken boards. + +Her working dress was exchanged for a black silk gown somewhat shiny +with age, though rarely taken from its lavender-strewn wrapper except +on Sundays. An old-fashioned black cloth cloak, which had been her +mother's, and a black straw bonnet plainly trimmed with black silk, +completed her costume. Silexa despised gloves, and had not a single +pair in her possession. + +Looking beyond the high edge of the pew, Eudora saw a bit of the +dark-groined roof, or it might be her grandfather's silvery head and +strikingly handsome face, as he stood in the pulpit, against one of +the mouldy Norman arches; while immediately above her, near enough for +her to spell out every letter, line upon line, was an ancient marble +tablet, bearing the following inscription:— + + _TO THE MEMORY OF_ + _DAME ERMYN BRANDE,_ + _RELICT OF SIR GEOFFREY BRANDE, BART.,_ + _OF CASTLE LLANRI,_ + _IN THE COUNTY OF PEMBROKE._ + _BORN FEB. 1720._ + _DIED MAY, 1798._ + ————— + _As a bequest to her native town of St. Elvis, the orphans of mariners +shipwrecked in sight of Porthmynwr, if dwelling in the town, shall be +entitled to the sum of two pounds sterling per annum, until they attain +the age of sixteen. If boys, a free education shall be granted them in the +Grammar School of St. Elvis, likewise endowed according to the last will +and testament of the said Dame Ermyn Brande._ + ————— + _REQUIESCAT IN PACE._ + +This tablet had been one of Eudora's earliest lesson-books. And +whenever she sat in the pew, her eyes would stray towards it until by +long practice she had made out all the letters, and their meaning began +to dawn dimly, though the long words still puzzled her sorely. The +"Requiescat in pace" she concluded at last, after much contemplation, +must be a part of Dame Ermyn's name. + +Eudora wondered if the dirty little marble angels at the head of the +monument felt frightened at night when the church was shut up, and it +was all dark and cold, with the wind howling through the trees outside. +She remembered hearing Old Dinah tell Molly about the night of All +Hallow E'en, and how she and some more old village crones had assembled +in the churchyard at midnight to listen to the shrieking of spirits +in the wind, prognosticating who would die in the ensuing year. This, +and similar ugly superstitions, came crowding into the child's mind, +haunting it with fear and dread. The words of the beautiful service +fell unheeded on her ear, and the Saviour's message to the little ones +did not reach her, neither could she see the Good Shepherd standing +near to welcome the shivering lamb to His warm embrace, and shelter it +on His breast for ever. + +With a guilty start, she was suddenly and gladly aware that the service +was at an end, and that Miss Silexa was unfastening the door of the pew. + +In a few minutes, they were standing beside Lettice and the baby round +the old time-worn font, in which baby was immersed (as was the custom +in that part of Wales among both gentle and simple), and received the +name of "Ermyn Silexa." + +After the ceremony, Lettice took her back into her arms, praying +fervently that the babe might indeed "not be ashamed to confess the +faith of Christ crucified, and manfully to fight under His banner, +against sin, the world, and the devil, and to continue Christ's +faithful servant unto her life's end." + +Little Ermyn, wrapped in a warm blanket after the immersion, was then +carried to the Rectory kitchen, and dressed beside a bright fire. + +Eudora's fears all vanished when she was really kissing the dear little +one, and heard Lettice whisper, "Come down to the cottage to-morrow, +my pet, and you shall nurse her as long as you like, and Davie and you +shall have a nice play together, when he comes back from school. Now we +must be getting home. Where's father and Davie?" + +And Lettice stepped out into the sunshine, which beamed brightly on the +sleeping infant. + +Eudora stood long at the Rectory gate, watching the groups dispersing +to their different homes in the village and down the valley. The +sky was grey and dimpled, and there was a fresh stirring wind among +the tree-tops. The child listened to the wind whispering among the +branches, as the last sunbeams lit up her hair, and with a little sigh +she turned into the house, for her heart had followed David and his +mother to the old cottage by the creek. + +Lettice walked along in the evening glow beside father and child, +thinking of her dear ones who had passed beyond the sunset into +"eternal day and endless light," and the words of the benediction were +echoing in her heart: + + "'The peace of God that passeth all understanding shall keep your +hearts and minds through Jesus Christ our Lord.'" + +She felt that this peace was part of "the rest that remaineth to the +people of God," in the midst of the storm and unrest of this world, the +"peace, be still" that Jesus speaks to those who know His voice and +follow Him. + + +Why did this peace not reign in the heart of the aged Theophilus Pryse, +as, weary and worn-out with the duties of the day, he sought his silent +study? + +He had been telling his hearers of the love of God in Christ, and yet +in his own heart there was a dreary blank. There was not a Gospel truth +that he did not know and believe, yet his cry from the depths was,— + + "'I am troubled, I am bowed down greatly, I go mourning all the day +long . . . Mine eyes fail for Thy word, saying, When wilt Thou comfort +me?'" + +What was the shadow between him and his God? Alas! He thought the Lord +had dealt hardly with him; the windows of his soul were darkened with +sorrow, and he could not say with Eli,— + + "'It is the Lord: let Him do what seemeth Him good.'" + +Or with Job,— + + "'Shall we receive good from the hand of the Lord, and shall we not +receive evil?'" + +The exceeding bitter cry of David was his: + + "'O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for +thee!'" + +No wonder that the light of the glorious Gospel of the blessed God +failed to shine forth from him in its fulness. It was hidden under the +bushel of sorrow, and the light struggled out but dimly. + +The careless and hardened remained indifferent, because the fire was +lacking; and "the joy of the Lord" not being his own experience, he +could not speak of its strength to those who were needing its cheer in +dark and toilsome days. + +These thoughts passed through his mind to-night as he mused sadly in +the firelight, until with streaming eyes he fell upon his knees, to +falter out,— + + "'Lord, be merciful unto me: heal my soul; for I have sinned against +Thee . . . That which I see not teach Thou me.'" + +And the Lord, who is "very pitiful and of tender mercy," heard the cry +of that sorrow-laden soul; the answer was already on its way. God's +angel had been waiting until the moment when he should be commanded to +"fly swiftly" to the weary waiting one, whom the Lord had been teaching +and leading, though by a way he knew not, towards "the city that hath +foundations, whose builder and maker is God." + +The Lord of the kingdom had also provided means for feeding the flock +with food, which the pastor's hand was too feeble to give them. + +He has always His "hidden ones," His faithful few in reserve, to set +the stream flowing that from various causes sometimes fails to run in +appointed channels; and Roger Rudd, the lowly fisherman, was one of +these. + +The old sailor had long been in the habit of gathering about him on a +Sunday evening a number of his companions in labour, and any others who +cared to come and hear something out of the Book of God. + +"They are too busy like in the week," he would say, "to give much heed +to the Holy Scriptures, so I like to have them in and talk to them a +bit about the real country beyond the waves, and the dear Saviour who +wants to take us there." + +It was all real to Old Roger, and he made it real to his hearers; this +was why they heard him gladly. + +Every corner of the cottage was carefully arranged, with a view to +giving a comfortable and cheery welcome to those who strayed in +to listen, and soon every nook and cranny was filled, and the old +patriarch sat in the midst, calmly turning over the leaves of his great +Bible, waiting to begin. + +Lettice had one foot upon the rocker of the cradle, and David knelt +as close to it as possible peering over the edge with his bright eyes +to watch the sleeping baby, who, being an object of general interest +throughout the fishing-hamlet, was an evident cause of the cottage +being more crowded this evening than usual. + +"I think, mates and neighbours," Old Roger began, "the Lord is very +good to put so much about the sea into His blessed Book, as if on +purpose for us poor sailors, as well as for those we leave ashore to +look out for our return. It seems as if it was because He knew we +should often be in danger, and need the comfort out in the cold and +wet, shipping heavy seas, and fearing rocks ahead, at the mercy of +winds and waves. Ah, we need something besides a plank betwixt us and +the waters then; we want to see the Light of Life as our beacon star, +and to feel the 'everlasting arms' underneath us, and hear the voice of +Jesus say above the roaring of the storm,— + + "'It is I; be not afraid.' + +"I hope the poor drowning ones who went down last week before our very +eyes had Him very nigh them, for an arm of flesh could not save them in +their sore distress. If they called upon him, they were surely holpen, +and would find the path through the sea was only the shortest way home. +I think we'll read one of the stories about Jesus and His fishermen +to-night, in the fourth chapter of St. Mark, from the 36th verse. Here, +Davie, your eyes are younger than mine, and ye'll be a better scholar +than your old granddad; read us the words, my boy." + +So David took the book and read: + + "'And when they had sent away the multitude, they took Him even as He +was in the ship. And there were also with Him other little ships. And +there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so +that it was now full. And He was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep +on a pillow: and they awake Him, and say unto Him, Master, carest Thou +not that we perish? And He arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto +the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great +calm. And He said unto them, Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye +have no faith? And they feared exceedingly, and said one to another, +What manner of man is this, that even the wind and the sea obey Him?'" + +"Ay," said Roger meditatively, as if the subject was too mighty for him +to handle, "St. Matthew, when he tells us the same tale, calls it 'a +great tempest,' so I reckon they were finely tossed about, and it was +pretty nigh over with them. Ah, some of us have felt like that before +now, when darkness was round about, and drowning stared us in the face. +We thought God had forgotten us, and that He did not care. But He is a +loving Father, and He don't want us to think hard thoughts like that, +so He has told us by His prophet Isaiah that— + + "'He hath measured the waters in the hollow of His hand.' + +"Just think of that! Why, then, He must be holding us in that hand as +safely as if we were on the dry land. + + "'Thou rulest the raging of the sea: when the waves thereof arise, Thou +stillest them." (Ps. lxxxix. 9). + + "Jesus says, 'My sheep . . . shall never perish, neither shall any man +pluck them out of My hand." (John x. 28). + +"Never perish! No, not even if they drown, for the same hand that +holds them will rock them to sleep, to wake them up in glory. Our +blessed Lord slept soundly on a pillow, though the waters were roaring +and filling the boat. We also may have a pillow to sleep on in the +storm—the pillow of the promises—and with our heads on that, our sleep +shall be sweet: + + "Yea, we 'shall lie down, and none shall make us afraid.' + +"Well, we must go on with the Gospel story. The poor sailors came in a +great fright to wake up their beloved Master. + + "'And He arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, +be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.' + +"Ah, mates!" said the aged seaman, looking round on his hearers with +kindling eyes. "It must have been grand to see Him, and hear Him say +those words. Can't you see those great roaring waves fall quiet as a +lamb at His feet? And the wind hushing its breath to listen to His +voice? We have the same Master with us to-day, if we will but hear Him. +He is saying the same words, 'Peace, be still.' + + "'Peace, peace to him that is far off, and to him that is near, saith +the Lord; and I will heal him." (Isa. lvii. 19). + +"We are lost, lost, hopelessly lost! Rigging, spars, and timbers all +rotten! And sin and death, like hungry waves, are swamping our boat. +The ship is sinking. Eternity is near. What must we do to be saved? +Stretch out the hand of faith and take hold of Him. + + "'Lord, save me . . . I perish.' + +"A look at the Crucified One, and we are safe. + + "'He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us +from all unrighteousness.' (1 John i. 9). + +"For— + + "'All we like sheep have gone astray . . . and the Lord hath laid on +Him the iniquity of us all.' (Isa. liii. 6). + +"Oh, believe and live; cry to the Holy Spirit to open your blind +eyes that you may see the Lord of Life, and then take Him to be your +Saviour. You will need no other, whether on sea or shore. + +"This is all written for those who— + + "'go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; these +see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep.' (Ps. cvii. +23-24). + +"Davie, read in the hundred and seventh Psalm, lad." + +So David found the place and read: + + "'He commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the +waves thereof. They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the +depths: their soul is melted because of trouble. They reel to and fro, +and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit's end. Then they +cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He bringeth them out of their +distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are +still. Then are they glad because they be quiet; so He bringeth them +unto their desired haven. Oh that men would praise the Lord for His +goodness, and for His wonderful works to the children of men!'" (Ps. +cvii. 25-31). + +"You have got the Lord's offer to-day," resumed Roger; "don't say 'No' +to it. Some think if salvation is so easy to be got, they can stretch +out their hand any day to take it. No hurry now. That won't do, my +friends. Don't put out to sea in a leaky boat; she may be all tight and +trim for fair weather, but how about the storm? The water will soon +rush in and swamp the ship when it finds out the hole in her. The Lord +is bidding us now 'to make our calling and election sure' by believing +on Him. Will you listen? It may be too late to-morrow. 'Jesus of +Nazareth passeth by.'" + +"Who," said Roger, with vehemence, rising and looking round, "who will +have Him for their own to-night?" + +"I will," and "I," said one voice after another, carried beyond +themselves by the reality of the message so faithfully delivered, while +a sob here and there escaped from the heaving breasts of the strong men +who listened, and were bowed by the Holy Spirit of the Lord. + +"Will you?" said Father Roger solemnly. "Will you have Him for your +Master, and serve Him faithfully 'even unto death'? Can you by the +power of the Holy Ghost promise this? Then you may trust and not be +afraid; then you may be sure your Saviour is always in the ship beside +you, come storm or shine. When your hearts are failing you for fear, +and human help can do nought for you, turn away from the tossing waves, +and hide your face in the bosom of Jesus, and think of the heavenly +harbour whose lights will give you a brighter welcome than any you ever +got on earth. Never forget to take the Master aboard—that is the secret +for us poor sailors. + + "'The floods have lifted up, O Lord, the floods have lifted up their +voice; the floods lift up their waves. The Lord on high is mightier +than the noise of many waters, yea, than the mighty waves of the sea." + + "'The sea is His, and He made it: and His hands formed the dry land. +O come, let us worship and bow down: let us kneel before the Lord our +Maker. For He is our God; and we are the people of His pasture, and the +sheep of His hand. To-day, if ye will hear His voice, harden not your +heart.' + +"Now, let us sing— + + "'Why those fears? behold, 'tis Jesus + Holds the helm and guides the ship; + Spread the sails and catch the breezes + Sent to waft us through the deep, + To the regions where the mourners cease to weep. + + "'Led by Christ, we brave the ocean, + Led by Him, the storm defy; + Calm amidst tumultuous motion, + Knowing that our Lord is nigh. + Waves obey Him, and the storms before Him fly. + + "'Though the shore we hope to land on + Only by report is known, + Yet we freely all abandon, + Led by that report alone; + And with Jesus through the trackless deep move on.'" + +A simple prayer, followed by fervent Amens, closed the service; but Old +Roger would never have thought of giving it so grand a name. + +"It was only a bit of a talk with the lads," he said. + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER + +THE parish of St. Elvis had been richly endowed by different testators +belonging to the county, who at various times had left part of their +wealth to be laid out in specified charities; and as Miss Silexa was +the almoner of the Rectory, much of the money passed through her hands. + +She took care to dispense the benefits only where they were deserved +and actually needed, thereby at times giving great offence to some of +the farmers and others, who considered they had as much right to the +dole of bread and clothing as their poorer neighbours. + +But she held her ground with so much independent spirit and true +kindliness, that there were few who did not submit to her sway with +grateful contentment. + +Her store-room was a sight; for not only did it contain food and +clothing, but medicines, herbs, healing ointments, and cordials. + +Dr. Llewellyn, whose acquaintance we made in Mrs. Gwynne's cottage, +called her his assistant-surgeon, for well could he rely on her prompt +attention and unfailing nerve in cases of emergency, when others would +shrink from the sight of suffering. + +Silexa rose into her noblest self on these occasions, for, stern and +unflinching though she was where duty was concerned, she was a true +woman at heart, full of tenderness and sympathy. + +Monday was her busiest day in all the week, and to-day there was an +unusual press of pensioners at the back door. Molly sung gaily at the +scullery pump, as she pared her potatoes; and Old Dinah was clinking +about on her pattens with pail and broom. + +The rain streamed off the roof with a spluttering sound into the +gutter, and there was a lowing of cattle in the sheds across the yard. +The cocks and hens clucked and strutted up and down, pecking and +scratching, and claiming a right of way over the threshold, to continue +their researches for scraps on the lime-ash floor of the kitchen. + +These border raids were occasionally disturbed by a loud swish from +Miss Silexa, and they fluttered out with resentful clucks and a +scuffling rush, to join the delighted ducks, who found countless +puddles wherein to disport themselves. + +The mistress was seated on a low stool by the kitchen hearth amid +flying feathers, for she was busy plucking a goose, which seemed an +endless labour, as she was interrupted every five minutes by some one +knocking. + +"Come in, Bessie Thomas," she cried; "I can't be for ever on the flit +to and fro the door; be quick and tell your errand, for I have no time +to waste." + +"If you please, ma'am," began the woman thus admonished, "I've come up +to say Lewis, Lewis' wife had twins this morning, and she's sent up to +know if you will let her have another square of flannel and some more +baby clothes, as we're driven up short." + +"How provoking!" Silexa ejaculated. "As if there were not enough babies +in the world without extra ones. Such a thriftless body I never knew in +all my days, always living from hand to mouth, never anything ready or +laid by, and her man earns as good a wage as any in St. Elvis." + +"She's a weakly poor soul," interrupted the woman, "and eight +children's a hard handful." + +"Ay, but," rejoined Silexa, "that's no excuse for idleness and want +of forethought. Folks don't deserve to be helped who won't help +themselves." + +Yet, notwithstanding this severe sentence, the store-room keys were +already jingling in Miss Silexa's hand. And the woman was soon laden +with a good-sized bundle, and a can of hot soup for the little ones, +with orders to come for more as long as the mother was laid aside. + +Meantime, a hungry-eyed girl stood waiting her turn. + +"Please, Miss Pryse, Annie's worse, and mother can't get her to eat +nothing." + +"And that's no wonder," said Silexa sharply, "considering the dirt and +rags the child is kept in. Your mother ought to be ashamed of herself, +keeping her house like a pigsty, and not even a clean seat for me to +sit down on the last time I called. What is your father? He always +takes care to keep out of my road, but I saw him slinking out of 'The +Jolly Sailors' on Saturday night, and that's where all his money goes, +and Annie and all the rest of you may starve for aught he cares. Come +down at one o'clock, and there'll be a pudding for Annie. And see that +you wash your face and hands before you show yourself here again, and +tell mother I'll step up towards evening." + +And so the petitioners came and went. + +Miss Silexa prescribed and scolded alternately, packing up food and +medicine, and giving homely advice where it was sought, and words and +smiles of encouragement to the hard-working and industrious, who seemed +to gain fresh zest for their labours by seeing her ever brisk and busy +as a bee. Thus, the morning hours sped away. + + +Eudora's dreamy eyes often peeped round the corner leading to the +kitchen, trying in vain to secure a moment's attention from her busy +aunt, or a word of explanation concerning the sampler she had been +stooping over at the study window. + +"It's no use, grandfather," she said at last, with a little sigh; "it's +all wrong, and Aunt Silexa always sends me away. I wish people never +made these horrid things. I don't like writing my name with a needle +and thread at all, and these ugly flowers are not a bit like the ones +that grow in our garden. I wish it would stop raining, that I might go +down to Lettice." + +"Eh, my little love! What is it you are prattling about?" said her +grandfather, who had been deaf to her short soliloquy, buried in his +books and writing. "Has the boy been down with the letters yet?" + +"No, grandfather, but I'll watch for him." And the child set herself to +count the beaded drops of rain that collected along the woodwork window +and dripped on the sill below. + +The postal arrangements in St. Elvis were most primitive, for the +mail-cart, besides bringing the letters from the nearest town, sixteen +miles off, had baskets and parcels stowed away under its box; for the +crazy old coach ran only once a week. + +These were the only regular means of inland communication with the +world that the inhabitants of the village had at their command. So it +came to pass that the arrival of the mail was never very exact. After +the letters were sorted in the village shop, they were entrusted to an +honest farmer-lad who delivered them at the various houses. + +To-day he was later than usual. But at last, Eudora caught sight of +Dick's rosy face appearing round the laurel hedge, and she ran out to +receive the two letters he held in his hand. + +Her grandfather quivered and grew white as he broke the seal of +one, and a mist came before the dim eyes when he read the following +communication— + + "MY DEAR FRIEND,—I lose no time in forwarding to you news which +I am sure will do something towards lessening a grief of many years' +standing. This morning I received a mysterious packet in an unknown +hand, enclosing bank notes to the amount of £200, with the word +'Restitution' written inside. All means by which I might trace this +have been carefully concealed. + + "Can you suggest a solution of the mystery? + + "I need not add how greatly I rejoice with my valued friend that the +blot on the family honour is at last wiped away. My hope and trust +now is that the self-banished prodigal may some day be restored to +his father. I will spare no pains in seeking to ascertain the clue to +this, but the seal of secrecy is always hard to break. I am, yours most +faithfully,— + + "WILLIAM LYNDWOOD." + +The child watched with a frightened interest the effect of the letter, +as her grandfather perused each line again and again in a vacant way, +as if he could not take in its meaning. Seeing him at length sink back +in the chair in a faint, she summoned her aunt from the kitchen by a +sharp cry. + +His daughter was at his side in a moment, and Eudora was hastily put +out of the room and the door closed upon her, so she ran off to relate +the scene to her chief confidante, Molly, who in her turn wondered what +had come over master. + +But when the mistress appeared again in the kitchen an hour afterwards +to dish up the dinner, she betrayed no sign that would give any clue to +curiosity, either in face or manner, and Molly's sidelong glances were +met by a steady look from the grey eyes, which the girl interpreted as +meaning "Mind your own business." + +Outside, the heavy rain-clouds were lifting, and a glint of golden +sunshine lighted up the shining laurels. And as Eudora went softly to +fetch her grandfather in to dinner, she saw a happy smile on his face, +that somehow seemed strange to the wondering child, who unconsciously +always associated sadness and dolour with his worn though kindly +features. + +"May I go to Porthmynwr, Aunt Silexa?" was the request timidly +proffered at the conclusion of the meal. + +"Yes, if you keep on the high road and don't get wet." + +This permission was joyously hailed by the child, who, duly defended +in cloak and clogs, set out for the cottage. The mile of road was +soon traversed, and Lettice heard the little feet come trotting up +the causeway, and rose to open the door and welcome her pet. Baby was +standing holding on to the bar of a chair, looking very proud of her +achievement, but she tottered forward with a sunny smile into Eudora's +open arms. + +"Come, and let me feel if your feet are wet, my little one," said the +motherly Lettice, taking the child on her lap. "Davie will be back at +four o'clock, and you can have a nice play, and I'll take you home +myself by and by." + +There was something about Lettice that made children run to her like +chickens to the sheltering wing of the mother-hen. She neither scared +nor spoiled them, and a word or look from her was sufficient at all +times for rule and discipline. She was quite as important in her sphere +as Miss Silexa in hers, and her life was fully as busy, though it +flowed more quietly and evenly. + +She was often summoned to scenes of sickness, and her gentle presence +always seemed to soothe the sufferer. Not only did she possess much +knowledge and skill in simple remedies, but she ever carried with her +the healing balm of Gilead for sin-sick souls. She loved to tell them +of the Good Physician and tender Shepherd "who came to seek and to +save that which was lost", and was one of the few to be found among +either gentle or simple who sacrifice themselves for the good of others +without knowing that it "is" a sacrifice. Her cheek often paled with +the weariness of a long night-watch by the bedside of a neighbour, but +she never complained, and was quite as ready to do it when asked again, +even though the fatigue must follow a hard day's toil, for she had to +earn her own living, and her store was scanty enough sometimes. + +She was like a bit of warm sunshine to Eudora's timid heart. And since +the child had grown big enough to go down by herself to Porthmynwr, +Lettice had seen much more of her, and did her utmost to disperse the +unchildlike gravity that almost always rested upon the pale little face. + +"Mrs. Gwynne," said Eudora, hiding her face on the good woman's bosom, +"please, do the white ghosts walk about in the churchyard when it's +dark? Dinah told Molly so, and I'm so frightened." + +"My poor little dove! And that is what they have been scaring you with, +is it? I wondered what made you so white yesterday. What a shame!" +murmured Lettice indignantly, as she took off the child's bonnet and +tenderly stroked her hair. "No, my lamb; don't you ever listen to such +tales again, for they're not true. I'll tell you something better to +think about. Do you remember the snowdrops and crocuses and lilies that +your Aunt, Miss Silexa, plants in the garden?" + +Eudora nodded. + +"Well, they are not pretty flowers when she puts them into the ground, +but only hard, dry roots, so she covers them up with soft warm earth, +and then the snow and rain come down, and they keep so still and quiet +all the winter. In the spring, the kind, bright sun shines down, warms +the earth, and the little flowers begin to show their bright eyes, and +grow beautiful day by day, and when you see them you clap your hands +and say, 'Spring is come! The flowers are here.'" + +"Yes," said Eudora, becoming interested, "and I put some always in my +own garden." + +"My dear little lady," continued Lettice, "the churchyard is called +God's garden; and when those who love Jesus die, their spirits go to +heaven, and their bodies are laid to sleep in the quiet grassy grave, +and angels keep watch over them. Some day, when Jesus comes again and +calls them, they will rise up out of the dark earth like the flowers, +and He will put them on a glorious body that shall never die any more, +and they will live for ever and ever with Him." + +"Will Jesus take care of 'me' when I go to sleep in the churchyard?" +asked Eudora earnestly. + +"Yes, my darling, if you will be one of His lambs now and love Him." + +A new revelation seemed dawning across the child's face as she looked +up and listened. Lettice paused, for she saw the little mind was +grappling with a difficulty. + +"But then," added Eudora slowly, and as if thinking out each word, "why +do they put such big heavy stones upon some of the graves, because the +poor people under them won't be able to rise up quickly when Jesus +comes, will they?" + +This was a thing evidently hitherto undreamt of in Mrs. Gwynne's +philosophy, and for a moment the good woman was fairly baffled. But the +next instant, the words of Scripture came to her aid, and she replied, +"When Jesus our Saviour lay in the tomb, God sent a shining angel to +roll away the stone; and He will do the same when He calls His people +to come out of their graves." + +Eudora seemed much relieved, but presently shook her head, and said +very decidedly— + +"But I would rather have a grave with only daisies on it, like little +Ruth's. Don't cry," she added coaxingly, putting up her small hand to +stay the tear that was finding a course down the careworn cheek. "Tell +me some more. I want to see Jesus, and ask Him to love me. Can I speak +to Him now?" + +"Oh yes, quite easily," answered Lettice, smiling through her tears; +"and He will be sure to hear, because He is everywhere, and you have +only to shut your eyes and pray,— + + "'Lord Jesus, make me one of Thy little lambs; give me Thy Holy Spirit, +and wash me in Thy precious blood, and I shall be whiter than snow.' + +"Let me hear if you can say it." + +So Eudora said it with her little hands folded. + +And Lettice continued: "Be sure, my dear, He 'will' love you, for He +says now, as He said on earth,— + + "'Suffer the little children to come unto Me.'" + +Lettice then kissed the child, and set her down off her knee to go +after baby, who had scrambled away on a voyage of discovery out of +sight behind the cupboard-bed. + +Eudora took her accustomed seat on the low stool by the fire, quite +ready to nurse and rock her to sleep, while Lettice tidied up the room +and got ready for tea. Presently, with a merry whistle, David ran in +from school, and the games by the old chest were carried on with great +spirit, while Eudora's cheeks grew rosy, and her eyes sparkled. She was +a happy child again. + +Lettice led her home in the twilight, and as they passed the quiet +churchyard, Eudora did not shiver with her usual nervous dread, but +looked at the deepening shadows there, and thought about "God's +garden," and the angels keeping watch above the quiet graves. + + +It had been a relief to Miss Silexa to get rid of the child, for since +the arrival of the agitating letter in the morning, a restraint had to +be put on words and looks. The secrets of the Rectory were jealously +guarded; and though the villagers knew much of the sad past, and had +embellished facts with an extra amount of fiction, yet they did not +know all. They were obliged to content themselves with vague guesses at +the truth, while Miss Silexa carefully fenced every outlet for gossip, +and found silence her best security. + +Molly retailed her account of the reception of the letter as given her +by Eudora. And this was repeated from mouth to mouth, until it grew +into the most wonderful story, and the whole village was agog. + +Many pairs of eyes watched Miss Silexa come out from the Rectory gate +in the afternoon. But the expression on her face was unsatisfactory in +its stoicism, as it suggested nothing to elucidate Molly's whisper. The +good lady looked as usual, and walked steadily on to the post-office, +where she slipped a letter into the box, and calmly resumed her walk. + +The gape-seat of the village was an ancient stone cross in the centre +of the principal street. On its time-worn steps, both in summer and +winter, a group of idlers of both sexes might generally be seen ready +to discuss with a will any event that had happened in their own or more +distant neighbourhoods, or to chatter over things that concerned or did +not concern them. + +"I reckon that letter could tell us something," said the first speaker; +"'tis not often Miss Silexa writes one herself." + +"Maybe they've heard some news of the young master," suggested a +second, "as the old gentleman took on so." + +"Not likely," interposed a third, "unless, indeed, he's dead, which +for certain is the truth, for its twelve years this fall since he went +away. Don't you mind how old Dick Howell said three months ago, when he +was up on the hill one moonlight night to watch for the ghost-funerals, +he saw one come out from the Rectory gate as plainly as I see my hand +afore my face? He counted six carriages and a hearse, and the horses +were black." + +"Ay, ay," nodded the gossips, while one and another produced the +small stocks of facts they had to build upon, which had been added to +from time to time, and served up again and again as a savoury dish of +scandal. + +But Miss Silexa upheld the honour of the Rectory by her silence, and +never once stooped to sift the stories that sometimes reached her by +a side-wind and those who had been foremost in circulating them would +slink away abashed if confronted by her steady eye. She asked no +sympathy, for she did not believe in it. + +"'Cause every man to go out from me,'" was the cry of her spirit, as +she sought where to weep and bury her sorrow out of sight. She had +dropped her treasures one by one into a sullen sea, and could not find +them again, for, "He alone never loseth what is dear to him, to whom +all things are dear in Him who is never lost." ¹ + + ¹ St. Augustine. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +A LIGHT IN THE TUNNEL + +SILEXA neither saw nor heard as she passed the town-cross, for her +heart was busy with its own bitterness, going back through the long +years swiftly and steadily, as if searching for the hopes she had +buried one by one. The grass grew on those graves, but the graves were +still there; and the unexpected letter had come as a resurrection voice +to revive her hopes. Yet she shuddered to think that they might be as +short-lived as the spring leaves which autumn winds were now sweeping +withered and brown to her feet. + +The eternal beauty of the resurrection springtide, for which "the whole +creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now," had not +touched her stricken heart with its glow of anticipated gladness. +Therefore, she could not "with patience wait for it," but yearned for +present satisfaction, mourning to find each earthly treasure crumble +into dust and ashes at her touch. + +The straggling streets were soon left behind by her swift footsteps, +and clusters of cottages by the wayside grew fewer, until solitary ones +at rare intervals sprinkled the side of the hill she ascended. + +It was a bare, rough bit of road, and the modern stone house on the +top overlooked the whole village and valley, commanding a magnificent +view of the broad blue bay that stretched away from Porthmynwr. Dr. +Llewellyn lived here, and the good people of St. Elvis had not ceased +to wonder at his choice of this exalted situation in preference to the +snug house near the Rectory, where his predecessor and partner had +lived and died. + +Not a few grumblers were found to complain bitterly of the steep and +stony way that had often to be surmounted before his services could be +secured. But Miss Silexa was not among these, for she loved the pure, +fresh breezes, and knew every hill for miles round. So she soon reached +her destination, and had plenty of breath to spare to inquire for Mrs. +Llewellyn, as an elderly servant appeared in response to her ring. + +"Yes, ma'am, I'm sure she will see you," was the answer, "though, +indeed, I'm sorry to tell you she has had a day of uncommon suffering. +Master has been summoned again to Llanri, which, as you know, ma'am, is +ten miles off. Please step into the parlour, and I'll go upstairs and +tell my mistress." + +In a few minutes, Miss Silexa was following her guide up the staircase +and into the invalid's room. + +Somehow this room never suggested sickness; it always seemed full of +cheer and happy life, giving a mingled impression of soft tinting and +comfort, though the surroundings were of the simplest character. Silexa +always stepped very softly across this threshold, for a gentle spell +seemed to bind her here, which she could never understand but only +feel. She had to make her way across the length of the room to the +westerly window, where streaks of sunlight played lovingly about the +invalid couch, as if to console the patient sufferer lying there. + +Mrs. Llewellyn knew, alas, that in this life her feet could never tread +those green slopes she loved to gaze on, nor climb the purple hills now +bathed in sunset glory. She must wait for "the far better," "the far +more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." + +The face resting among the cushions belonged to a woman past middle +age, and bore the stamp of great suffering, which, instead of ageing +the features, had beautified and ennobled them, giving a refinement +which seemed to shield her from every rough or ungentle touch. + +Silexa never had found a heart-friend in woman all her life. Persons, +however intimate, could only get a certain length, when a repelling +hedge of thorns barred the approach, and effectually secured her +against further intrusion. And yet in her self-will, she had often +yearned for sympathy, but the price demanded was too high, therefore, +she put it from her. An unseen victor, however, had stolen round by +a secret way, and, all unawares to the holder of the citadel, was +storming and taking possession. + +This was no other than the gentle invalid. A perfect stranger to St. +Elvis until the last few years, when her husband brought her to try the +effect if its celebrated climate, she knew nothing of the sad history +of the Rectory, except what she had gathered from the gratuitous +information of those about her, and what she had learned by her own +quiet intuition. + +Silexa liked her from the first, having never met any one with such an +utter absence of curiosity in her nature. And she could talk freely, +for Mrs. Llewellyn possessed that rare talent which invites confidence, +but never forces it. So it came to pass that the weary heart often +sought the shade and shelter of that sick chamber, and all unwittingly +leaned upon the strength found there. + +To the self-reliant Silexa, this study of glad and submissive +patience was a perpetual puzzle. She could believe in stoicism and +self-imposed martyrdom, but "rejoicing in tribulation" was with her +an impossibility. Therefore, she had been inclined to doubt if such +a thing was ever genuine, until she found it existing here in living +force. Indeed, her new friend's faith bore not green leaves only, but +showed fair blossom and pleasant fruit, inviting the wayfarer to turn +aside and rest under its shadow. + +"How kind of you to come! And I know you are so busy," was the cheery +greeting, as the soft eyes sought to read the meaning of an increased +expression of care and anxiety that rested on her visitor's face. "Sit +there," she added, pointing to a comfortable chair beside her, "and you +will get the benefit of these bright blinks of sunshine." + +But Silexa had already lifted over a sensible-looking cane chair, as +she never felt comfortable in a low easy seat. And Mrs. Llewellyn, +remembering her preference, did not remonstrate. + +"Where is my little pet, Eudora? I have not seen her since the terrible +wreck." + +"I sent her down to Mrs. Gwynne after dinner," was the reply, given +somewhat absently, as the restless grey eyes wandered away across +the wide expanse of sea with a hungry yearning in them. Then, as if +recalling her thoughts, she added resolutely— + +"The child mopes, and I do not know what to do with her. I have no +book-learning to give her, and if I had my hands are too full to attend +to it, and she idles about getting her head full of Molly's nonsense. +I am anxious to do my duty by her, though she is as scared and timid +as any hare whenever I come near her, as if she thought I was going to +hurt her. I don't know what ails the child." + +Mrs. Llewellyn was silent for some minutes, as her thoughts roamed +away to the grim old Rectory wrapped in its sadness, and to the little +life growing up within its grey walls stunted and sickly, for lack of +sunlight, moral and physical. Then she said quietly, "Will you let her +come to me for two or three hours every day? I have been longing to ask +you, but feared to take her from her grandfather." + +"Oh no," said Silexa proudly; "thank you all the same, but I did not +mean to ask favours. A child is always a plague and worry, especially +in sickness. I would teach her myself, only what learning I had has +grown rusty; and my mother considered my education complete when I had +finished a sampler and done a piece of worsted-work for her chair." + +"I have no doubt you could do a great deal for the dear child if you +had the time to bestow on her," replied Mrs. Llewellyn, smiling at her +friend's self-depreciating remark; "but do let me help you!" + +"It would not be at all fair," continued Silexa; "you have enough to do +to bear your suffering without any additional worries." + +"She will not trouble me," pleaded the quiet voice; "it will be only +a pleasure to have her. And when I am in pain, she will find her own +amusement. Do not deny me my request; it will be a real kindness to let +me have her. Please allow her to come to-morrow, and we will try the +experiment." + +"You are very kind," said Silexa at last, gratefully, seeing that Mrs. +Llewellyn really wished it. "I will speak to my father about it, but +will you promise to send her home when she is troublesome?" + +"Yes, I will," was the ready response. + +And the bargain was concluded, as Silexa closed the discussion by +producing a basket of new-laid eggs carefully arranged in fragrant hay. + +"I will put them here in a safe corner," she said, cutting short the +flow of grateful thanks. "I am so glad you can take them, for we have +plenty. Now tell me about Mary." + +"Oh, I had such a bright letter from her this morning; she is working +very hard now, and has taken the place of pupil teacher that she may +save us expense, and still have the advantages of the school. Maurice +is a great expense to us now, and will be more so every year." + +"How old is he now?" + +"Eleven, and Mary is sixteen; you hardly know her at all, only having +seen her in the holidays. And I was so ill the last time she was at +home, she was able to go out very little." + +"No, but I liked her bright, sensible face, and thought she was made of +the right stuff for getting through the world well." + +Mrs. Llewellyn smiled and was silent, but in her heart there echoed her +Saviour's words,— + + "'I pray not that Thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that +Thou shouldest keep them from the evil.'" + +Then she said, "Our little Dora will soon learn to love her. And when +Mary comes home next summer, she will be able to go about with her +and see some of the lovely spots on this strangely wild and beautiful +coast." + +"Oh, Eudora is like a wild goat among those places; she does not know +what fear is in climbing about." + +Silexa paused in the middle of her speech, and a strange shadow crept +over her face as she added, "I feel as if she were my own; I have had +her ever since she was born." + +"Have you indeed? Then I don't wonder you are so fond of her. She was +born in the old home, then?" + +"Yes, just six years ago; her father was drowned a few days before." + +Mrs. Llewellyn looked away towards the sunset when she saw the deathly +pallor that overspread the face of the narrator at these words, and +connected it in her mind with something she had heard long ago. In that +moment, her woman's heart had read the secret of Silexa's life, though +her intuitive delicacy guarded the betrayal of the discovery. + +And when Miss Pryse heard the quiet comment, "Poor orphan babe!" she +little guessed the truth was no longer bolted and barred from human +ken. And a short sigh of relief escaped her on finding the conversation +had turned into another channel. + +The tender hand had found the wound; the healing must be given silently +and unconsciously. + + "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy." + +"What a pleasure it will be for Eudora to go down and see the baby! You +must ask Lettice to bring it up to show me very soon." + +"She told me she intended to come," said Silexa; "it is a fine healthy +child. I suppose you have heard about the christening?" + +"Oh yes; and my husband has been making endless inquiries about the +wreck, but can hear nothing that throws any light upon the parentage of +the child. I wonder who the infant belongs to." + +"I don't think Lettice wants it claimed now," replied Silexa; "though I +tell her she is a fool to burden herself with it." + +"She will have her reward," Mrs. Llewellyn said gravely; "and I trust +the little one may prove a joy and blessing to her both now and in +after years. How is your father, Miss Pryse?" + +"Very feeble, thank you; he has been upset to-day by news from a +distance." + +"Indeed," was the quiet response; "I am sorry for that; he is too weak +to bear any agitation." + +Silexa inwardly chafed at this calm comment, though she scarcely knew +why. There was a tempest in her heart, and though sore tossed, she was +too proud to ask for succour. + +The family trouble could not be a secret, for every one in the village +knew about it. Silexa had been often conscious of a silent sympathy on +this subject from the doctor's wife; therefore she half hoped for a +question from her to-day which would give her an opportunity to speak +of what had caused hope to shine anew like a beacon light. + +Oh for a voice to tell her it was no phantom! But pride again stepped +in; she would not solicit sympathy, and turned away from the look of +questioning love in her friend's eyes to say, bitterly, "One is doomed +to disappointment in this life, and hope is but a shadow to those who +pursue it." + + "'Hope that is seen is not hope,—'" + +said the gentle voice; + + "'for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for? But if we hope for +that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.' + +"Faith and patience are our wings in trouble. Have these failed?" + +"I 'have' waited for twelve long years," was the bitter answer. + +"Ah yes, I know you have; and waiting years are always long ones." + +Silexa was silent. + +"But our Heavenly Father is so loving; He never lays a burden upon +us that we are not able to bear, because He giveth more and more of +His all-sufficient grace to support and cheer. I remember during my +journey to St. Elvis, the train had to pass through a long, dark +tunnel, and as my eyes sought to pierce the gloom, I noticed at +intervals bright lights had been placed, whose rays lighted up the +bare dripping stones. And every here and there, a shaft from above +let in the light of heaven, as if to give promise of sunshine beyond. +This, thought I, is a picture of our troubles. We shrink and fear as +we plunge into the darkness, but every now and then we see the lamps +of the promises shining so brightly that we cannot help thanking God +and taking courage. And the light of heaven is let in upon our path, +telling us that though 'weeping may endure for a night, joy cometh in +the morning.' If I mistake not, a light has been shining down into the +tunnel to-day in the shape of that letter." + +"Oh, it is nothing to cling to," said Silexa sadly. "No name given, or +any clue by which we can trace it." + +"And is there nothing to be thankful for?" + +"Yes, 'one' thing," replied Silexa sternly; "the disgrace of our family +has been wiped away—the money has been restored." + +"Thank God!" said Mrs. Llewellyn. "He will devise means for the +banished one. Only trust Him. It is such a comfort to think He knows +the end from the beginning, and that nothing happens by chance." + +This was a new creed for Silexa, and she was but dimly conscious of its +comfort, though a glimmering ray had stolen into the poor, dark heart, +in spite of closed windows and drawn-down blinds. Yet she felt, as she +went out from that gentle presence, she was no longer a lonely woman, +for a friendly hand had pointed out the error of her life. + +"Hitherto she had subdued her calamities, not by the power of a faith +which sustains, not by the effort of a patience which has learned to +wait, but by a careless, practical stoicism; by a secret defiance of +the decrees of Providence." ¹ Strength in weakness, life in death, +wealth in poverty, joy in sorrow; these paradoxes she had never +reconciled, therefore the words, "'Not my will, but Thine be done,'" +yet lacked their interpretation. It is a mysterious handwriting to all +who stand not on the heavenward side of the cross of Christ. + + ¹ Madame de Gasparin. + + +From this time, bright days dawned for the little Dora. And all through +that winter, in storm or shine, she ran off to spend happy, busy +mornings with her kind friend at the top of the hill. + +Mrs. Llewellyn found an apt pupil in the child, and from her couch +she would watch with silent admiration the steady perseverance and +application that in time accomplished the neatly written copy or +rightly proved sum. + +She soon discerned that Eudora was one of those children whose clever +brain would, if allowed full scope, soon wear out the delicate body, +and therefore she very wisely made recreation preponderate over study. +The eager little gatherer would bring in treasures from wood and +shore—bits of lichened sticks, ferns and fungi, leaves and mosses, +shells and stones. + +They were always called dirt and rubbish in the Rectory, and Eudora +never ventured to carry them farther than the secluded corner of the +garden, where the weeping willow received and guarded them. It was +indeed a strange new joy to have them welcomed and admired. And this +gave fresh interest to her walks, as she was ever seeking for another's +pleasure as well as her own. + +But best of all, she loved her lesson from the Bible; for to the child +this had always been a dry, sealed book. Now her world was peopled with +Scripture characters. How she loved to hear those grand Old Testament +stories of the beautiful garden of Eden, the building of Noah's ark, +the call of Abraham, the meeting of the faithful Eliezer with Rebekah +by the well, the story of Joseph, and the wanderings of the children of +Israel. With what breathless anxiety did she listen to the history of +Daniel's fearless integrity, and his night with the lions, and how she +trembled with the wicked king Belshazzar at the mystic handwriting on +the wall. + +And the sweet story of Bethlehem, though oftenest told, was never +tiring; for her little heart had opened to let the love of the Saviour +in; and He welcomed her to Him to be His child for ever. She sang about +Him in the beautiful hymns she learned. And when her kind teacher was +unable to attend to her, which often happened during her bad attacks of +pain, she would creep behind the curtain in the window, and her soft, +sweet voice was like David's harp to the sufferer, seeming to lessen +the great agony. + +In this quiet retreat, seeds were sown in little Dora's heart,—seeds +of gentleness and patient meekness under suffering, which would bring +forth fruit in after years. By being a ministering child, she was +unconsciously fulfilling her Saviour's command, "'Take My yoke upon +you, and learn of Me'"; for our share in the burdens of others must be +part of the learning that will make us like Jesus. This early training +taught her to be a sympathising and tender nurse, and, by watchfulness +and obedience, to become the ready helper and comfort of her invalid +friend. + +Kind Deborah, the old servant, was spared much thought and anxiety when +the child was with her mistress, for she would remember the hour for +the medicine, and her young feet would trot about on errands, and fetch +the daintily prepared tray from the kitchen, where her sweet face and +pretty ways always ensured a welcome. + +Even this little child had the unspeakable pleasure of feeling she was +of use in the world. And though Mrs. Llewellyn would often secretly +regret that so fair a flower should be blooming more among the shadows +than the sunshine of life, she hoped and prayed that Eudora might be +all the holier and purer for it, and grow up like the spotless lily of +the valley, whose retreat is often only to be traced by the fragrant +odour it diffuses around. + +And thus the little life was circled by love and varied interests, +and in the latter, Baby Ermyn held no small share, for scarcely a day +passed without a happy run down the valley to the cottage to play with +the toddling creature, who always welcomed her with a cry of delight. + +The unselfish, motherly heart of Lettice marked with joy the change +that had transformed the delicate, sickly blossom into a bright, +healthy flower that could now rejoice in the sunshine of God's +beautiful world. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +A PARABLE FROM NATURE + +THE winter was a long and dreary one for the cottagers in St. Elvis and +Porthmynwr. A scarcity of provisions, owing to high prices and lack of +labour, pinched the poor, and was the cause of much want and suffering. +There was sorrow also; for stormy seas and hurricanes had greatly +swelled the ordinary roll of casualties along the coast. + +The Rectory kitchen was besieged by hungry people; and Silexa and +Lettice worked away, as only brave hearts can, striving to do all in +their power for the needy and helpless. Yet there was this difference +in the work of the two women. Silexa, careful and cumbered, worked +with her eyes fixed only on the task in hand. Lettice laboured all the +lighter, because in her toil she found leisure to sit at the Master's +feet and hear His words. + +Both had their reward; but in the empty void of one heart these words +ever echoed and made themselves heard, in spite of toiling hands and +busy brain, "One thing is needful." The other heart was so filled and +satisfied with Christ Himself, that it could only take up and repeat +the glad assurance, "Your joy no man taketh from you." + +The winter snows heaped themselves up across the undulating plains, +thereby shutting away this quiet little Welsh corner from the rest of +the great world. Few cared to traverse the dreary high road at this +inclement season; so the story of its joys and sorrows never went far +beyond the village, as in their quiet round the months moved slowly +onwards towards the spring. + +It came at last, and "primrose stars in the shadowy grass" shone in +the Rectory garden and the green hollows of the valley. The stream in +its gay gladness hurried sparkling along through daisy-tipped meadows, +inviting little children to come and play beside it, while the aged and +infirm crept to their cottage doors to warm their stiff limbs in the +reviving sunshine. + +It happened on a bright May morning, while the dew yet rested on the +grass, that Lettice was seen wending her way towards the breezy cliffs, +carrying the child Ermyn in her arms. She sang a snatch of pleasant +song, for her heart was in tune with the May gladness, and the little +one laughed back at her in merry glee, clasping a dimpled arm still +tighter round her neck. + +They were going towards the "sainted well" which stood in a thymy field +amid broad sunny slopes that stretch down to the edges of the red and +purple sandstone cliffs, whose feet are washed by the fickle waves. The +well was sunk in a hollow in the side of a hill which rose abruptly +behind it; sprays of ivy and tufts of fern formed its canopy, and waved +pleasantly to the winds as they came up from the sea. But no sunbeam +could ever pierce the grot within, where lay the icy, sparkling waters, +which ebbed and flowed with the tide, yet were always fresh and sweet. +Rude steps cut in the sandstone led down to the bottom of the well, the +depth of the water at fullest being about three feet. + +The villagers had ever regarded it with the greatest veneration, for +tradition said its waters sprang up miraculously for the baptism of a +holy saint, and that it was endowed with healing properties for persons +suffering from rheumatism and other ills; also a special blessing was +supposed to rest on the babe whose limbs were often dipped within the +fern-fringed fountain. + +Lettice could hardly help being tinged with the superstitious reverence +that surrounded this sacred spot, for she had been taught from her +earliest childhood to venerate and love it. No water seemed so fresh +and pure as this, and she would often come with her pitcher to fetch +a draught of it for some poor sick one, who fancied a drink from its +cool recess more than anything else. Lettice firmly believed with many +others that there was a special virtue in these waters; and therefore, +now that the warm days had come, she determined her little Ermyn should +share in the benefit, and accordingly brought her every day for a dip +in the sacred spring. The fearless, hardy child certainly throve under +the treatment, returning rosy and joyous from these morning rambles. + +Lettice watched with motherly pride the development of health and +beauty in her cherished nurseling, who daily grew dearer to her heart. +She loved to see the dark brown eyes raised to hers with each childish +appeal, and to hear the innocent prattle at her knee; for the little +one seemed always happiest when beside her. + +Baby fingers would waken her in the morning with their soft touch, +and tiny feet trotted after her through the rich meadow grass in the +pastures hard by, or climbed the sunny uplands if the cows had strayed +higher in search of the herbage they loved. The dumb creatures knew +the little child as well as their gentle mistress; for while Lettice +filled her pails with sweet, warm milk, Ermyn would stand fearlessly +at her side, and put out her small fingers to be licked by the great +rough tongues, or run off delighted for handfuls of grass and flowers +to feed them with. Sometimes she would tumble over and roll down a +gentle slope, for her bare, rosy feet were not very steady yet; still +she never seemed to mind, but was up again in an instant. Shoes and +stockings were as yet an unknown luxury to the little maid, for Lettice +never cared to hamper babies with them until they were old enough to +run upon the roads, as she had a notion that it was much more healthy +to let the little feet have the benefit of fresh air and sunshine. + +Strangers often came to St. Elvis in the bright summer time, and in +course of their ramblings about Porthmynwr would not unfrequently stop +and speak to the uncommon-looking child, so strangely unlike her pale, +hard-working mother. + +Whenever this happened, jealous pangs would assail the heart of +Lettice, for fear her treasure might be claimed and taken from her. She +was always curt and reticent in replying to remarks or inquiries made +about the child, and the locket never saw the light of day. Yet Mrs. +Gwynne was pleased when people noticed her beauty, and Ermyn became the +possessor of many a penny and bright threepenny piece, which the mother +put by in a little box as a future store for her darling. + +David mounted guard over his pet whenever he was not at school, and +was her most devoted servant. She would stand and watch for him on +the little bridge where the brooklet slipped away to join the sea, +and directly she caught sight of him would run off through the soft +grass to meet him, and like a mischievous elf, could never resist the +pleasure of turning to chase the ducks. It was the rarest fun to her +to see them launch upon the heaving waters of the creek with flying +splashes, but she did not mean to be unkind, for she loved all birds +and animals, and neither David nor Lettice had ever chidden her for it. + +The boy was constantly devising new schemes for her amusement, and she +soon discovered that with him she had only to ask and have. He would +cut little wooden boats for her to sail in the brook; they would then +launch them among reeds and grasses, and running down to the head of +the creek, watch them appear from under the bridge, when the fairy +craft would be welcomed by shouts of laughter and clapping of hands. +Then he would take her to all his favourite haunts and hollows up the +valley, and climb its cragged sides to get the flowers she fancied. +They would have long plays among the planks of timber on the jetty. And +sometimes on a holiday, Old Roger would take them round in his boat to +a lovely white-beached cove, and call for them again when he had done +his fishing, unless they got tired, and went home by St. Elvis. + +There was not a sailor in the hamlet who did not love the child; and +she always accepted their rough endearments and kindly words with +the dignity of a little duchess. And when there arose quarrelsome +discussion as to who should carry her down the steps to the boat, she +would patronisingly single out the one she wished to do it, and so +settle the matter, soothing the disappointed ones with a bright smile. + +She was thoroughly the child of the hamlet, and there was not a man +who would not have risked his life for Ermyn, so that Lettice had no +fears for her safety, when she allowed her to find her way to the jetty +alone, which she was soon able to do. + +Old Roger loved to see her about, and she often trotted towards him as +he sat mending his nets, or arranging his tackle below the causeway. +And many an idle moment did she beguile him into, while answering her +questions and doing her bidding. + +Ermyn did not go to St. Elvis very often, for Lettice generally went by +the high road, and had enough to carry with her baskets and marketings +without the weight of the child. But she had been taken more than once +to see Mrs. Llewellyn, who was always interested in her, and helped +Lettice, by making garments and giving advice about the little one. + + +Miss Silexa rarely went down to Porthmynwr, for she had enough to +attend to at St. Elvis. So it happened that she saw very little of her +godchild until she was five years old, when one day, having occasion to +go in that direction, she visited the cottage. + +Lettice was busy ironing, so Miss Pryse, who hated sitting with her +hands before her, took up an iron and helped her. + +Ermyn was playing and talking to herself beside the old chest, keeping +school with a row of stones she had arranged, in lieu of pupils. The +two women talked, and Silexa furtively watched the child. Presently she +said, "Ermyn is old enough to go to school now; when are you going to +send her?" + +"Oh, not yet," pleaded Lettice. "I could not let her go to St. Elvis +alone; and Davie teaches her every evening. She knows all her letters +now, and is beginning little words." + +"Oh well, then, there is no hurry. Come here, Ermyn; I want you." + +But Ermyn did not want Miss Silexa, and turned away with a wilful +little shrug of her small shoulders, to resume her play. + +Lettice spoke, and a word or look from her was sufficient. The little +rebel crept shyly towards Miss Pryse, as she sat down, and beckoned her +over. Ermyn raised her large brown eyes with a far-away wondering look +in them, as the lady lifted her upon her knee. + +Silexa never could make children talk; a timid shrinking and a silent +awe was invariably the reception she met with at their hands, and it +troubled her, though she did not betray her disappointment. + +There was silence in the room while Silexa earnestly contemplated the +baby features; then setting her down on the floor again, she said +abruptly to Lettice— + +"Do you ever see a likeness to any one there?" + +"Yes," replied Lettice, "but I thought it was only my fancy." + +"Fancies are more troublesome than facts sometimes," muttered Silexa. +"I wish this one had never come into my head." + +And the strong woman rose, and walked towards the cottage door, where +she could see nothing for the mist that had suddenly dimmed her eyes. + +"The child will alter," said Lettice quietly, going on with her ironing. + +"She will never lose those beautiful eyes, Lettice. I never saw any +like them except—" + +No need to mention the name both knew so well. It had not passed +Silexa's lips for years, and those about her forbore to utter it in her +presence. Yet "many waters cannot quench love; neither can the floods +drown it"; her lost and dead ones were still vividly before her. How +she longed to snatch that little unconscious child, and press her to +her aching heart. It could not be, and she felt sorry she had spoken. + +Lettice watched her sadly, and silently prayed that "the Holy Ghost the +Comforter" might enter that stricken heart, and bring peace and joy +from a loving Father, through "the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour +Jesus Christ." + +Silexa little guessed that this request was going up, for as she bade +her humble friend farewell, she only thought the burden was too heavy +for her, and that she was bearing it alone. Yet she was dimly seeking +after the God of her life. She was unwittingly a learner in His school, +though she quarrelled with the lessons. + +"We see God's decrees when they bring forth their fruits, all actions, +good and ill, sweet and sour, in their time; but we see not presently +His blessed end, and the good that He bringeth out of His holy and +spotless counsel. We see His working and sorrow; the end of His counsel +and working lieth hidden and underneath the ground, and therefore we +cannot believe. We see red earths, unbroken clods, furrows and stones; +but we see not summer lilies, roses, and the beauty of a garden." ¹ + + ¹ S. Rutherford. + +Silexa left the cottage, and stood on the causeway for a moment, as +if hesitating whither to go next, then slowly turned in the direction +of the jetty, picking her way among loose stones and slippery seaweed +below the wall where Roger moored his boats. She finally climbed up to +a bare boulder of rock above the tide-mark, where she sat down, and set +her face seawards. + +It was low tide; and the curving Roman jetty stood high and bare from +its foundations, and the creek looked nothing better than a slush-lined +way. The rocks, fringed with seaweed, made a picturesque and irregular +coast-line, while from them, here and there, hung chains yellow with +rust, by which boats were fastened. The waters outside the jetty heaved +and swelled, as if impatient to hasten their meeting with the fresh +stream that had been flowing down steadily from the hills to meet the +sea. But the brook had lost all its joyous ripple as it neared the +shore, and was oozing sleepily through slimy green seaweed and forsaken +rocks. + +"A picture of my desolate heart," thought Silexa; "every joy dried up, +and empty spaces left that nothing can fill." + +And the tears she had restrained in Mrs. Gwynne's presence fell in +warm drops upon her hand, which was instantly raised to dash them +impatiently away. But they cleared her vision, for when she looked +again, she saw the stream, though but a slender thread, struggling +towards the sea. + +"It will reach it at last," she thought. "O my God! That I might reach +Thee! Is it true that we may lose ourselves in the ocean of Thy love? +Oh, to get away from this miserable self for ever! But it cannot be. +With such a past as mine, which will haunt me till the day of my death, +how can I forget?" + +Poor Silexa, she read but half the parable nature was spreading out +before her. The mill-stream crept but a short way down the creek, when +the returning tide approached to welcome it. The boats heaved gently, +and began to rock against the advancing undulations, while the ocean +lay calm and broad beyond. Deeper and deeper it swelled towards the +shore, until the unsightly mud was covered and all the rocky hollows +filled up, and a blue band of bright sparkling water girdled the rocks. +The mountain stream had found its home; its wanderings had not been in +vain. So is it when we set out to find our God and Father. When we are +yet a great way off, He comes to meet us, and we lose ourselves in Him. + + +While Silexa mused by the shore, Mary Llewellyn seated herself in the +westerly window overlooking the bay, beside her mother's couch. And +a smile of glad pleasure overspread the face of the invalid as she +saw that the loveliness without caused the active fingers to drop the +half-stitched wristbands, while the bright eyes took a long look down +the valley. + +"Mother," she said, at length, turning from the window towards her, +"you don't know what good it does me, when I am in London, teaching, to +think you have this to look at." + +"Yes, darling; there should not be a repining thought in the midst of +such beauty. I often think of the 23rd Psalm when I look down on those +pleasant slopes and follow the winding of the green ribbon that marks +the course of the stream. My Lord has indeed made me 'to lie down in +green pastures, and led me beside the still waters.' 'My cup runneth +over,' and it is such a joy to know that He is filling it." + +"Mother, how can you be so patient in such a suffering life as yours? +I don't think I could bear it as you do, for little things make me +impatient." + +"I have had my lesson to learn, Mary dear, and failed as long as I +tried to do it by myself. At last I just gave up struggling to master +it in my own strength, and then God Himself was my Teacher. My own will +was broken, and His perfect will was put in its place, and the yoke +became easy and the burden light." + +"But you pray that you may be made well, mother, don't you? I ask that +for you every day." + +"And your prayer is being answered, my child. It 'is' well, and it +'shall' be well. To be made a vessel meet for the Master's use, even +though tried and purified by the fire of suffering, is not this to be +well? To know that He is sitting as the Refiner, until He sees His own +image reflected in the tried silver, is not this rest and peace?" + +"But, mother, God is our Father, and full of mercy and love. It cannot +be His pleasure that His loved ones should suffer." + +"No, and that is why we are told, 'Though He cause grief, yet will He +have compassion according to the multitude of His mercies. For He doth +not afflict willingly nor grieve the children of men.'" (Lam. iii. 32, +33). + +Mary was silent for a few minutes. Then, as she watched a group of +clouds slowly closing over a bit of blue sky, she said, "Yet the clouds +must be very heavy sometimes, and days of pain must be dark ones." + + "'No chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous,—'" + +repeated her mother. + + "'Nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruits of +righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.' + + "'Wherefore let them that suffer according to the will of God commit +the keeping of their souls to Him as unto a faithful Creator.' + +"I 'have' committed all to Him, and the care of it I leave entirely +with Him, for He hath said,— + + "'I the Lord do keep it: lest any hurt it, I will keep it night and +day,' and 'He that keep thee will not slumber.'" + +Mary was about to reply, when a knock at the door interrupted the +conversation. + +"If you please, miss," said Deborah, "Widow Gwynne's son has come up to +see you and Miss Eudora would like to go out in his grandfather's boat +to-morrow morning, because he can take you round to Clythwr Cove, while +he goes a-fishing, and call for you again; if you will please to say +what time you will be on the jetty." + +"How delightful!" cried Mary. "And we will take dear little Ermyn, too. +But no, I cannot go," she added, looking at her mother; "we should be +away for hours." + +"Do not be uneasy on my account, darling. I am so accustomed to +solitude that I have grown to enjoy it, and it will be a greater +pleasure to me to know the sea breezes are brightening your pale London +cheeks with roses, than to have you beside me all day. I want you to +make the most of your holidays, dear, for the time so quickly slips +away." + +Mary had stepped back to her mother's couch while listening to her +answer, and she now stooped down and kissed the delicate features, +saying as she did so, "I hope the time is not very far off, mother +dearest, when I shall come back never to leave you again. It is this +thought that makes me brave and patient for work now. Very well, +Deborah, we will go. Stay, I will run down and speak to David myself; I +want to tell him Maurice is coming next week." + +And closing the door gently, Mary sped away, to find David watching +with eager interest the busy occupants of the six beehives that stood +in a row against a sunny wall surrounded by sweet flowers. + + +The following day was one of bright summer splendour, and the little +party met at the appointed time on the Roman jetty, where Old Roger had +his boat ready. At length they were all seated, and the little barque +rode out on the sunny tide as the white surge seethed and rushed in +foamy frets round the groups of purple rocks whose sides and top were +gay with orange lichen creeping over them. + +Old Roger steered carefully while two of his mates plied the oars +steadily, for the contending currents and sunken rocks made navigation +difficult and dangerous along this coast. Free and fearlessly the boat +rose above the waves—the children shouting for joy as they watched the +buoyant water. + +At length the last point of rock was rounded, and they glided +tranquilly along the broad blue bay. In about half an hour the smooth +sands of Clythwr appeared, and the boat was run ashore. David stepped +out first with Ermyn in his arms, followed by Mary and Eudora. + +Then the fun began in good earnest, and David, proud to lead the way, +did the honours of the cove thoroughly. There were deep fringed pools +to be looked into, where lay the wondrous sea-flowers or anemones +waving and unfolding their feathery and brilliant petals, while +seaweeds—crimson, golden, green, bright with varying hues—spread +themselves out in delicate tracery beneath the clear water. The +children climbed the rocky and wave-worn staircases to hide themselves +in the caves, and make them echo with merry laughter. + +When they were tired and wanted to rest, David called out,— + +"Come here, Ermyn, and show Miss Llewellyn how you do lessons by the +sea." + +David hunted about and found a stick with which he began to trace +letters on the sand. + +"Here comes a wave, Ermyn, to wash it away!" cried he. "Be quick and +say the word. Right! Now for another. Ah, little sister, you have lost +it," he said gently, as the excited child stretched out her eager +hands, as if to stay the advancing water. + +"Ermyn," said Eudora at last, "I think we don't want any more lessons. +Let us go and have a good long play in the caves. We may, mayn't we, +Mary?" + +"Yes, darling; and you may take the basket and unpack it, and spread +out our dinner. And when it is ready, come and call us. Be careful not +to fall on the sharp rocks." + +Off set the delighted children, full of the importance of their trust, +leaving David to enjoy one of his greatest pleasures—a quiet talk with +Miss Mary. How eagerly he looked forward to her holidays, for she +had been a truly kind friend to him, always ready to help him out of +difficulties and give wise counsel. + +Mary quickly perceived the boy possessed talents and a capacity for +learning far above the average of his class. And it had been a great +interest to her from time to time, during her visits home, to guide his +aspirations into the right channel. + +"There is the making of a scholar in that boy," she had said to her +father, "if only the right stepping-stones can be found for him; he has +a mind far beyond boats and fishing-nets. What is to be done?" + +Dr. Llewellyn had thought over the matter. But beyond lending him +books, and encouraging his son Maurice to make a companion of him +during his holidays, he could do nothing. + +There was no help to be counted upon from the Rectory; for Miss +Silexa, who was the ruling spirit there, highly disapproved of too +much book-learning for the poor. "It makes them discontented with the +station in which God has put them," she said; "and those who are not +born gentlemen should be content with an honest calling, and live and +die as their fathers before them." + +So Mary never mentioned the subject to her; and to speak to poor, +feeble, old Dr. Pryse would, she knew, be quite useless. Therefore, the +matter had rested until now. + +However, help was presenting itself from an unlooked-for quarter. The +Calvinistic Methodist minister, who was a great friend of Old Roger +Rudd, had often taken notice of David. And seeing that he was a shrewd +lad, able to talk well, ardent and sincere in his piety, and with his +heart set on being some day able to preach to his fellow-villagers, +he promised to use his interest to gain admission for him into an +English college, established for the free training of young men for +the ministry, without any formal stipulation as to the particular +body of evangelical Christians with which they would eventually ally +themselves. David had therefore now a hope that at the expiration of +his time at the grammar school of St. Elvis, he might pass on to higher +studies; while the freedom which the college permitted was especially +congenial to David, who had not as yet made up his mind as to his +special place in the flock of the "One Shepherd." + +This was the piece of news that he had been keeping to tell Mary. And +she listened with untiring interest to the story of his high hopes and +longings, believing that David had chosen the Lord as his portion, and +that now he desired to live the life that would best glorify Him; so +she could wish him "God-speed" in this new path which seemed opening +before him. + +David never forgot the talk on the beach that sunny day. It came back +to him again and again when he stood on that white-pebbled shore, and +Mary was far-away from him in the heart of busy London, learning in the +path of lowly meekness how "to labour and to wait." + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +A SHADOW ON THE THRESHOLD + +SEVEN years rolled away, but so quietly that no perceptible change +appeared in the old village of St. Elvis. The hand of time seemed to +have paused in its progressive work, for though it had led some of the +children out of childhood into youth, and a few dear ones had here and +there been laid to sleep in the mossy churchyard, it had apparently +left all else untouched. + +The crazy coach still "dragged its slow length along" every week to the +market town, and the grim old granite cross held its knot of gossips as +of yore. + +The fast-growing ivy had somewhat changed the appearance of the +Rectory, having covered walls to the very roof, and the latticed +windows looked out like shining eyes from a mass of green. The +monthly roses, in spite of the keen February wind, had opened their +bright blossoms, and hundreds of tightly folded buds gave promise of +succession as they tapped against Eudora's easement above the porch. + +But she could not open to them; her hand did not steal out to pluck +them as usual. Instead of the sweet young face that so often peeped +out, Miss Silexa's grey eyes peered forward, as if anxiously watching +for some one. We must look beyond her into the dimness of that +ivy-shaded chamber to know why her face wore that troubled look. + +There, on a small old-fashioned bed with faded, washed-out chintz +hangings, lay Eudora Meredith, still called the child of the Rectory, +though seven years have increased her stature, and led her onwards to +"where the brook and river meet." The flush of fever was on her cheek +and an unnatural brightness in her blue eyes, as she turned wearily +from side to side on her pillow, panting for breath. She was very ill, +and Silexa knew it, as she stood waiting and watching for Dr. Llewellyn. + +"Oh, why does not he come?" she thought. "He must have been detained, +or perhaps off on one of his ten-mile rides." + +She walked to and fro impatiently, and with each creak of her stout +village-made shoes, a fresh dart of pain ran through Eudora's head. But +her aunt divined not the cause of those low moans. + +It may be easily seen from this that good, worthy Miss Silexa was not +exactly the person for a sick-room. She could bind up the most terrible +wounds without flinching, and obey the commands of a doctor promptly +and well. But there was no rest in her composition, and the energy of +her active mind seemed as if it must find vent in noise and bustle. And +yet her anguish would have been keen if she had really known what agony +she was causing, for no one loved Eudora with a deeper love than she +did. + +There was still a barrier between aunt and niece, for Eudora's timidity +and sensitiveness had grown with her growth, and she shrunk more than +ever from her aunt's touch. Silexa's eyes had not yet been opened to +see the cause, though she was painfully aware of the fact, and mourned +over it. She reasoned to herself about it with all her earthly wisdom, +but could not find the clue; the threads of life were still a tangled +skein, which at last grew so hopeless in their confusion, that again +and again the thought would come over her, that it was better not to +care at all about anything. And yet the glimmerings of light that ever +and anon shot athwart her path would not allow this. + +She really wanted the God of her life, and was not aware how near He +was to her. It was a God afar off she sought. Like Hagar in the desert, +she only saw the burning sand and spent bottle; the springing fountain, +clear and sweet, flowing close at hand, was invisible. Its ripple had +long sounded in her ears, but she did not heed it, nor stoop to drink. + +"You are shivering, child," said Silexa suddenly, as she touched the +little hot hand; "I will see about a fire at once." + +And delighted at the idea of having something to do during these weary +moments of suspense, and vexed with herself for not thinking of it +before, she went off briskly to get sticks and fuel. + +How the worm-eaten timbers shook under her tread, as she returned with +apron and hands filled! The chintz hangings trembled as she brushed +past the bed and knelt down in front of the grate to snap the sticks +one by one. The north-east wind was determined to baffle her if it +could, and, as soon as the red flame began to warm the cold chimney, +down came a gust which filled the room with smoke. + +Poor Eudora coughed, and flung herself restlessly over to the opposite +side of the bed, longing for a quiet corner away from it all, but she +dared not speak. She tried not to hear that fearful rattle of coals and +fire-irons, and for some moments battled bravely in her pain against +the impatience that was fast gaining the mastery. + +"There! It will burn now," said Silexa, at last, as with a triumphant +flourish of the blacklead brush, she gave another rub across the bars +of the grate, through which little jets of flame leaped and played. +"Here, Molly, take these things and bring me a duster." + +Eudora burst into tears. "I cannot bear the noise, auntie; my head +aches so!" she added penitently, in answer to her aunt's astonished +look of inquiry. + +There was no time for an answer. The doctor had arrived below, so +Eudora did not know what a pang of regret shot through Silexa's heart +as she went downstairs to meet him, reproaching herself at every step. + +"Why, what is the matter with Dame Trot?" said the doctor cheerily, as +he entered. He looked upon Eudora almost as his own child, and having +invented this name for her long ago, she still kept it with him. + +A glance at the flushed face showed him this was no slight ailment, +such as he had often relieved before. + +Silexa stood beside the pillow and watched every movement as he laid +his finger on the rapid pulse, and a great agony filled her heart as +she looked and listened, for she read the anxiety on his face that he +could not conceal. + +But he spoke so tenderly and cheerfully to his patient, that instead +of arousing any fear, he filled her young heart with rest and comfort, +and even called up a smile on her face as she promised to be good and +patient and do as she was told. He bade her good-bye, and followed Miss +Pryse into another room. + +There the talk was grave and earnest, and Silexa listened with the +shadow of a great fear darkening her heart. + +"We must get hold of Mrs. Gwynne at once," he said decisively. "I think +she may be able to come, and there is no one like her for a case of +this kind. The child must not be left until, please God, we can see a +decided change for the better." + +For a moment a wave of jealousy rose up in Silexa's heart. "Who so +fit to nurse her darling as herself? Why should Lettice interfere?" +Then she recollected, sadly, how many calls she would have which must +prevent her giving exclusive personal attendance in the sick-room; so +she conquered the bad feeling and acquiesced. + +"How shall I let her know?" she said. "We are so short of hands to-day. +I have no one who can go." + +"Oh, I will send Ermyn off at once," replied the doctor; "she is with +my wife every morning, you know, so I shall find her there now." + +And hastily mounting his horse, he rode away. + + +Ermyn's swift feet were soon traversing the meadow through the valley +to the cottage, and as she ran, many were the thoughts that crowded +in upon her now sorely troubled little heart. Eudora, her friend and +companion, the one she loved with all the passionateness of her strong +nature, her sister playmate, what had happened to her? + +"Very, very ill," were the words she had heard, and kept repeating to +herself, while her imagination was busy filling up the details there +had not been time to learn. + +A sob came swelling up from the warm young breast, and fast-falling +tears hindered her from seeing clearly where she stepped, but she must +not rest a moment until she had delivered her message. Rapidly her +thoughts reviewed the happy past, which rose distinctly before her like +a fair bright vision; Eudora's frequent visits to the cottage, the +fleet play hours spent together on the smooth, glittering sands in the +shadow of the purple rocks; the long rambles over moor and fell and +tangled copse, and the busy mornings in Mrs. Llewellyn's quiet room. + +For when Ermyn was old enough to go to school, Eudora had pleaded that +she might share her lessons; so the studies had gone on together, it +being the great delight of the elder to impart all she knew to her +little playfellow and friend. Ermyn's bright intelligence soon repaid +the labour, and being by far the quicker of the two in learning, she +gained upon Eudora until they were pretty nearly equal. And this was +the retrospect of happy years. + +Mrs. Llewellyn used secretly to cherish the hope that Ermyn would +one day be claimed and given her right position. But the years were +speeding away, and the circumstances of the wreck had faded from +memory. No one asserted a prior claim to the ocean waif. She would +always be the child of St. Elvis now, and all rejoiced with Lettice +that her treasure was not taken from her. + +Mrs. Gwynne was standing busy at her wash-tub when Ermyn neared the +cottage. But seeing the child was running at full speed, she stopped +and began stroking off the soapsuds from her arms and wiping her hands +in her apron, as she went out to meet her. + +Ermyn, panting and quite out of breath, ran forward and clasped her +arms tightly round her foster-mother's neck, and hid her face in her +bosom. Lettice did not hurry her with questionings. She always waited +with a quiet trustfulness that made her a rock of strength to lean on +in trouble. She led the child within the doorway, and sitting down, put +one arm round her and drew her to her knee. The gentle touch soothed +Ermyn, and in that motherly clasp she gave her message, while the calm, +patient eyes looked down upon her with a soft light in them. + +"My little girl," said Lettice, kissing her tenderly; "we must not +murmur against God. This sorrow is of His sending, and, if it be His +will, He can turn it into a blessing. + + "'When He giveth quietness, who then can make trouble?' + +"Mother's lassie will be brave and helpful, I know, and do all she can +for me." + +"Yes, mother; what shall I do?" + +"You will have to get granddad his meals, and feed the chicks, and +mind the house, and do all you can to keep things straight while I am +away. Thank God, I have kind neighbours, who are all willing to do me a +hand's turn when I am extra busy. You may begin now, dear. Put on your +pinafore and pare these potatoes for dinner, but run first to the well +and fill the saucepan and kettle." + +Ermyn obeyed quickly, proud and happy at the thought of being put into +a position of trust, while Lettice set quietly to work to leave her +house in order and prepare for being away from it for several days. + +One neighbour and another came dropping in while she was thus occupied, +and she did not appeal to them in vain for help. Lettice had moved +among them as a ministering angel for many years, nursing the sick +and comforting the sorrowful, and no one had ever heard her speak an +ill-natured word behind any one's back. Mrs. Gwynne rarely needed +help, being such a thrifty housewife and manager; and for this reason, +there were many now who were only too glad to have an opportunity of +returning in kind some of her loving service. So one promised to finish +the washing, another to milk the two cows daily, and another to make +the butter. + +"And I'll come and clean up the cottage as often as I can," added a +fourth; "for the child is not fit to do rough work." + +"Thank you," said Lettice; "I can trust you all to see she comes to no +harm while I am away." + +"Who would harm a hair of her head, I'd like to know?" replied Jem +Lewis, who had run up the causeway to fetch some tackle for the old +man. "She shan't be hurt, missus, as long as there's a man in St. Elvis +or Porthmynwr to fight for her. Bless her heart!" + +So amidst all these assurances Lettice departed. + + +It was several weeks before she saw her home again, for a stern battle +was fought with disease and death, while she watched and prayed by the +sick-bed; and the strain grew heavier day by day. + +Eudora became rapidly delirious, and the weakened and excited brain +broke through the restraints that love and obedience had exercised +before. The very presence of her aunt in the room seemed to irritate +her, and she kept crying out for "Lettice, dear Lettice!" not knowing +she was beside her. "Oh, don't let auntie come to me; she is so unkind, +and makes such a dreadful noise! Go away, go away!" + +Silexa's heart was well-nigh broken; this seemed the crowning sorrow +that would at last make the weight of all that had gone before more +than she could bear. If she had been a weaker woman, she would have +wept passionately. But she could not shed a tear now, only her face +wore a look of stony, abject grief as she moved about softly, obeying +orders in silence. + +Mrs. Gwynne's eyes often filled with tears to see her look of gratitude +when she called for help, or asked Miss Pryse to take her place while +she lay down for a short sleep. + +"God is teaching her," thought Lettice; "but it is a sharp lesson this +time." + +The still, silent house seemed deserted by its inmates, and the +villagers would creep stealthily round to the back door to ask Molly in +whispers how the young lady fared. And Molly and Old Dinah could only +cry when they answered, for the doctor shook his head and looked more +grave and sad each time he came. + +Downstairs, in the dingy study, sat the aged pastor day after day in +his chair, waiting for tidings from the sick-room. But what a change +had passed across that wrinkled face! God's own calm was resting on it, +almost giving it the reflection of an unseen glory. Ten years ago he +had found his way into the green pastures as a little child. The burden +no longer pressed sore upon him, for Christ bore the weight of it, and +now the yoke was easy. The once proud man, who had for so many years +fought against God in fretful complainings and hard, bitter thoughts, +was now the meek and lowly disciple, saying, hour by hour,— + + "Not my will, O Lord, but Thine be done." + +And now as he sat there with a great silence all about him, his heart +could rest in peace. "The waves and the billows are rolling over me," +he said one day; "but they break first upon the Rock of Ages on which I +stand." + +He could do nothing for his "little love," as he still called her, but +pray, and that he did without ceasing, wrestling and pleading with +submission for the precious life that appeared to be ebbing away so +fast. He was giving the best possible help; for these prayers sustained +and succoured the brave women above who were doing the outward work, +and using every means in their power for the youthful sufferer. Hope +flickered and waned, yet "his heart was fixed, trusting in the Lord." + +He went bravely through the public services on Sunday. But when he came +to the words, "Your prayers are earnestly desired for Eudora Meredith, +now lying dangerously ill," sobs were audible from minister and people, +so dearly was she beloved. + +One night the crisis drew on, and a few hours must decide either for +life or death. Lettice begged that no one should come near the room, +but promised to summon Miss Pryse immediately in case of need. + +Silexa turned away to her own room, and fastening the door softly, fell +on her knees, and prayed as she had never prayed before. + + "O Thou Lord of life and death, hear my cry! My God, come not as the +Judge, to bring my sins to remembrance, and slay my child." + +The conflict grew too agonised for words. She was reviewing her life of +self-will and rebellion, and her head bowed lower and lower in bitter +contrition. + + "My Father!" + +How softly those two words were uttered! + + "My Father, I am Thy child. Do with me what Thou wilt. Thy will be +done. My Saviour, Christ, I hide me in Thy side. Grant me Thy peace." + +She rose, and silence filled the room. A soul was launched that night +upon the great ocean of God's love, and angels sang over it. Did +her spirit catch their music, as a faint smile overspread her worn +features, and she looked up towards heaven? + +She was afraid to stir or break the silence by a movement. Her ear was +strained to hear the slightest sound in the next room, but it was all +as still as the grave, only the great silver watch on the mantelpiece +ticked on. She drew aside the window curtain to look out at the shadowy +darkness, and saw by the light of a pale waning moon the headstones in +the churchyard. A shudder passed through her frame, but she did not +move. A black, heavy cloud came across the sky hiding the faint gleam, +and all was dark. + +She sat on and on, until the last star died out, when suddenly a gentle +tap was heard at the door, which made her start and turn pale. She +opened softly. There stood Lettice, white and calm. She laid her hand +on Silexa's arm, saying, "Your darling is safe; the present danger is +over; she has passed into a sweet, natural sleep. Thank God!" + +It was too much. Miss Pryse tried to speak, but no words would come. +Lettice held up a warning finger, and stole back to the sick-room. + +Silexa turned away and wept, but in tears of joy, for a glad +thanksgiving filled her heart. And for the first time, she felt a great +gift was hers, and that it had come down from "the Father of lights, +with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning." "For God, +who commanded the light to shine out of darkness," had shined in her +heart "to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the +face of Jesus Christ." Silexa had risen from among the dead, and her +resurrection life was begun. + + +During these weeks of anxiety and suspense, Ermyn had led a busy life; +and constant activity was the best remedy for her sad heart. Her mind +could not be always dwelling on the Rectory sorrow, for she had to +puzzle out many little duties, which she found she must perform alone. +Hitherto she had had her mother to run to, and ask how this or that was +to be done. Now she had to find out for herself, and it was first-rate +training, for no telling or teaching is attended with real and lasting +benefit until the learner puts rules into practice by personal effort. + +Her neighbours were very kind, and helped as much as they could, +but they had their own work to attend to, so Ermyn was often thrown +entirely upon her own resources. The thought of planning and helping +mother was a great stimulus, and she used to fancy how she would look, +on her return home, to see how well she had acted the part of little +house-mother. + +When her grandfather had finished his dinner, and gone off again to +his boats, she would wash up the plates and dishes, and put everything +neatly away, change her coarse working dress for a clean print one, and +brush out the pretty dark hair which fell about her shoulders. She used +to fasten it up while she worked to keep it out of her way, and would +sometimes delude herself into the idea that, although she was only +twelve years old, people might then think she was a grown-up woman. As +soon as everything was completed to her satisfaction, she would put +on her bonnet, and set out for St. Elvis. There was no need to lock +the cottage door, for Old Roger would be in and out. He was always +uncertain as to time, and the neighbours would give an eye to see if +any stranger came. + +Ermyn would go first to the Rectory, and steal in softly with hushed +breath, to turn the handle of the study door, and slip in. When not +among his people in the village, the aged rector was generally to be +found in his great mahogany chair, and he would look up with a quiet +smile of welcome. These were like angel visits to the dear old man, and +broke in like sunlight on the dreariness of his days. She used to creep +gently to a stool at his feet, and hold his hand, while he whispered +the latest tidings from the sick-room. Then she did her best to comfort +him, though it was hard work sometimes, for words would not always +come, and they both wept together. + +After bidding him good-bye, she would often find her way to the weeping +willow in the corner of the garden, the scene of many a happy play +hour. The shells and stones were all there, eloquent in their muteness, +and the branches looked mournful, as if they had no heart to spread +their leafy tent again. On the day when hope was at its lowest ebb, +Ermyn went slowly out of the garden gate, and having occasion to go up +to the centre of the village to buy a few necessaries at the general +shop, she determined to diverge from her ordinary direct route to the +doctor's house. + +Having made her purchases, she packed them neatly into the basket on +her arm. But as she quitted the shop, a woman beckoned to her from one, +of the cottage doors beyond. + +"Here, my dear," she said; "come over and tell us how Miss Eudora is +to-day." + +And as Ermyn answered sadly that there was no change for the better, +one old woman lifted up the stick on which she had leant as she hobbled +towards the group, and said solemnly: + +"Ah, we shall see her beautiful blue eyes no more; indeed, and it's +true. She will be laid in her coffin soon. I saw the corpse-candle last +night." + +"What was it like?" asked Ermyn faintly, her heart beating in terror. + +"Oh, it was there and no mistake. You know I live just where I can see +the Rectory, and after I got into bed last night, and had put out the +candle, all at once a bright light streamed in, and filled the room +with a beautiful rose-colour, which grew deeper and deeper as I lay +shaking and watching it. Thinks I to myself, I'll get up and see which +house it is. So I looked out, and there from Miss Eudora window it +shone like a bright star, and then gradually faded away. 'Tis a sure +and certain sign, whatever any one may say, for I've seen it scores of +times when the neighbours died, though Miss Pryse would think me a fool +for saying it. Why, what is the matter with you, child? Don't look like +that!" + +Ermyn had turned from red to ashy white, as the heedless old woman ran +on; then her eyes filled with tears, and she said, "It is very unkind +of you to talk like that to me. Mother says we ought not to believe in +these tales. Do you really think it is true?" she added wistfully, as +her susceptible nature yielded to the superstitious suggestion. + +"There, now, don't scare the poor lamb any more," said another woman, +who had joined the idlers. "She'll know about it soon enough, I'll +warrant." + +The end of the sentence was lost upon Ermyn, for she had turned and +fled, and was now hastening towards Mrs. Llewellyn's house, where she +knew soothing and comfort awaited her. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A SUNNY GLEAM + +A FLICKER of ivy leaves dancing up and down the wall and ceiling; cloud +shadows passing, the hum of bees outside the open window; voices of +children shouting at their play, and the murmur of the distant sea; +this was what Eudora saw and heard as she lay dreamy and quiet, slowly +coming back to life on the bright May morning. + +Her eyes were fixed on the faded chintz. What a queer pattern it had! +So weird and fantastic, suggesting endless pictures to the imagination. +Faces grinned from the curves and lines; gnomes and sprites upside +down, and sprawling, seemed chasing each other round and round, while +here and there a butterfly reposed upon a huge flower. + +Eudora had never studied it so intently before, and it was pleasant +to lie there so perfectly still, and go on inventing stories. It was +all such a confused jumble, and so intricate that it was impossible to +follow out any regular pattern. And at last, she broke into a little +laugh. + +Lettice, who was sitting at work in the window, heard it, and bent +forward with a sweet, glad smile to look at her. "Have you been awake +long, my pet?" + +"No, not so very long. I was laughing at the funny figures on my +curtains. How long have I been here, Lettice? Somehow it seems as if +all sorts of things had happened to me, and nothing would ever come +right. When I try to think about it, I cannot remember clearly. I +wanted to go down into the orchard where I found those pretty purple +crocuses the other day. Oh, they looked so cool, and I thought it would +be delicious to lie down among them, but I couldn't, and then I found +out I was buried. You did not hear me calling to you as you walked +above my head, and the earth was so heavy, and pressed me down. That +was a dreadful dream, Lettice. Have I been very ill?" + +"Yes, dearie, you have. But you are getting better every day now, we +hope." + +"Where is Ermyn? I want her." + +"She will come some day to see you, but not yet. You must try to get a +little stronger before you receive visitors." + +Eudora moved on her pillow with a sigh, and wondered what it all meant, +and why she felt so very, very tired. + +At that moment, the door opened and her aunt entered, treading softly +in list shoes, carrying a tray covered with a snowy napkin. + +Eudora knew what this meant, and turned resolutely away, though she +heard Silexa say in a low tone, "Try and get her to take a little; it +is such good, strong beef tea. I made it myself, and the doctor says +she must eat." + +Lettice rose, and came close to the side of the bed where Eudora was +lying, and said gently, "Auntie has brought something so nice for you. +Shall I lift you up, dear, while you take it?" + +"No, Lettice, I cannot; I am not hungry. I will ask for some by and by. +Let me go to sleep again." + +Lettice and Silexa exchanged hopeless glances. What was to be done? The +doctor had given such positive orders, and he little knew the battle +that was fought every day to get them carried out. Silexa racked her +brain and the cookery-book to find suitable recipes, consulted Mrs. +Llewellyn, and had even gone to market town herself to try and find +something to tempt the delicate appetite, but she was seldom rewarded +for her pains. + +"Set it down, please, Miss Pryse," said Lettice, at last. "She will try +presently." + +Silexa stole away again, with a sad look on her face. + +Mrs. Gwynne bent down closer to the pale cheek, and whispered something. + +The blue eyes looked up into hers, and tears gathered in them, a +look of pleading and of reproach that Lettice felt she must be proof +against, as with a tender strength she raised the wasted form, and +gently arranged the supporting pillows. + +"One more spoonful," she said coaxingly; "and then I will not tease you +any more." + +These stages towards convalescence brought harder work to the good +woman than those hours when the spirit seemed to hover so closely on +the borders of the unseen world. They needed even more wisdom and +patience, as only those know who have had much to do with illness. +Eudora was, however, progressing as favourably as could be expected. +But Lettice saw the time had not yet come to leave Miss Pryse +single-handed, so she stayed on. + + +Poor little Ermyn missed her mother sadly. All the poetry and romance +of her situation seemed to die out after she had worked hard for three +or four weeks. The danger being over, she had now leisure to pity +herself a little, and longings and regrets would steal into her heart +as she contrasted these matter-of-fact duties with her delightful +studies in Mrs. Llewellyn's quiet, pretty room. She was not yet allowed +to see Eudora, so her sympathy was less keen than it would have been if +she could have taken one peep at her thin, wistful face. + +So she allowed all kinds of evil, selfish thoughts to creep into her +heart, and make her unhappy. She wished she had been born a lady, with +nothing to do all day but read nice books or do pretty work. Her coarse +working dress was very ugly, she thought; she would rather be dressed +in silk and satin, and live in a grand house with many rooms. Oh, she +was much to be pitied, she was quite sure of that, and a big tear +rolled down and fell upon her idle hands. + +Something whispered in her heart, "Mother has to work hard all day +long, and she never complains." + +Ermyn listened to the voice, and thought how that dear mother would +grieve, if she only knew what her little girl had been thinking about. +She would work away with a will, and go up to the Rectory as soon as +she could. If she could see her mother, it would help her to be good. + +Happy thoughts flowed into her heart as soon as she began to be +industrious again, and she actually found herself singing as she neared +the Rectory gate. Ermyn was gifted with a singularly rich and beautiful +voice, and she sang as naturally as a bird on its spray. + +Eudora caught the familiar sound, as she sat propped up in a great +arm-chair near the window, and Lettice, yielding to her entreaty, went +down and fetched Ermyn in. The child, full of bright health, presented +a strange contrast to her companion now, and warm tears of love and +sympathy started into Ermyn's eyes as she looked. She tenderly kissed +the white hand, as she knelt beside the chair, and felt no sacrifice +could be too great if it only brought her darling back. + +Ermyn would never forget the happy smile of pleasure that greeted her, +as she laid some fresh hawthorn buds in the thin fingers. She had meant +to ask when mother was coming home, now she could not. The chord of +sympathy had been struck, and her heart was in time again. + +Lettice wished she could see a more rapid improvement in the dear +invalid as the days went on, but the progress was slow and weary. And +she marked with sorrow that Eudora herself made little or no effort to +get better; for if she did not fancy her food, she would not take it. +And how could she recover if she did not eat? + +On one occasion, when Silexa had turned away more disappointed than +ever, after finding her dainties rejected, Lettice spoke. + +"I think, dear," she said quietly, "you are very unkind to your dear, +good auntie." + +"Unkind, Lettice? Why unkind?" replied Eudora, flushing. + +"Yes, unkind," repeated Lettice; "you don't know how hardly she toils +for you, up early and late, getting all these nice things for you, and +you never try to please her by taking them cheerfully and gratefully." + +"I cannot make myself hungry," said Eudora pettishly. + +But Lettice knew the shaft had gone home, and saw with pleasure from +that time her words had not been spoken in vain. + +Silexa's trial was by no means over, though she had strength given her +now to take up her cross, and bear it meekly day by day. + +Eudora did not know of the soul-conflict that had taken place. She was +still painfully reserved with her aunt, and made it pretty evident +sometimes that she preferred having Mrs. Gwynne beside her. Lettice +used to soothe her patient by singing or repeating hymns and verses of +Scripture. Silexa knew she would never be asked to do this by Eudora. +She saw now with bitterness what a mistake she had been making through +those long years of the past, in fencing round her warm, human heart +with thorns, which pricked the childish hands that once upon a time had +tried to enter. + +"It is too late now; it will never be different." Thus she sat and +mused one day, when Lettice had gone home for a few hours, and left her +place to Silexa. + +Eudora was lying on the bed asleep, and her aunt believed herself +hidden by one of the curtains. After a while, the girl opened her eyes +without stirring, expecting to see Lettice as usual at work. She was +not there, and Eudora gazed as if spellbound. + +Silexa's eyes were closed, and her lips moved, and on her knee lay an +open Bible. Tear-drops stole out from under the lashes, and Eudora +heard her own name murmured in endearing terms. + +She could not bear it another moment. "Auntie! Dear auntie! Come to me. +I have been so naughty and ungrateful to you, and I love you so dearly." + +The wall of ice had melted for ever. And Silexa trembled for very joy +as she pressed her darling closer and yet closer to her heart, whose +once lonely beatings now throbbed in unison with the one great family +in heaven and earth. + +Lettice saw the happy light on both faces when she returned, and did +not then hesitate to say what she had been fearing would distress the +invalid. + +"I must go home to-morrow, Miss Pryse; I find there are too many things +to be attended to for me to stay away longer." + +One repining murmur rose to Eudora's lips, for she loved her +passionately, but this was instantly checked as she remembered the hint +about selfishness, and the words that Lettice was so fond of repeating: + + "'Even Christ pleased not Himself.'" + +"Auntie is so good to me," she whispered, when her kind nurse bade her +good-bye the following day. + +And when Lettice felt the clasp of her arms about her neck, as Eudora +kissed her and poured out her grateful thanks, it was a more precious +reward than any other payment. + + +Ermyn was in a wild state of delight when she looked out and saw her +mother coming across the meadows. Lettice had not told her for certain +that she would return, lest anything might detain her. It was indeed a +festive homecoming, for kind neighbours gathered round to tell her how +glad they were to see her back again. + +And Ermyn, proudly and shyly, drew from the cupboard a cake of her own +making and baking, which was duly partaken of and praised. + +"And, mother," cried the child, with a shout of delight; "Dick Rees has +just brought this letter, and I am sure it must be from David! Come +close to granddad, and read it now. Please do, there's a good mother!" + +David's glad mother needed no second bidding, and the letter was +accordingly read over and over again; for it contained the joyful news +that her son would arrive the last week in June to spend his six weeks' +holiday at home in the dear old cottage. It had been a long time since +he had allowed himself to have this treat, for the journey was an +expensive one, and he had thought it his duty, in these leisure times, +to accept invitations to assist ministers in the Connexion who needed +help, being thus enabled to save up a nice little sum towards his next +homecoming. + +He had done well and honourably in his college life, and his tutors +spoke in the highest terms of his conduct. His mind had developed +freely under the great advantages and careful training he had received. +He felt that God had called him to the high and noble work of the +ministry, and looked forward with intense pleasure to the fulfilment of +his hopes. + +St. Elvis felt not a little proud of his success, after his education +at the town grammar school, and intended to give him a hearty welcome +when he should appear in his native place again. But when one day +the crazy old coach stopped at "The Jolly Sailors," and amongst the +passengers a tall gentlemanly young man in black stepped down, no one +recognised him. + +Lettice and Ermyn had been watching together for him at the inn door, +and thought he had not come, when suddenly the good woman became aware +that the stranger who had run towards her and was now giving her a +hearty hug was none other than her own son David. + +"And where is my little sister?" he said, drawing the blushing Ermyn +closer to him, and looking with surprise and delight at her lovely +face. "I am still a little taller than she is," he added, laughing, as, +giving an arm to each, the joyful trio set out towards home. + +Those were indeed happy holidays, for not a cloud appeared to dim any +one's enjoyment. More homes than one rejoiced together, for there was +gladness also in the doctor's household. Mary had come home at last, +not to say good-bye again; and Mrs. Llewellyn was full of motherly +pride to welcome her handsome son Maurice, now a hard-working medical +student, who hoped some day to return and share his father's practice. + +The old Rectory smiled also, for Eudora, though still looking like a +fragile flower, grew strong enough to come out and enjoy the summer +sunshine and fresh sea breezes. A quiet donkey was found for her, and +the good old times seemed to come back again, as David walked beside +her, leading it carefully, while Ermyn skipped and sang for joy. There +was no caste in that simple village town, for those who loved each +other had the strongest ties to bind them together. + +Ermyn, the fisher-maiden, still called Eudora her sister-friend, and +Mary loved them both. Maurice hailed his old companion more heartily +than ever, and the two would walk together for miles along the lonely +coast, or climb the serrated ranges of rock to lofty heights, whence +they could view the whole peninsula of Dewisland, that terminates in +the bold headlands and jagged rocks so often fatal to unfortunate +mariners. Their geological and botanical studies were pursued with +interest, and they would sit and discuss their treasures among +Druidical circles and great boulders. + +It was such pleasant companionship that neither liked to think how soon +they must part again. Both young men felt, as they trod the streets of +David's native town, that good soldiers of Jesus Christ were sorely +needed there; soldiers brave and strong to fight against the sin and +ignorance around; and they earnestly prayed that this great work might +some day be theirs to do. But they did not need to wait till the +future to begin it. David found leisure during his holiday to read and +pray with the sick and dying, and Maurice gave his help and sympathy +wherever he found it needed. Thus they called down upon themselves the +blessings of the poor. + + +It sometimes happens that a season of unusual brightness is given us +as a preparation for cloudy days. The cup running over, and the table +ready spread, may be in the presence of unseen enemies and trials, +against which we must be strengthened to go forward and fight. Those +happy summer days came to a close all too quickly, and autumn winds and +falling leaves were heralding the reign of winter, which was expected +to begin early this year. + +Eudora seldom went outside the Rectory now, for her severe illness had +left her painfully susceptible to cold. And a short dry cough smote +sadly on the ears of all who heard it. Yet Dora had never been so happy +in her home-life before, for there was nothing in its atmosphere to +chill or distress her now, though her aunt was as full of life and +generous activity as ever. Mrs. Llewellyn and Lettice rejoiced together +to see all that capability and energy, like a glad stream, flowing in +the sunshine, instead of in the shadows. + +Silexa had brought her talents to the Master, as the disciples did of +old with the few loaves and fishes, and He had blessed them. Now she +could feed a multitude, and yet have enough and to spare. But her Lord +must test and try her still further. And as the burden pressed more +heavily, so by His grace did she grow stronger to bear it, and face +what to her was a terrible trial. They must leave the Rectory for a +year. The doctor had said that, humanly speaking, this was the only +chance for saving Eudora's life. + +Thorough change to a dryer and more sheltered climate might revive the +flickering flame, which seemed gradually but surely dying out. The +sacrifice must be made, and that at once. Silexa would not send away +her child amongst strangers, and she could not leave her father in his +infirm state. There was no time to be lost. + +A substitute for the rector was found in a young clergyman with private +means and temporarily without a charge. Mary Llewellyn promised to go +daily to the Rectory to look after Molly and Dinah, give out the parish +stores, and to help in every way, so far as her duties to her mother +would permit. + +Some travelling trunks of a very ancient date were routed out from +their repose of years in one of the Rectory garrets, where they had +been well-nigh buried among the lumber stored there. But the packing +was weary work, and a sore puzzle to Miss Silexa, whose little world +of interests had all been shut in by St. Elvis and its belongings for +so many, many years. She rummaged among the old stores, and while she +did so, hidden things were brought to light, which caused a flood of +associations to rush in upon her memory. + +"I was so happy in that old dress," she said, half aloud, taking up a +scrap of faded plaid. "I cannot bear to throw it away." + +She looked tenderly at it for a moment, debating whether it should +be flung into the heap of rubbish at her feet. But it was silently +restored to the place whence she had taken it. A palette and a box of +colours, all caked and dried, and a bundle of paint-brushes next caught +her eye. She took them up one by one, and kissed them with a face +expressive of the deepest agony. + +"Oh, Edward, my darling!" she murmured. "Why did you do it? I shall +never see you now again, on this side the grave. But God has you in His +keeping somewhere," she added, calming herself. "His love is infinite." + +The packing was finished in time. And on the last evening, when the +boxes were all corded and sent away to the inn overnight to be ready +for the early start on the coach, Miss Silexa unhung her cotton bonnet +from its peg in the hall, and went softly out alone, as the evening +shadows were lengthening. + +It had been blowing a hurricane all day, but the storm had passed, and +there was a bright, evening glow. The sun was setting in stormy gold, +circled by black, and the sky was of a pale, green colour, with flaming +amber and copper clouds rushing across it. The hilltops were still +capped with white mist that lifted and floated, and crept down the +sides of the green valley. + +Silexa walked far on into the twilight, and then turned towards home. +The rent clouds appeared white near the moon, whose crescent sickle +seemed to cut a path through the surrounding blackness. The wind rushed +and roared through the Rectory trees, making them sway and toss in an +agony of unrest, while every casement in the old house rattled and +shook, as the clinging ivy was made here and there to loosen its clasp +of the dear old walls it sought to shield. + +Silexa heeded not the rude gusts; she was looking at the brightness +above her. + +"'They shall see His face,'" she murmured; "that is where the path is +leading." + + "'There shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light +of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light: and they shall reign +for ever and ever.' + + "'O send out Thy light and Thy truth: let them lead me; let them bring +me unto Thy holy hill...' + +"This night of sorrow is breaking towards eternal day. And though the +shadows increase, a dawn is coming when they shall flee away for ever. + + "'Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for the Lord hath dealt bountifully +with thee.'" + + +There was quite a crowd round the dilapidated old coach the following +morning, when the little party from the Rectory set out to walk towards +it. Miss Pryse supported her aged, white-haired father, who leant +heavily on her strong arm. Eudora followed, with Mary and Ermyn on +either side of her, and Lettice behind, carrying wraps and parcels. + +Hands were stretched out for hearty shakes of farewell; blessings were +uttered and voices trembled with emotion as countless good-byes were +said. + +Silexa gave one long look at her old home as the coach lumbered off, +and felt she had been torn up by the roots. + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE GOLDEN SHORE + +A FLAKE of snow! How slowly it fell through the hushed air! Feathery +light and soft, it came all silently to greet a little daisy, that +looked upward and received it with a smile. It was the herald of a +winter storm, and Lettice from her cottage door looked up into the +darkened sky to watch "the whitening shower fall broad and wide and +fast, dimming the day." + +"I wish the child had not gone to St. Elvis this morning," she said to +Old Roger. "She will be storm-stayed now." + +"Never trouble, lass," he replied cheerily; "she is in good safe +quarters up at the grey house, though really me!" he added, stepping +outside. "This 'is' snow, and no mistake! We haven't had such a fall +this side Christmas for many a long year. I'm thankful our poor sick +lambie at the Rectory is taken away to a warmer fold. This cold would +have killed her, but I miss her sweet face." + +"Ay, indeed, and so do I," said Lettice, with a sigh, as she watched +her father walk towards the jetty. + +She felt unusually depressed that morning, but she could not tell +exactly why. A sense of loneliness and desolation had descended on +her with the departure of the family from the Rectory, for she had +leaned more than she was aware on Miss Silexa's firm strength and sober +judgment. Mrs. Gwynne's disposition was naturally timid and shrinking, +though God had made her calm and patient. And now He had some hard +lessons for her, which she must learn "alone" with Him. + + +Ermyn had gone up early into town to learn tidings of the travellers, +and with dismay she looked out from Mrs. Llewellyn's windows to see +the storm come sweeping up in white masses through the valley. There +was a bright, cheery letter from Miss Silexa, telling of a quiet, easy +journey to Southsands, where they were established in comfortable +lodgings in a terrace looking out upon the quay and shipping. + + "It seems strange," she wrote, "to be in this large, fashionable +watering-place, where we do not know a soul. Mr. Lyndwood has asked +some friends to call on us; and Eudora is already better for the change +of air. Her appetite is considerably improved, and quite a new world +has opened to her wondering eyes." + +Ermyn read the letter again and again, dwelling on Dora's message to +herself and Lettice, and wishing she could be with her. + +"If you like to write a note, I will put it into mine," said Mrs. +Llewellyn. + +So Ermyn wrote one in her clear, pretty hand, folded it, and laid it on +Mrs. Llewellyn's little table, and went again to look out. The weather +was more hopeless than ever. And seeing there was no prospect at +present of fulfilling her promise to return quickly, she took off her +bonnet, and settled down quietly to her work. + +Three days passed before she was able to go home. The snow had +continued to fall so heavily, that the road between St. Elvis and +Porthmynwr was completely blocked; and as for the meadow path through +the valley, there was no indication of such a thing. Deep snowdrifts +had filled up the hollows, and it would have been most perilous to +attempt to find a way through them. And when the snow melted, there +would be a swampy waste of waters, abounding in dangerous bogs and +marshes. + +On the fourth day, however, a cart track had been cleared along the +high road. And Ermyn was soon running full speed on it, clapping her +hands together that she might feel her numbed fingers, while her warm +breath floated before her like a wreath of smoke. + + +Lettice came out on the causeway to meet her. And Ermyn saw at once by +the expression on her face that something was the matter. + +"Hush, dearie!" she said, raising a warning finger. "Step softly, and +come in as gently as you can. Poor granddad is very ill; he had a bad +fall on the rocks last night. The fog was so thick, and the snow so +slippery with the thaw that he missed his footing, and fell over the +jetty at low tide. It would not have been half so bad if he had fallen +into the water. But, oh, those sharp, cruel rocks! They have hurt his +poor back and head, and I don't think he will ever be able to stand +again. I thought he was dead when they carried him into the house." + +The tears had sprung into Ermyn's eyes as she listened, and she flung +her arms round her mother's neck, sobbing. + +"Hush, darling!" whispered Lettice. "Don't let him see you crying. A +kind neighbour is beside him now. It was such a pitch-dark night, I +could not send for the doctor. But this morning I saw him riding across +the hill to that cottage, so Jem Lewis has gone after him. I know he +will come as quickly as he can." + +"Oh, mother, mother!" said Ermyn in a low tone, following her over the +threshold. "What shall we do? Dear, dear granddad! I wish I had not +gone away." + + +The good doctor soon obeyed the summons, and gave, as he always did, +words of cheer with his valuable surgical skill. + +But Lettice knew by the kind pressure of his hand and sympathising look +as he passed out, that he thought the case a very, very bad one. + +"Keep him as quiet as possible," he said; "and you, my little maid, be +a good girl to your mother." + +Old Roger was seldom conscious for weeks, and he would moan +distressingly when moved or touched. Yet he prayed, though +incoherently,— + + "Good Master, Dear Lord! I can bear it if Thou art with me in the fire. +Jesus, Lover of my soul." + +He never seemed to lose his hold of Christ, and would repeat fragments +of texts, and a line here and there from hymns that he had learned and +loved during his time of health. + +"Where are the lads?" he said one night. "They haven't 'all' come to +Jesus yet; no, not 'all.' But the door of mercy is open wide, and 'I +will in no wise cast out,' says Christ." + +Neighbours and fishermen would come crowding in with inquiries and +offers of help. And Lettice feared they must think her very unkind as +she entreated them not to stand in the doorway, keeping the pure air +from the sick man. But she could not prevent one and another stealing +in now and then, on tiptoe, for a look at the dear old patriarch. +And his mates would beg her to let them take it in turn to share the +night-watch with her. This was an offer she gladly accepted, for the +strain was daily growing heavier. There is much real sympathy and true +kindness often to be met with among the poor, and none knew this better +than Lettice during her long, bitter trial. + + +"You must write to Davie," she said one day to Ermyn, as Christmas drew +near, "and tell him to come home, if possible, for these holidays. I +fear if he is prevented, he will not see dear granddad again." + +This was the first intimation of danger Ermyn had comprehended and hot +tears fell on the paper as she wrote. But it did her good to pour her +heart out to David. + +He came as quickly as possible, and with his coming, hope lightened +the heavy heart of his stricken mother. His grandfather knew him as +he entered and sat down by the bedside, and the wrinkled hand was +stretched out to take David's within its feeble grasp. + +"My boy," he said, looking at him, "thy old granddad is brought very +low, but the Lord is my light and my salvation. I will trust, and not +be afraid." + +The cottage was not so dreary after that, for David was the support and +comforter of all, during his month's sojourn at home. It seemed to give +Roger a lift, for he was certainly better, and able to be propped up in +bed, and even got as far as to sit out sometimes in his great chair by +the fire within shelter of the settle. + +Mr. Williams, the clergyman in charge, was most kind and unwearied +in his visits. He would come to read and pray beside Roger, and talk +cheerfully to him about what was going on at St. Elvis, encouraging him +in return to tell him some of his sailor yarns to help to pass those +long winter days. + +David conceived an enthusiastic admiration for Mr. Williams, and +whenever he could be spared would find his way to the lodgings over +the post-office, where the two young men would enter into long and +interesting discussions on all kinds of subjects, which David found +most refreshing in the midst of his anxiety. + +"I find my inability to speak the Welsh tongue such a drawback," Mr. +Williams said to him one day. "I did not study it until I was grown-up, +and although I know it well enough to get through the service pretty +well, and read some sermons Dr. Pryse lent me, I find I cannot get at +the people in their homes, for when they begin to talk it fast, I am +obliged to tell them I cannot understand. I suppose you speak it well?" + +"Oh yes," laughed David; "but no merit to me, for I have been +accustomed to it from my cradle. We never speak anything else at home +unless strangers come in. Grandfather likes it best, and I love the +sound of the Welsh tongue." + +"How I wish you were in our Church," rejoined the other; "it stands in +great need of Welsh-speaking clergymen." + +In reply, David confided to Mr. Williams his final resolution to seek +ordination to the Episcopalian ministry, adding that his fondest wishes +would be attained could he but be found worthy to aid the venerable +pastor of St. Elvis in tending there the flock of Christ. + +"But what," said Mr. Williams, "will the friends say by whom your +education has been provided?" + +"Some of them will be disappointed, no doubt. But from the first they +left me free to decide on my future course." + +"Then you can return to college under these altered circumstances?" + +"Assuredly; and should I ever be able to do so, I shall in any case +repay the cost of my education, or provide, in time, for some other +poor student, without asking to what church he belongs." + +On this, the friends parted; Mr. Williams, who had considerable +influence, silently resolving to forward David's purpose to the +uttermost. + + +But the cloud that had opened to show its silver lining while David +remained at home closed over again dark and drear soon after his +departure. There was no prospect of Old Roger being ever able to ply +his fishing trade again. He had to sit idle in the chimney-corner, and +his carefully saved earnings were dwindling down until very little was +left. + +His loving daughter told him not to trouble about it; she would work +hard enough to support him. But he knew she was already toiling far +beyond her strength, and this thought would creep in sometimes to dim +his bright faith. + +Lettice strove hard to hide their fast-increasing poverty from Ermyn. +And it was not until one of the cows had fallen sick and died, and the +other had to be sold to a neighbouring farmer, that the good woman was +fairly overcome, and Ermyn found her sitting inside the doorway weeping +bitterly. + +"Mother, darling mother!" said Ermyn, kneeling down beside her and +crying too. "Tell me what it is. Oh, let me help you if I can!" + +So Lettice told her all, and hid none of the sad truth. + +"Mother," cried the girl joyfully, "there is the box upstairs that you +have been putting all my little presents of money and savings into ever +since I was a little child. It is heavy now. We must open it and use +what is there. Oh, I am so glad you would not let me spend it before. +Davie put five shillings in last summer, and I will work and earn such +a lot more. I know I can. I will go up this afternoon and speak to Mrs. +Llewellyn about it." + +"No," said Lettice, as a proud pang shot into her heart; "let us keep +our trouble to ourselves as long as we can." + +Yet she felt she was wrong as the words fell from her lips. + +"Oh, mother dear, why?" pleaded Ermyn. "She is so good and kind; do let +me go to her! I want her to tell me how I can best help you." + +And the child begged so hard that at length she obtained a reluctant +consent. + +Mrs. Llewellyn's heart opened in sympathy at once, and she reproached +herself for not having sooner thought of the scheme that now presented +itself to her mind. Ermyn was an exquisite fancy-worker, and under her +tuition had learned to do some very beautiful embroidery in coloured +silks. Mary had made many friends in London during her residence there, +and to some of these her mother proposed she should write, and try to +get orders for this work. + +The appeal was responded to in a few days, and demands for the lovely +work flowed in faster than Ermyn's fingers could supply them. When the +first liberal payment in gold arrived, how proud and happy she felt +to take it home and refill the scanty purse, thus lifting some of the +pressure from the dear ones there. + + +Meantime, Lettice was learning her lesson. She had not been made aware +before how much pride lurked in her heart, and perhaps it was for +this reason God sent her a trial that laid it bare. She, the thrifty +housewife, who had always managed so well to make both ends meet, and +keep want far from her dwelling; she, who with Miss Silexa had so +often dispensed the alms from the Church funds, rejoicing that she +never stood in need of them herself; "she" to be poor and needy, and +obliged to put in her claim also at the Rectory for the dole of bread +and other necessaries that were given away at stated times to destitute +parishioners! + +The flesh rebelled, but the spirit prevailed. It had been a subtle +snare, for she actually discovered she had been proud of her pride, +and it was not without a sore struggle in a strength not her own that +she conquered. Yet the chastened look on her sweet, patient face told +to those around that poverty had come as one of God's good angels, to +reveal unto her more fully the mysteries of His grace. Her cup was +still filled, because she held it under the Fountain of living water, +whose source can never fail, though earthly springs may run dry. + + "The barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail, +according to the word of the Lord." + + +One morning she was reading to her father the daily portion from her +precious Bible, and she came to the words,— + + "'Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in +necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when +I am weak, then am I strong.' + +"I thought," said Lettice humbly, "that we were good if we bore these +troubles patiently, and tried not to murmur; but these words go beyond +that, father. I have not taken pleasure in distresses for Christ's +sake; I have only striven to bear them in silence." + +"Don't be afraid, my lass; our good Lord knows all about it—the +fightings without and the fears within; and He says,— + + "'My grace is sufficient for thee.' + +"That means, it will meet every need and so fully satisfy us that we +shall be even joyful in tribulation. See what His grace did in the +prophet's heart when he could say,— + + "'Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in +the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall +yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there +shall be no herd in the stalls: yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will +joy in the God of my salvation. The Lord God is my strength.' + +"Now, my lass, we are not so badly off as that—praise be the Lord; +though He has seen fit to take away both the cows, there is yet meat in +the fields, for we never had a finer crop of potatoes than this year. +Things are never so bad but what they might be worse. There is an old +saying and a true one, 'God writes straight on crooked lines.' + +"When I lie here upon my bed and count up all the Lord's mercies, why, +I can't number them, for— + + "'They are new every morning: and great is His faithfulness.' + + "'Bless the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless His holy +name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits: +who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; +who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with +loving-kindness and tender mercies; who satisfieth thy mouth with good +things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's.' + + "'Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, +or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or +sword? . . . Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors +through Him that loved us.'" + +The aged man clasped his hands together and looked upwards, lost in the +contemplation those holy words had awakened, and Lettice went to her +work, and there was music in her heart all the day long. + + +It was a grief to Ermyn that she could not be more at the cottage, but +she needed Mrs. Llewellyn's counsel and advice about her delicate work, +and the light was better for it in larger rooms. So she used to set out +as early as possible and not return until dusk, when she would bring +back with her a merry brightness that was like sunshine in the old home. + +Lettice fondly hoped her father would struggle through the winter and +revive in the warm spring time. But as the days lengthened, she saw +with grief that his "strength was but labour and sorrow." + +He sat less frequently in his chair, though sometimes she could +persuade him to have it placed just outside the door in the sunshine, +where he could feel the fresh breezes come up from the sea, and watch +the sailors among their boats. He seemed to enjoy it at the time, but +gradually this was too much for him, and he would lie down again on his +bed dreamy and quiet for hours, and soon grew too weak to leave it at +all. + +One afternoon Lettice watched a tear slowly course down his +weather-beaten cheek, and she rose softly to smooth back the long white +locks from his noble forehead, saying tenderly, "What is it, father? +Are you in pain?" + +"No, my lass, no," he answered, as a sweet smile broke over his face +like a glory; "the pain is all gone now, but the boat is ready, very +nearly ready, Lettie, my girl." + +Lettice thought he was wandering, and said, "Do you want to go out in +your boat, father?" + +"I am sailing away in it, my child, and my Lord the Pilot is going to +slip the cable soon. My face is set towards glory's shore. It won't be +long now before I am there, and I was crying to think of leaving you +behind." + +Lettice took one long look into the dear, dim eyes, then laid her head +down on the pillow beside him, and sobbed her heart out there. + +"Lettie! My Lettie! Listen to what He says,— + + "'I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.' + + "'A Father of the fatherless and Judge of the widows is God in His holy +habitation.' + +"Lettie, I leave you in His keeping,— + + "'and underneath are the everlasting arms.'" + +The sacred words fell like balm upon her troubled spirit, and she heard +the voice saying once more within her soul,— + + "'Peace, peace, be still!'" + +And there was a great calm. + +A sound of footsteps in the outer room made her rise to see who had +entered. It was Mr. Williams, who stepped softly in, and holding out +his hand, asked kindly for her father. + +The old man recognised his voice, and cried out: + +"Come in, come in, sir. I'm so pleased to see you. Reach him a chair, +Lettice, and pull back the window curtain a bit farther, that he may +see what I have to look out upon. There!" he said, as his daughter +obeyed him. "There's the sea, rolling so grand and beautiful! God's +sea, sir," he added reverently, and with poetical fervour. "I love +to lie and watch it. The tide is fast coming in now: its ebbings and +flowings are sweet music in my ears. It makes me think of the voice of +many waters, and the harpers harping with their harps before the throne +of God on the crystal sea. I know the words of the new song they sing, +and I shall be joining with them soon." + +"Yes," replied the young man, in a voice tremulous with emotion. "You +will soon see 'His face; and in His presence there is fulness of joy.'" + +"Amen!" responded Roger fervently, as Mr. Williams noted in silence +what a change had come over the furrowed face since he had last seen +it. He had grown to love the old man dearly, as all did who came in +contact with him. + +"Shall I send for David?" he asked huskily. + +"No, sir, no; it will be too late, poor lad, now; for with to-morrow's +dawning, and perhaps before, I expect to— + + "'see the King in His beauty, and to behold the land that is very far +off.' + +"I shall see none of them again now until the glorious resurrection +morning. Kind Miss Pryse, and the dear old parson, and that sweet +dove, Miss Eudora—they will all come back to find another grave in the +churchyard, but I shall be above." + +Mr. Williams drew his Bible from his pocket, and read: + + "'Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in +Me. In My Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so I would +have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare +a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto Myself that +where I am, there ye may be also.' + + "'Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast given Me, be with Me +where I am; that they may behold my glory, which Thou hast given Me: +for Thou lovedst Me before the foundation of the world.'" + +Lettice was watching her father as he drank in the words, when she +suddenly saw him sink back on the pillow in a death-like swoon, and +both knew the end was even nearer than they thought. + +"I have sent for Ermyn," whispered Lettice, as she applied +restoratives. "See, he is coming to himself again now." + +"Where am I, Lettie?" said the old man faintly. "It was all so dark, +but I can see you again now." + +"Yes, father dear, it is all right now, isn't it?" + +"Ay, my lass— + + "'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will +fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort +me.'" + + "'When thou passes through the waters, I will be with thee; and through +the rivers, they shall not overflow thee,—'" + +whispered Mr. Williams. + +Again there was a stir in the outer room, and Mary Llewellyn entered +with Ermyn at her side. + +Roger knew Mary, and beckoned her nearer. Then, after the courteous +custom of the Welsh, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. +Ermyn drew near softly, and knelt down beside her mother close to the +bed, and many of Old Roger's sea-mates and neighbours came dropping in +one by one, until the cottage was nearly full. + +"There stood by me this night the angel of God, whose I am, and whom I +serve," said the dying voice. + +And all held their breath to listen. + +"As He was with Saint Paul, so He will be with me. + + "'They sounded and found it twenty fathoms; and when they had gone a +little farther, they sounded again, and found it fifteen fathoms.' + +"The water is getting shallower and shallower; there is land ahead! + + "'They feared lest they should have fallen upon rocks.' + +"Ah! But I have no fear, for the Anchor of the soul both sure and +steadfast is mine, and it is fixed within the veil. + + "'They cast out the tackling of the ship'— + +"That is, I take it, all my worldly affairs and cares. They are all +thrown overboard, and Christ alone is with me in the vessel. I see the +red harbour lights gleaming! They who sleep in Jesus rest well." + +"Let us pray," said Mr. Williams, as the aged pilgrim ceased, exhausted +with the unnatural effort. + + "Unto God's gracious mercy and protection we commit thee; the Lord +bless thee and keep thee. The Lord make His face to shine upon thee, +and be gracious unto thee. The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, +and give thee peace, both now and evermore. Amen." + +There was no time for further words, for as the sunbeams streamed in +rosy and golden, and the waves washed up in a long farewell against the +boundary wall, a sigh, gentle as an infant's, loosed the silver cord, +and the golden bowl was broken. Old Roger had gone home to God. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE SAINTED WELL + +THE sweet spring days had unfolded themselves into "the honeyed +heart of June," and "brakes with golden flowers were crowned." The +breath of morning rose in a purple haze, filled with the fragrance of +mountain-thyme and clover, and through the grass silver drops filtered +down to the thirsty roots below. The bright little beck hurried along +in tones of summer gladness, restless and eager to meet the tide as it +bounded in from the broad blue sea, and "there was a sparkling glee +where waves and sunshine met." + +Ermyn stood on the bridge listening to the merry tinkle, then stepped +into the meadow beside the clear running water. Her pitcher was on the +bank, and after playing for some minutes with the pebbles in the bed +of the stream, she snatched it up and ran off in the direction of the +Sainted Well. The glory of earth and sky made her pause and linger; now +two brown butterflies flitted on before her; then she plucked a flower +here and grasses there; and now she followed with fascinated gaze the +white wings of the sea-gull circling above her head, until she found +they had lured her from the path, and she was still a considerable +distance from the Well. To make up for lost time, she climbed a loose +stone wall, and ran across some fields till she was on the right track +again, and the well was in sight. + +She was breathless with the extra speed, and a rosy flush mounted to +her cheeks as she saw that some one was there before her. This was no +uncommon sight, it being such a favourite spot. But Ermyn was demure +in a moment, and steadying the pitcher on her shoulder, walked slowly +towards the spot. + +St. Elvis was the resort of numerous visitors and tourists, especially +of artists, who might be seen almost every day through the summer with +canvas and easel, perched about on the hillsides or along the rocky +shore, trying to represent in glowing colours some of their uncommon +beauties. + +The stranger looked up as he heard the light footsteps through the +rustling grass, and Ermyn saw before her a gentleman, who, from his +whitening hair and bent look, seemed past middle age. He had a long +beard and moustache, and the girl thought she had never beheld such a +thin, haggard face before, nor one so expressive of hopeless misery. + +A sudden tremor filled her young heart, as the dark and piercing eyes +met hers, for, to her surprise, the artist turned pale and dropped his +palette. But she felt reassured when after stooping to pick it up, a +tender, mournful look came into his face, and he accosted her gently,— + +"Good-morning; you are come to fetch some of this delicious water?" + +"Yes, sir," replied Ermyn, curtseying as she spoke. "Would you please +that I should dip you up a little to drink?" + +And, suiting the action to the word, she descended the red steps and +lowered her pitcher. + +"You are ill, sir," she added, as the gentleman, having thanked her, +trembled visibly as he took the proffered water. "Our cottage is not +very far off, sir; and I am sure mother would get you a cup of tea if +you would come there and rest." + +Ermyn had been trained from her childhood to offer the courteous +hospitality for which the Welsh are so famous. + +"Thank you," he answered; "I will come, for I feel rather faint. I did +not take anything before I set out; but first let me beg you to stay a +few minutes. I should like to put you into this picture." + +Ermyn looked down with a blush on her shabby dark blue print, which was +tucked up over an old red petticoat, and tossing back her hair from her +lace, she said simply, "My Sunday gown is better than this, sir." + +"I would rather have this one, please," he rejoined, with a mournful +smile. "Can you hold your pitcher on your shoulder? So—I will not keep +you long." + +Ermyn assented with a shy laugh, and stood perfectly still, wondering +much, as she looked towards the cliffs, why this sad-looking man should +care to paint her; for our maiden of the valley had not yet been +spoiled by being told she had a lovely face. + +While the artist sketched, he drew her into conversation. "Have you +always lived in St. Elvis?" + +"We do not live in St. Elvis, sir, but at Porthmynwr, though it is +reckoned all one, I believe. We live at the cottage that stands close +at the head of the creek. There is only mother and me now, for Davie is +away, and dear old granddad died in the early spring." + +"Who is Davie?" + +"He is my brother, sir, and we had a baby sister long ago who died; she +was called little Ruth. Mother has only me now." + +"And what is 'your' name?" + +"Ermyn Silexa Gwynne," replied the girl promptly. + +"I cannot paint any more this morning," said the stranger abruptly, as, +rising, he gathered up his materials and prepared to follow his guide. + +During their walk the conversation was resumed. + +"Do you know why you were given that name?" + +"I suppose, sir, because Miss Pryse is my godmother." + +And Ermyn then proceeded to inform him who lived at the Rectory, and +told him, in fact, all she knew in connection with her own history. + +The artist paused every now and then to rest his burden, and Ermyn +wondered why he questioned her so closely. + +He was silently connecting this morning's scene with one of the +previous evening, when he had arrived by the coach at St. Elvis. + +No one knew who the stranger was; and the villagers eagerly scanned +both him and his luggage, which, however, had no name on it. This fact +was observed as it was carried up to the room he had engaged at "The +Jolly Sailors." Many pairs of eyes from the stone cross steps followed +him inquisitively as he sauntered down towards the Rectory gate and +leaned over its palings. But he was only a stranger among strangers, as +he watched Molly walk across the grass with a basket of clothes on her +arm, which she had been gathering in from the common close by. A young +clergyman was talking to a lady at the wild porch, but he did not know +any of them. + +"I suppose they are all dead," he thought. + +And after a long wistful look at the casements buried in their mass of +green, he walked slowly away, carrying the sore burden of a heart heavy +as lead. Why did the conversation with this simple village maid cause +his heart to bound madly, as the colour mounted into his sunken cheek? + +"It is impossible!" he thought. "Why will such fancies come? The letter +said the child died too. But oh, why is this girl so like my lovely +Ethel? My morbid brain conjures up nothing but phantoms. But my father +lives! I must see his face once more before I die. And Silexa! How she +loved me! And yet she was forbidden ever to write or speak to me again. +My punishment has been greater than I could bear. God is not a God of +love, but a stern avenger, and the greatest boon I crave now from His +hand is to die." + +"There is mother!" cried Ermyn, as they neared the cottage. + +And Lettice came forward to question her child anxiously on the reason +of her delay. + +"I must bear the blame," said the stranger quickly. "I have been trying +to take a sketch of your daughter at the Sainted Well." + +"Yes; and, mother, will you please give the gentleman a cup of tea? He +is ill. I must run away and make myself tidy, for Mrs. Llewellyn will +be waiting for me. Good-morning, sir." + +"Good-bye," said the visitor; "will you let me go on with the picture +to-morrow?" + +"Oh yes, sir, if you like." + +And the girl ran off. + +"Will you please to come inside, sir, while I get you something?" said +the wondering Lettice. "May I ask if you have travelled far to-day?" + +"No; I have only come from St. Elvis, where I slept last night. +Will you allow me to rest under the shadow of this hawthorn? What a +beautiful child your daughter is!" + +"Yes, she is well enough," answered Lettice stiffly; for she was always +dubious whither such remarks might tend. + +"She is so like some one who was very dear to me, and who died; that is +why I wanted to take her likeness." + +"Indeed, sir!" + +"Is she your own child?" asked the stranger, in a low tone. + +But he was not prepared to see Lettice start and turn very pale as she +answered. + +"No, she is not, but she does not know it. All the neighbours and +townsfolk have been kind enough to keep my secret, and I shall never +tell her. She is just the same as if she were my own, for I have had +her ever since she was a little baby." + +"How did you get her?" pursued her questioner, with difficulty +concealing his agitation. + +"Well, sir, 'tis a sad tale. Rather more than twelve years ago a fine +ship, called the 'Ocean Queen,' foundered on yonder reef of rocks, +and all hands were drowned. None were saved except this poor little +helpless babe, who was found lashed to a spar and brought home by my +father. The mother of the infant was cold in death, but one arm was +round her baby when they found her. The sailors carried her into the +cottage, where she lay until after the inquest. And on the following +Sunday, we buried her in the old churchyard at St. Elvis." + +"Does the child bear any resemblance to the mother?" + +"Well, sir, I sometimes fancy she does; but features change after +death, so I can scarcely tell. Do you know anything about the wreck, +sir?" + +"No, nothing; I never even heard of it before." + +Lettice felt relieved. + +"Then this stranger can surely have no claim on her," she thought, "but +I must be careful what I say. I will not tell him about the locket, and +I will never give her up to any one who cannot describe it accurately +before seeing it." + +Poor gentleman! She felt very sorry for him; he looked so forlorn and +ill. He evidently had a sad history attached to him. And as the artist +raised his dark eyes to hers, a remembrance of long ago flashed into +her mind, but faded away before it could take a definite form. + +"Do you make a long stay here, sir?" she asked presently. + +"No; I go the next time the coach leaves St. Elvis. I suppose there is +no other means of communication with the market town?" + +"Not unless you order a carriage from there to fetch you, sir, but that +is expensive," she added thoughtfully, looking at his shabby clothes. +"The coach does not run again this week, sir." + +"Then I must hire," he replied; "for there is no time to be lost. There +is foul play somewhere." + +Lettice wondered why he said this, but she did not remark on it. + +"I will come again to-morrow, if you will allow me," he said earnestly. +"I should like to finish my picture of the child." + +"Oh, surely, sir, you are very welcome; I will tell her about it." + +A pause, and then the stranger asked abruptly, "Where was she buried?" + +"The poor lady, sir? For she 'was' a lady, I'm sure. Oh, it was up in +the corner of the churchyard, by the sycamore trees, sir. If you would +please wait here a few minutes, I could come with you and show you, and +perhaps you would like to see the church also?" + +"Thank you, I should; I will wait here until you are ready." + +They were soon walking along the meadows, white and golden with +daisies and buttercups, towards the old town. And as they went, the +conversation turned upon the Rectory. + +"I knew Dr. Pryse long ago," said the stranger, "and consider myself an +old friend of the family." + +"Indeed, sir; then of course you know about their trouble? Our dear +pastor was aged before his time; he had a sorrow, sir, that well-nigh +killed him." + +"What was it?" said her listener. + +Lettice paused before answering. It was unlike her to talk much of the +affairs of others. Yet this gentleman was a friend of the family, and +there was something about him which told her his question sprang not +from impertinent curiosity. + +"There could surely," she thought, "be no harm in telling what all the +village knew." + +"His only son, sir," she said at length, "such a fine, noble youth, +his father's joy and pride; there were few that could show beside him +for beauty, sir. He went away to London to his father's friend, Mr. +Lyndwood, who, having no children of his own, offered to take him into +his office and provide for him. Well, sir, I suppose he fell in with +bad companions. I don't know, but I always will say I don't believe he +meant to steal the money, and Miss Silexa has always said the same. +We suppose he got into debt, and was afraid to tell his father, who +was a terribly stern man at that time, over strict, sir, with all his +children. But I think he learned his lesson when it was too late. + +"Well, the news came one morning that his son had stolen bank notes to +the value of two hundred pounds, and had disappeared. I shall never +forget the father's rage. I was up at the Rectory at the time. He said +he would never see his face again, and forbade Miss Pryse to have any +communication with her brother. Soon after a letter came from Master +Edward, but giving no address, begging his father to pay the money, +and promising in the future to try and amend the past. A reply by +advertisement was requested. + +"Dr. Pryse took no notice of the letter, expecting if he waited long +enough, the lad would come meekly back, and ask his forgiveness. But +Miss Silexa knew it was not like Master Edward to do that—he had such a +terribly high spirit; and she used to come down to our cottage and weep +her heart out about it. Poor lady! She has had a troubled life of it +since in many ways." + +"And did the son write again?" asked the artist. + +But Lettice did not perceive how he trembled. + +"No, sir, at least not then; and as the years went on, his poor father +seemed to bend lower and lower under the grief. He would have given all +he had to bring him back. But though he and his friend Mr. Lyndwood +made every inquiry, no tidings could be heard that would give the +shadow of a hope. Why, it must be five-and-twenty years ago since he +went away. How time flies!" + +"Do you think the old man has ever forgiven his son?" + +"Oh yes, sir. I am sure he has; he has learned too much of God's love +himself to deny forgiveness to his son. I am certain, if he had come +back, he would have fallen on his neck and kissed him, and killed for +him the fatted calf. He can never read that chapter in church about +David's lament over Absalom without breaking down." + +"I suppose he has given up all hope now?" rejoined her auditor, in a +questioning tone. + +"Oh yes, sir; they all think, now, Master Edward must have died +somewhere abroad, though, they began to hope again after they got the +letter." + +"I thought you said there was no letter." + +"Not from him, sir. But twelve years after he went away, Mr. Lyndwood +received the money again, with no name or address. He has been doing +all he can ever since to find out where it came from." + +"How very strange!" replied her questioner. "And so they are all gone +away now?" he added. "Who is the young lady your daughter was telling +me about?" + +"Miss Eudora Meredith, sir, the child of Miss Silexa's sister, +beautiful Miss Minnie Pryse, the pride of St. Elvis. She died within a +year of her marriage. There is a sad story about that, sir. You must +surely have heard it, if you are a friend of the family." + +The stranger started, fearing he had betrayed himself. But the movement +was unperceived by the innocent, simple-hearted woman, who waited for +the answer. + +"No, I have heard nothing. My home has been out of England for many +years. Do tell me all you know, as I shall not see any of them myself +now." + +"True, sir; they will not be back until the fall of the year. I am +sorry you will miss them. Well, I will tell you about Mrs. Meredith. +She had more schooling than her elder sister, Miss Pryse; for there +was always so much to be done at home that somehow she could not be +spared, and their poor mother was an invalid for years before she died. +Miss Minnie was one of the wildest, merriest-hearted girls I ever saw; +a regular little mischievous one, always up to pranks. She was named +after Dame Ermyn Brande, who was an ancestor of the Pryse family. You +will see her monument directly over the Rectory pew, telling of her +bequest to St. Elvis, but the child was never called anything but +Minnie. After the death of Mrs. Pryse, she was sent away to school for, +I think, five or six years. It was a long way off, so she seldom came +home until she finished. + +"And while she was absent, Captain Edward Meredith came to visit at the +Rectory. His ship, the 'Eudora,' was anchored in the bay. Oh, but he +'was' a fine gentleman! I always say I never saw one as handsome except +our Master Edward of the Rectory. Captain Meredith was, I believe, a +year or two younger than Miss Pryse, but no one would have guessed it. +They looked such a fine handsome couple as they walked about together; +and everybody in St. Elvis and Porthmynwr thought it was going to be a +match between them. + +"I have seen Miss Silexa, when he used to be absent, most days walk +along the cliff and shore, as if eagerly watching for his ship; and +whenever his name was mentioned, she would look up to listen. If ever +a man might have won a noble heart, it was he, sir, but perhaps he +didn't know. Miss Silexa was a proud young woman, and never betrayed +her feelings, but I had not seen such a glad look on her face since the +day our Master Edward went away. I hoped she was going to find comfort +in her affliction by becoming a happy wife." + +"And how did it end?" said the stranger, pausing to take breath. + +"It ended, sir, one summer when the 'Eudora' was lying out there in the +bay at anchor. Miss Minnie had just returned from school, and every one +was talking of her great beauty. I shall never forget the first Sunday +I saw her come into church, with her blue eyes and golden hair, smiling +like an angel. Captain Meredith went into the Rectory pew, and, I +suppose, soon fell in love, for he was always with her after that, and +in a little while, we heard they were engaged. They were married in the +following spring, quite early in the year. They went away together for +a trip somewhere, and then he had to bring her home here and leave her, +as his ship was ordered away suddenly to foreign parts. His poor little +wife drooped for him, and by degrees the rosy colour faded out of her +cheeks. + +"One November morning, I was sent for in haste to the Rectory. And my +heart ached as I went over the threshold and heard the sound of bitter +weeping. Miss Silexa met me with the newspaper in her hand, looking as +pale as ashes. The 'Eudora' had gone down, and all in her had perished, +except two sailors, who escaped to bring the news to land. + +"Our beautiful Miss Minnie never looked up again. I stayed there all +day, and in the evening, she gave birth to her little daughter. When +she heard the baby's cry, she whispered to her sister,— + +"'Call her Eudora, and take care of her for Edward's sake. I am going +to him.' + +"We tried by every means to rouse her, but she just sank away like a +tired child going to sleep. I thought the double sorrow would have +killed poor Dr. Pryse. We could not get him to leave the body; he sat +moaning over it, holding the waxen hand in his, and crying out,— + +"'My little Minnie! Look at me once more! Wake up, my darling!'" + +"Miss Silexa did not shed a tear, but seemed turned into stone, as she +sat rocking the poor baby on her knees. And she has been a mother to +her ever since." + +"It is indeed a sad story," said the gentleman, turning his back to +Lettice, and stooping to gather a flower, by which action he managed to +hide the tears that had filled his eyes. "The child must be a precious +treasure," he added. + +"Oh, sir, the old man dotes on her, and so does Miss Silexa; please +God she may be spared to them! They nearly lost her last year when +she was ill. She is very like her mother, only without her beautiful +colour. I wish they were all home again. I think that is all I have +to tell you, sir. And I see old John Jenkins coming. He will show you +over the church. Step this way first, sir; here is the grave, and Mrs. +Meredith's is next to it. I will wish you good-morning. Oh no, sir; I +did not expect payment," she added hastily, as the stranger slipped a +sovereign into her hand. + +"Please accept it with my best thanks," he urged, in reply to her +remonstrances, as an earnest look came into his dark eyes; "I will be +at your cottage to-morrow." + +There was no headstone to mark the resting-place of the drowned one; +only the long grasses waved pleasantly over it, and there was a hushing +sound in the sycamore branches above. He knelt beside it to pluck a few +green blades, which he put into his pocket-book. He then passed on to +look at the headstone next to it. + +"So young to die!" he murmured, on reading the inscription. + +"Would you please to go into the church, sir?" asked John Jenkins, who +had come close to where he was standing. "'Tis a fine old church, folks +say, sir," he added, as the gentleman turned to accompany him. "This +doorway is Norman, and the tower is hundreds of years old, and I can +show you some very ancient monuments." + +The old pew-opener was proceeding to descant on these, when, to his +surprise, he found the stranger had left him, and was now far ahead of +him up the church aisle, and just turning into the Rectory pew, where +he sat down, and was lost to view. + +Old Jenkins did not follow him there, or he would have been still more +astonished to find him sitting in one corner among the fusty cushions, +with his head bowed low upon his hands, shedding, silently, bitter +tears. + +"A curious sort of a chap that!" thought the verger, as ten minutes +later the gentleman reappeared, and putting some money in his hand +abruptly left the church. + + +The artist kept his appointment the following morning, and finished the +picture. + +"Look, mother, what the gentleman gave me!" cried Ermyn, as she ran +into the cottage. "A whole sovereign! Is it enough to buy a cow? You +must take it and use it. Oh, we shall be rich some day," she added, +kissing her. "I am doing such a beautiful piece of work now. A wreath +of wild roses on white silk. Mrs. Llewellyn says it is the prettiest I +ever did." + +"It is far too much money, my child; I am sorry he gave it, for he +seems poor himself, and I grieve from my heart for him. He looks as if +life had pressed sore upon him with its burden." + +St. Elvis opened its eyes in considerable astonishment the following +morning, when a carriage and pair arrived from the market town, and the +stranger stepped into it and drove off. + +"I thought he was one of your poor travelling artists," remarked the +ostler, who had shouldered the well-worn portmanteau. + +"He paid his reckoning like a gentleman, anyhow," rejoined the +landlady, "but I never saw a shabbier kit." + +"He looked as if he hadn't a sixpence in the world to call his own," +added a bystander; "and 'what' a hat!" + +Molly was welcomed eagerly at the stone cross that morning, for she had +something else to tell about the nameless and mysterious stranger. + +"He was up late last night," she said, "prowling round the Rectory +like a thief, peeping into all the windows and under the willow tree +and all. And he picked the flowers, and actually went into the kitchen +garden opposite, as if he had a right there. I didn't like to tell him +he mustn't go there." + +"Well, I never!" nodded the gossips, with upraised hands. "It was as +well Miss Pryse wasn't at home. She would have ordered him off sharp. +She don't like strangers about." + +But none of these remarks reached the ear of our traveller, who was +speeding on his way as fast as a pair of fleet horses could carry him +to the nearest railway station, whence he was soon flying along in the +express train towards Scotland. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE LAIRD OF MUIRSTANE + +THE long Scotch twilight was rapidly fading, and lights glimmered here +and there from the windows of the town, towards which four tired horses +were dragging the public conveyance after a hard day's journey. There +was but one inn of any size in the place, and this was homely both +in style and appearance, notwithstanding the fierce attitude of the +so-called "Golden Lion" swinging on the signboard above the entrance. + +As the coach crossed the last bridge, and rattled over the ill-paved +streets, a crowd of barefooted urchins set up a series of yells, and +commenced running after it in a body, clamouring and squabbling for +the halfpence a traveller threw down for their benefit. At the sound +of these noisy heralds, two ostlers ran out from the inn-yard, who +were speedily joined by other hangers-on. The stout landlady appeared +resplendent in plaid ribbons, sinning benignly; and many heads bobbed +up and down behind her, all eager to see what the tired tourists were +like. + +The poor artist whom St. Elvis had in turn looked down upon and +wondered at, was among them; though this fact might have been doubted, +as he had exchanged his shabby attire for a respectable suit, and +certainly looked much more like a gentleman as he descended the +step-ladder and accosted Mrs. Macgregor: + +"Can I have a fresh pair of horses to take me to Muirstane to-night?" + +"'Deed no, sir; ye can ha'e no horses the nicht, ye maun e'en wait till +the morn. We ha'e been ower busy here this week past, and the Duke had +the last pair this afternoon to gang to the castle. I'm sorry, sir, but +ye maun put up wi' us, and tak' the best oor hoose can gi'e ye." + +Our traveller remonstrated, but finding it was useless, he gave orders +for his luggage to be carried in, and was glad to escape from the +noise and confusion outside to the parlour within. A smell of beer and +whisky, mingled with the fumes of stale tobacco, made him feel sick and +giddy, after all his fatigue. It was not much better upstairs, for the +inn being unusually crowded, he had to be content with a small attic, +whose window could only be opened a few inches by a desperate effort, +after which a wedge of wood had to be inserted to keep the sash from +falling again. + +He inquired how soon his supper could be ready; and being told "in +about half an hour," he went out into the cool night air while it was +preparing. Fresh breezes came up from the river as he leant over the +stone bridge, and watched the reflection of stars in the clear water +beneath. The hills were faintly outlined in the distance, and there was +a soughing in the belt of Scotch pines that skirted the bend of the +stream. + +But the soft whispers brought no rest nor peace to the weary one who +stood there, absently gazing at the dim landscape. He could only review +the sad past, to which was now added his strange visit to St. Elvis, +and what he had seen and heard there. Since then, rapid journeys by +day and night had finally brought him to this place, where he was now +forcibly detained by circumstances. + +"I wish I had never seen that child," he muttered, as he retraced his +footsteps to the house. + +And with a wilful inconsistency, climbed the stairs again to unlock +his portmanteau and take out Ermyn's picture. He looked at the face he +saw smiling there, comparing it with a miniature he always wore, and +carried it downstairs with him. + +Two dismal tallow-candles were spluttering away on a table in the fusty +little room where he found his supper awaiting him. The meal consisted +of fried eggs and ham, some excellent coffee, with plenty of good bread +and butter. And in spite of his sorrow and disappointment, the tired +wayfarer enjoyed it. + +After the remains of the feast had been duly cleared away by a +red-handed and red-haired serving-maid, he produced the pictures again, +and laying them carefully on the table before him, took another long +look, murmuring to himself, "They 'are' alike." + +Waking from his reverie, he proceeded to investigate the room. The +bookcase contained a Scotch psalm-book, the "Shorter Catechism," +Bunyan's "Holy War" and "Pilgrim's Progress," a stray novel or two +left by passing visitors, some "Chambers's Journals," well-thumbed and +dog-eared, and a collection of old "Illustrated London News," bound in +a cloth cover and considerably the worse for wear. The last-mentioned +volume had evidently been a favourite study of previous guests, as was +only too apparent from the tattered condition of its leaves, and the +dirty marks visible upon them. + +Edward Pryse (for our readers will have guessed ere this that it was +he) turned over the pages mechanically, thinking of far different +subjects, when suddenly his eye was attracted by the picture of a +ship. He started, and his heart thumped against his breast as he read +the words underneath it—"The Ocean Queen." With trembling fingers, he +turned to the paragraph to which it belonged, and pursued the following +communication:— + + "'Loss of the ship 'Ocean Queen,' paddle-steamer, bound from Liverpool +to Cork. She broke her paddle-shaft in a gale of wind in St. George's +Channel, and drifted on to St. Dewis Head, on October 7, and became a +total wreck. Crew and passengers all lost.'" + +"What a strange coincidence! How this shipwreck haunts me!" he cried, +as the letters swam before his eyes, and he gasped for breath. + +It was all a dream! But no, there it was, staring him in the face. +True, quite true! He rose and paced the room until he grew calmer. +Then, sitting down again, he drew a penknife from his pocket and slowly +and deliberately cut out the page, folded it carefully, and laid it +with the picture. He then restored the book to its dusty quarters on +the shelf, rang for his bedroom candle, and went upstairs. + +The landlady passed him on his way, and he felt quite guilty. But she +only smiled as she wished him "Gude-nicht," adding, "ye'll no' mind if +ye hear a hubbub aboot the hoose; it'll be just oorsels." + +Edward paced long up and down the little room, too excited to seek +repose. + +At last he said, half aloud, "I must write to Liverpool and inquire if +any lady of the name of Pryse sailed in that vessel." + +After this was done, being completely worn-out by his previous +journeys, he flung himself on his bed and slept soundly. + + +While waiting to start on his journey the following morning, two lines +that he had read somewhere long ago came into his mind, and haunted it +all through that day: + + "There's a Divinity that shapes our ends, + Rough-hew them how we will." + +His destination was many miles off, and the road lay through some of +the most beautiful scenery Scotland can produce. His artistic eye did +not fail to note the glories of the landscape on either hand. When +they stopped at a small village to rest and bait the horses, he made +his way down to a rocky dell, attracted thither by the brawling of a +brown sunlit river. The waters fell sheer down with a thundering sound, +and on the large mossy boulder above, whence they took the final leap, +they were gathered up in a shining mass, which, on reaching the lower +stones, sprang off in silver threads of spray, while fairy fountains +were made rainbow-coloured and brilliant by the sunlight that glinted +through the over-arching branches above. + +But he could not stay long in this enchanted spot. He must hurry on +to his journey's end, and it was the thought of what he should meet +with there that weighted his heart with lead. His last pilgrimage +to Muirstane had been a fruitless one, and in all probability this +would be the same. He was fully prepared for it, as in the light of +a glorious setting sun, he saw the roofs of the Highland village +appearing in view. + +"I 'will' gain admittance this time," he muttered, with a bitter smile, +as, having left the carriage at the inn, he walked slowly up a steep +hill towards a large house, visible for many miles round in its utter +loneliness and isolation. + +The huge iron gates looked as if they had not swung on their hinges for +a century, for they were coated with thick rust, and clustering weeds +and ivy clung about them. Edward Pryse touched the chain that hung from +the padlock. It clanked drearily as he let it drop again, and went +round to the dingy back entrance, through a court where grass grew rank +among the paving-stones. Here he pulled a wooden handle, which set a +bell ringing somewhere far-away in a distant passage. + +No answer. + +After waiting some minutes in impatient suspense, he tried the door. It +yielded to his vigorous push, and Edward found himself at the end of +a long dark corridor. On this side of the house there was no sign of +life, and the unexpected visitor made his way in the direction of the +inhabited end. + +He reached the foot of a stair leading, as he well remembered, to +a little sitting-room, which had been Ethel's favourite retreat. +Ascending the steps, he knocked loudly at the door of the room, but +again without reply. Led by irresistible impulse, he entered. + +How familiar, yet strange, the place appeared, in the thronging +memories of happy hours spent in that room by her side! The room +seemed exactly as it used to be, only all things wore a deathly look, +because the spirit that had given them life had fled. A harp stood +in one corner, but the strings hung broken and useless, and all the +gilding was worn away. A picture of his own painting hung above it, and +underneath the frame these words were illuminated,— + + "'God is our refuge and strength: a very present help in trouble.'" + +A large old-fashioned rosewood workbox stood on a dusty round table in +the window. Edward opened it, and some dried rose-leaves gave forth +their peculiar odour as he lifted the lid and took out the tray. Oh, +what did he see beneath? A tiny half-finished infant's shirt of finest +cambric. The needle was still in it, but so rusty, it had imprinted an +orange stain on the fabric, now yellow with age. Tears filled his eyes; +he handled and kissed it reverently, then folding it together put it +into his breast-pocket, and closed the lid again. + +Were there any other precious mementoes of his lost one? Yes, some of +her books were there, with a thick coating of dust resting on them. One +lay apart from the others; he opened it first, and some verbena and ivy +leaves fluttered down to his feet. It was Baxter's "Saints' Everlasting +Rest." The words his eye fell on were these, and they were underlined +with pencil: + + "When should we take our cordials, but in times of fainting? When is it +more seasonable to walk to heaven, than when we know not in what corner +of the earth to live with comfort? or when should our thoughts converse +more above, than when they have nothing but grief below? Where should +Noah's dove be but in the ark, when the waters cover all the earth, and +she cannot find rest for the sole of her foot? What should we think on, +but our Father's house, when we have not even the husks of the world to +feed upon? Surely God sends thy affliction for this very purpose." + +He turned the pages and read again: + + "Hast thou seen the utter insufficiency of every creature, either to +be itself thy happiness or the means of removing this thy misery? +Hast thou been convinced, that thy happiness is only in God as the +end, and in Christ as the way to Him? and that thou must be brought +to God through Christ or perish eternally? Hast thou seen an absolute +necessity of thy enjoying Christ and a full sufficiency in Him to +do for thee whatever thy case requires? Hast thou discovered the +excellence of this pearl to be worth thy selling all to buy it?" + +Edward Pryse could read no further for the dimming tears. + +"No, my God," he groaned, "I have not! I found an earthly pearl, +beautiful and rare, and she was my idol; and Thou hast taken her from +me. Is it that I may find Thee, the Pearl of greatest price? Oh, my +sweet dove, that flitted 'twixt earth and sky o'er stormy seas! God put +forth His hand and drew thee in to rest with Him for evermore. Thou art +safe sheltered on His breast; and the world outside is cold without +thee. I shall go to thee, but thou canst not return to me." + +A sound of footsteps in the corridor outside made him start. + +And in another moment, an old woman, of forbidding appearance, +presented herself, and demanded his business. + +"My name is Mr. Edward Pryse, and I am here to see your master." + +"You know he will not see you; besides, he is very ill, and must not be +disturbed. How dared you enter? Here, John! John!" + +At the call, a man came swiftly along the passage, leaving at the other +end a door ajar. + +"Come, be off!" he said menacingly, but shrunk back in fear as Edward +advanced towards him. + +"Will you show me your master's room?" sternly demanded the unwelcome +guest. + +Before the housekeeper and her husband could frame a stubborn negative, +Edward thought he heard a faint sound, as of an old man in pain, +proceed from the room they had quitted. Did his ears deceive him? Or +was there a faint cry of "Edward! Edward!" + +He rushed past the ill-favoured pair, and passed through the anteroom, +whence they had issued, into the bedchamber beyond. What a sight met +his view! In a tattered shirt, and lying on the bare mattress, with a +ragged blanket to cover him, lay the pitiable old man, his limbs and +features shrunk and attenuated to the last degree, and shaking from +head to foot. + +"You have only come just in time to see me die! Why didn't you come +sooner?" + +"I have been here at two different times, but could not gain +admittance. And judging from your last letter to me, I thought you +never wished to see my face again. It was a cruel letter." + +"God forgive me!" murmured the old man. "I have deeply sinned. He 'may' +forgive me, but you never, when you know all!" + +"I 'will' forgive, if you will only speak, and tell me 'all.'" + +"I lied to you," said the helpless victim of cunning and avarice; "I +hated you for gaining Ethel's affections, when I had destined her to be +the wife of a rich neighbour. And when you went away, I swore I would +be revenged." + +Edward grew pale as death, but was silent. + +"She ran away," continued the narrator, "and I don't know where she +went. I suppose she was driven to it, and hoped to find you somewhere +in the wide world. I forced her, by keeping her short of money, to +leave the cottage you took for her in the village, and to return here. +I made her life in this house a hard and bitter bondage." + +"But why did she not write to me? I sent her letters and remittances +regularly, but they were never acknowledged." + +"Oh, Edward, forgive me, the hand of death is on me! I intercepted both +her letters and yours. I bribed the postmistress to let me have all +communications addressed to Ethel from America, and all hers to you. +They are all tied together in my desk, and you shall have them now. Ah! +Curse me not, I entreat you," added the unhappy man, as Edward uttered +a hasty exclamation. "God's curse has rested upon me so heavily that it +cannot be worse. Hear me to the end, and then help me to make my peace +with the Almighty, against whom I have sinned so deeply. The letter +I sent to you announcing her death and that of the child was false. +I never heard of her from the day she disappeared. I did it that you +should not expect my money." + +"She 'did' not die, then!" said Edward, starting to his feet, not +heeding the last sentence. "Where is she, and what of her child?" + +"It was not born here," replied the wretched miser; "but she was +preparing for it when she fled from the house. Go and look for her, +Edward; she must be somewhere in the world. I must see her again, and +ask her forgiveness before I die, or how can I meet her father and +mother, who left the friendless orphan to me, her only relative?" + +"But had you no idea where she went?" + +"In my anger I did not care. I thought surely her want of money must +soon drive her back. And when later I sought to find her, all trace was +gone. When people inquired for her, I said she had gone to you. Since +she left me, these thieves have gradually robbed me of everything they +could lay their hands upon, and now that I am ill and helpless, you see +how they have treated me." + +"Why did you not send the wretches out of your house? How came you to +put your neck under their feet?" + +"They had my secret, Edward, and they used their power cruelly. I was +afraid to let you enter the house for fear they would betray me. They +extorted larger and larger bribes, and when I remonstrated, threatened +to tell you all. At last, in my misery, I decided to throw myself on +your mercy, but did not know where to send for you. The woman said she +knew, and promised to send, but I didn't believe she would." + +Edward was about to reply, when the old man laid his hand on his arm, +and said in a hollow whisper: "You must find Ethel; I have willed the +whole of my large property to her, and her child after her. See," he +added, gasping, "you will find the will in a secret drawer, just inside +the panel of—" + +Edward never heard the remainder of the sentence, for a paralytic +stroke had fallen on the aged sinner, and he lay helpless and +unconscious. + +To ring the bell and call loudly for assistance was Edward's first act, +but no one responded to his appeal. + +He ran through room after room, and found all empty and deserted. +The man and his wife had made off in the interval, terrified at the +consequences of their iniquitous behaviour. Edward opened doors, and +flew along corridors, and finally found himself in the paved court +below. Here he saw a man passing the gate, and recognising him as an +inhabitant of Muirstane, thrust some money into his hand, and bade +him fetch a doctor as quickly as possible, and send help up from the +village. + +The man was as good as his word, and soon summoned the needful +assistance. Everything that human skill or kindness could devise was +done to relieve the sufferer. Edward Pryse sat with him day and night. +And when a glimmering consciousness returned without the power of +speech, Ethel's uncle would lie looking wistfully at him, holding his +hand in his, and vainly moving his lips, as if trying to articulate +something that he had on his mind, but no sound ever came. + +Edward fancied the old man understood what he said to him. And one day +as he sat beside him, the thought would itself upon his mind, "Is his +guilty soul sheltered from the wrath of the avenging Judge?" + +Mr. Pryse was not a religious man himself, and he felt it, as death +knocked grimly at this chamber door. He had allowed the circumstances +of his life to harden him against God. But the words to which his dead +Ethel had so unconsciously pointed him, in her little red book, clung +to him, as if the good seed must find a resting-place even in "his" +stony heart. + +He went softly down to her bookcase again, and found a Bible. He did +not know where to read, but again the marked passages came to his aid, +as he sat down to find something to comfort her uncle with. Slowly +turning the pages to and fro, he read aloud wherever he saw the traces +of her pencil— + + "'When Jesus heard it, He saith unto them, They that are whole have no +need of the physician, but they that are sick: I came not to call the +righteous, but sinners to repentance.' + + "'Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your +sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red +like crimson, they shall be as wool.' + + "'God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet +sinners, Christ died for us. Much more then, being now justified by His +blood, we shall be saved from wrath through Him.' + + "'Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.'" + +Edward fancied he saw a movement of the pale, shrivelled lips, as the +eyes looked up towards heaven with a supplicating glance, but that was +all. After a few more weary struggles, the soul that had sinned so +deeply went forth to appear before a higher tribunal than man's. + +"God help me," ejaculated Edward, "to forgive him from my heart! 'I' +forgive him for Ethel's sake." + +And he turned sadly away to give directions to the attendants who stood +by. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +BAFFLED HOPES + +EDWARD PRYSE followed the remains of his wife's relative to the +grave as chief and only mourner. No one came forward then to claim +kinship with the lonely and unloved old man. But as nearly the whole +of Muirstane belonged to him, a goodly number of tenants joined the +funeral procession. Already they looked upon Edward as their new +master, and accordingly began to pay court to him, hoping they would +find in him a more indulgent landlord. Not a few were eager to inform +him of facts they would not have cared to make public during Mr. +Macdonald's lifetime, and willingly gave him all the assistance in +their power, while he made a careful and patient investigation of every +matter respecting his wife. + +The letter he wrote to Liverpool had only brought a curt reply that +no lady of the name of Pryse, or of the description he had given, had +sailed in the "Ocean Queen." But the belief that Ermyn must be Ethel's +child had taken too strong a hold of him to be entirely set aside even +by this. He must seek for some other clue. But in the meantime, it was +his duty to turn from this engrossing matter to the immediate necessity +of settling his uncle's affairs. + +Mr. Tod, the lawyer, who had drawn up the hidden document, was absent +from home at the time of Mr. Macdonald's decease, but returned with all +speed in answer to Edward's summons. Mr. Pryse informed him accurately +of all that had taken place since his arrival at Muirstane, to which +the lawyer listened in professional silence. When everything had been +stated, Mr. Tod asked the following question slowly and deliberately: + +"Then if this document is found—and there can be no doubt of its +existence, from all you tell me and from what I know myself—can you +throw any light as to the whereabouts of the unfortunate lady, his +niece, who is entitled to this property under her uncle's gift? Or, if +she is dead, whether she left a child to take it?" + +"I have reason to believe," replied Edward, "that my wife, the lady +you refer to, whom I married as Ethel Macdonald, was drowned in the +steamer 'Ocean Queen,' which was wrecked in the St. George's Channel in +the year 18—. But I have yet to prove that this was the case. If I am +right in my conjecture, I can produce her only child, a girl, whom I +accidentally discovered living under another name in South Wales. She +is supposed to be the daughter of a poor woman, who, however, confessed +to me that the girl was not her own child." + +The lawyer expressed much surprise at this piece of information, and +promised all the help he could give towards unravelling the interesting +mystery, and ways and means were accordingly discussed most earnestly. +However, the disquisition ended by their coming back to the point they +started from: the document must be found first, before any other steps +could be taken. + +Meantime, efforts were made to track the guilty fugitives, who had +departed immediately Edward had closed the doors upon them. Thanks +to the stupidity of the thieves, some valuable property was soon +recovered. But it needed a long and careful search before the man +and his wife were finally captured. Alas it was found that most of +the costly and massive family plate had been previously carried off; +and as it had been sold and melted down at once, none of it could +be recovered. Some of the jewels were discovered by their peculiar +setting, and were found in the possession of pawnbrokers and country +people, totally ignorant of their great value, but others could not be +traced. + +The search for the will continued with the aid of careful workmen, +under the supervision of Edward himself. But again and again he +was disappointed and baffled. The oak panels of each room had been +carefully removed, but no secret drawer could be discovered. + +Meanwhile, rumours began to reach Edward of certain Macdonalds who +were about to dispute his right to act, and he was daily harassed by +letters from distant relatives of the late laird, each claiming to be +heir-at-law. He therefore fully expected the case would ere long be +brought before some court. + + +One day, as he was seated buried in desponding cogitations, a +reminiscence of his childhood flashed into his mind. He recollected +his mother's curious ancient cabinet of inlaid wood and silver, and +how one day, as she was cleaning and putting it to rights, she by +accident saw what appeared to be merely a tiny worm-eaten hole. Into +this she inserted a fine knitting-needle, and started with surprise +when a small drawer shot out, containing some old family documents and +a few rare coins. This incident had faded from his mind until present +circumstances revived it. + +He rose, determined not to summon the workmen again; he would go alone +and recommence the search. Of course, as is generally the case, they +had hunted through all the likely places first, and Ethel's little +sanctum was the last to be invaded. This also was panelled in oak. +In several of the other rooms, two or three sliding panels had been +detected by the accidental touching of springs. But the secret drawer +which Mr. Macdonald had mentioned could not be found. Ethel's room, it +was argued, being in such a remote situation, would certainly contain +nothing valuable. The search there had consequently been less careful. + +"Here is a sliding panel!" cried Edward, with delight, as he stood in +a dark corner on one side of the bookcase, in the room which he had +entered on the night when he appeared as an unbidden guest. + +On examining it by the aid of a taper, he observed a little hole in the +back. But he had nothing at hand small enough to insert in it. Suddenly +he recollected Ethel's workbox, turned to it, and lifted the lid. There +lay a slender stiletto, covered with rust, in its silken band. Would it +serve his purpose? He drew it out, and inserted the point in the hole, +when out sprang a secret drawer, which contained the "Will of Alexander +Macdonald, of Muirstane, Esquire," giving the estate to his niece for +life, and after her death to her eldest surviving child. + +Who can describe Edward's feelings, as he fell on his knees to utter a +fervent "Thank God!" + +With this in his possession, he could hold the estate while he searched +for the wife and child to whom it belonged. But before he went out +into the world to find them, one task yet remained to him. He unlocked +the old man's desk, and took out the bundle of letters that had never +reached their destination. His passionate rage boiled up again as he +read his own letters from America, full of loving, tender words, which +had not even been seen by the dear eyes that had looked up so wistfully +into his, the day he had said "Farewell." Those words would have poured +balm into the wounded lonely heart, and filled it with patient waiting +for his return. + +"He murdered her!" said he bitterly. + +Then recollecting his words of forgiveness uttered beside the dying +bed, he checked the further outburst of wrath. There were only two +or three of Ethel's letters, and these were directed to the shipping +office in Liverpool whither he had told her to write first. They +wrung his heart as he read them, being full of tender longings for +his return, even ere he had left England. There were hopes and fears +concerning the future, and entreaties that he would, if possible, come +back before their child should be born. Then followed a heart-rending +account of her lonely life. But all this was before she had returned to +Muirstane House, so they told nothing of her miseries there. + +"I must go and look for Nannie, soon," she had written in a postscript +attached to the last letter. + +At first Edward could not think to whom she referred. But it gradually +dawned upon his recollection that this must be the faithful old nurse, +Nannie McEwen, who had come with her to Muirstane, and stayed until she +was grown-up. He had never seen her, because, owing to circumstances +in her own family, she had been obliged to leave her situation before +he came to Scotland. This woman was now the missing link in his chain +of evidence; he must set out to find her. But to obtain any news of +her was a difficult matter, as in the lapse of years there had been +considerable alterations at Muirstane. The post-office had changed +hands, and though several of the inhabitants could tell him about +Nannie's departure, no one could recollect whither she had gone. + +At last one old man said, "She used to tell o' her brither at Portree, +in Skye; didna she gang to him?" + + +This dubious information, scanty as it was, was all Edward had to act +upon. But he lost no time in setting out on his journey to this distant +place. All necessary directions, together with the management of the +estate, were left in the hands of his factor, and a respectable man and +his wife were placed in charge of the house. + +The railway only took him a comparatively small part of the way, but he +was not sorry to exchange it for a seat on the top of a coach, which +started early one September morning. The country through which it took +him was wild and beautiful, and the autumnal tints on the foliage were +red and rare. On, on he went all day, over brown moorlands, past lonely +tarns, up and down steep braes, until the sun sank to rest behind +the purple mountains, and still a fresh set of horses was needed for +yet another stage. It was midnight when the coach finally stopped at +a ferry, where most of the travellers turned in thankfully to sleep +at the little wayside inn close at hand. Not so Edward Pryse; he had +neither time nor inclination to loiter on his way with such an end in +view. + +A boat was rocking on the water, and he, with some others, stepped into +it. It was scarcely discernible by the pale light of stars. The persons +who seated themselves formed a picturesque group. Two Highland lassies +were together, and Edward had helped a lame beggar in, he was followed +by the bearer of the mail-bags. One of the boatmen held a bull's-eye +lantern, whose red light flashed brightly on the figures as they rowed +through the mysterious and shadowy darkness. The girls began singing +Jacobite songs, much to the delight of the men, who cheered heartily, +and Edward enjoyed the plaintive sound of the voices, combined with +the gentle movement of the gliding boat. They were soon across, and +after the party had scrambled up the slimy, slippery landing-place, the +boatman came to demand his fares. + +"I canna pay ye," said the mendicant. "Ye'll surely tak' me for +naethin'; I'm ganging to the sacrament at Murthlie." + +Edward heard the whining tones of remonstrance, and thrust some coppers +into the outstretched hand, which were received with a burst of +grateful thanks. + +"How soon can I go on?" he asked at the inn, to which a few footsteps +brought him. + +"Ye maun either gang the nicht in her Majesty's mail-cart, or bide till +to-morrow nicht the same hour," replied the woman, who had come out to +greet him. + +Edward looked up at the twinkling stars. "It is a fine night," he +thought; "by this time to-morrow there may be pouring rain." + +"I will continue my journey now," he said aloud, as he followed the +woman. + +After hastily swallowing some slight refreshment which she quickly set +before him, he took his seat behind the driver of the primitive and +clumsy looking mail-cart, with one other passenger, a girl, and the +rough vehicle presently jolted off. The driver had a boon companion by +his side, and the two kept up a ceaseless guttural chatter in Gaelic, +not one word of which Edward could understand. The girl was inclined to +be friendly and communicative, but, finding her companion taciturn and +absent, she soon relapsed into silence. + +They travelled on in this way for about two hours, when they reached a +lonely bit of moorland with the lights of a village glimmering faintly +in the distance, and will-o'-the-wisps flitting over the fens, as if to +beguile the unwary traveller. The girl jumped down. + +"There is my home," she said to Edward, pointing in the direction of +the lights. + +The driver remarked something to her in Gaelic as she handed him his +fare, and laughing her reply, she ran fearlessly off into what seemed +to Edward a lonely, hopeless path. + +"She is certain to find what she seeks," thought he; "as for me, I may +be chasing a will-o'-the-wisp." + +Edward Pryse never forgot that journey; its silence and isolation +pressed upon his spirit, and everything that came into his mind took a +sombre tinge of melancholy. The long white roads seemed endless, and he +grew numb and chilled, waiting at the doors of wayside public-houses, +into which the driver and his friend disappeared to indulge in +potations which would have rendered driving a perilous risk if the +horses had not known their way. + +Edward was thankful to warm himself by trudging up the long hills, +pausing every now and then to listen to the impetuous rushing of +mountain streams he could not see. He watched through that mysterious +hour when night and dawn meet, when the transition from darkness to +light is so gradual that it is scarcely perceptible. By degrees the +faint green tinge in the sky melted into lemon, then red and purple +streaks were painted in bold dashes of colour, and all the glorious +pomp that ushers in the king of day came up in bright triumph, and +spread across the heavens. The great Cuchullin Mountains that in the +dim early twilight had loomed out in giant obscurity, were now bathed +in morning blue, and stood out grand and glowing in a shimmering haze. +An awe crept over Edward's spirit as he gazed. + +"How little," thought he, "appear the joys and sorrows of human life, +when looking at those eternal hills that stand enfolded with the +majesty of God." + +And then, almost unconsciously, his heart rose higher than the highest +of those mighty peaks, to God Himself. The grand old words of the +prayer of Moses came back to his remembrance: + + "'Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations. Before +the mountains were brought forth, or ever Thou hadst formed the earth +and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, Thou art God.'" + +The earthly radiance represented, though but faintly, the spiritual +day-dawn, which with its everlasting light doth touch the awakened +soul, bidding it reflect the heavenly glory, and stand in God's eternal +sunshine for evermore. + +Edward's meditations were suddenly interrupted by the driver informing +him that Portree was in sight. And after a few more miles of level +road, the mail-cart rattled into the sleeping town, for it was still +early, and few of the inhabitants were astir. + +A good breakfast and comfortable bed were not unwelcome to our +exhausted traveller, who, after recruiting worn-out nature for a few +hours, rose in eager haste to seek Nannie McEwen. + +The place was certainly not an inviting one, for the huts of the very +poor people were little better than pigsties, full of peat-reek and +unpleasant odours. The women looked prematurely old, and sunken low in +the scale of civilisation, as they trudged past him, carrying on their +backs the stacks of peat they had been cutting from the bogs. + +Edward spoke to several of them, but a shake of the head, or an answer +in Gaelic, was all he received in return. There were many in the town +itself that spoke English, but they stared with surprise on hearing +Nannie McEwen inquired for. At last, after a fruitless wandering of +more than an hour, he returned to the hotel, and consulted with the +landlord. + +"Maybe Janet kens wha he means," quoth he. + +And a pleasant elderly woman was summoned. + +"Nannie McEwen!" she said thoughtfully, as if hunting through the +storehouse of her memory. "Ay, I ken fine wha ye're seeking. She cam' +frae Muirstane auchteen years syne, to nurse her sick brither. I mind +it weel, for it was sune after my Jeannie was born, and she cam' to +help me through my trouble when I had nane but hersel' to be wi' me." + +"And where is she now?" asked Edward, breathing shortly. + +"'Deed, that I dinna ken. Her brither dee'd a year after she cam' to +Portree, an' after the burial, she gaed South, but whaur tae, nane kens +but Him that's above. She lived in yon wee hoose," she added, pointing +with her hand; "but they're a' fremd fowk that bides there noo." + +Edward's heart sank to the depths; no more questions would come to his +lips, and he turned away a hopeless, desolate man. The feeble clue had +snapped, and he was as much in the dark as ever. + +He strode on fiercely, past the outskirts of the town, not caring +whither his footsteps led him, and wandered lonely for miles along +bare, brown tracts of moorland, feeling the sterile scenery was in +keeping with his dashed hopes. The light that had glimmered like a +guiding-star upon his dark, uncertain way had proved a false meteor, +luring him on but to mock him at last. + + +Nothing remained for him to do now, but to retrace his way to the drear +and desolate abode at Muirstane. Time was now no object to him, for +there was nought to be gained by extra speed; the wheels were off his +chariot, and he drave it heavily. His bitter disappointment destroyed +all the self-confidence and certainty of success with which he had +started. He could only go on living over and over again the sad, sad +past, from the very beginning to the bitter end. + +How bright and careless were the happy days of childhood! Those +butterfly chases across the dappled meadows, with his merry little +sister, the child Minnie of long ago; their schemes and plans laid +together; their mischievous pranks and the punishments that followed, +and Minnie's anguish when the sentence of chastisement fell on him. +He could see her now, standing in one corner of the study, with her +fingers in her ears and her pinafore over her fair curls, screaming +with all her might, so as not to hear the sounds attendant on the +whipping he was led off to receive. And since then, she had gone to +sleep, so early, oh, so early, under the hushing sycamore trees. + +The love of his sister Silexa too, how deep and true it was, shown so +often in pleadings and entreaties for the youthful culprits! Edward +recalled the countless times she had screened them at her own expense +from their father's anger. Indeed, he could never remember anything +but the most passionate devotedness to himself on the part of both his +sisters. He saw now how it had ministered to his selfishness. Silexa +would have sacrificed anything she possessed to this daring, handsome +brother, and thought nothing too good or costly, if only it would +gratify him. This was the one weak point in that strong woman's nature. +She would have given her life for Edward. + +He now recalled with sorrow that morning in his sunny youth when he +had bidden a joyful farewell to school life and his old home at the +Rectory, to begin what he believed would be a bright independent career +in the great city of London. Minnie's tears and caresses had made his +heart ache a little on saying good-bye, and so had Silexa's dry earnest +eyes, so full of yearning love and anxiety as she thrust a purse of +her own making into his hands, filled with some months' savings of her +scanty allowance. He never knew of what self-denial that little sum was +proof. + +He had chafed impatiently at the words of counsel and advice, given +somewhat sternly by his father at the gate, not being able to discern +the high sense of honour and the parental love from which they +sprung. He was free now to be his own master; and with that feeling +predominant, the bold, blithe boy had gone out into life, determined to +enjoy himself at any cost. + +For a year all went prosperously. Mr. Lyndwood, his father's oldest +friend, was prepared to love him as a son, and consequently allowed him +many indulgences which as a stranger he would not have had. Alas, for +Edward! He lacked the foundation of all prosperity— + + "'The fear of the Lord, which is the beginning of wisdom...'" + +And therefore, when temptation presented itself, he turned aside and +fell in to the snares of the Evil One, who took him captive at his will. + +Bad companions first led him astray, and though Edward shrunk from +some of their ways, remembering his upright father and his pure-minded +sisters at home, he by degrees was drawn into a vortex, the slope +towards which begins with a little downhill which is very gradual. +Unknown to his friend and protector, he frequented gambling-houses, +and there betted heavily, his first winnings encouraging him to go on +recklessly. + +At last, the crash came; he owed two hundred pounds, which was to be +paid at once. He dared not write to his father, and he knew Silexa had +no money at her command. Mr. Lyndwood would probably turn him from +his office, and expose his disgrace to the whole world. There was +but one course open to him, so thought he in his blinded folly. This +was, to take the money from the office, where he had the handling of +considerable sums; he thought he could pay it back by instalments. +It was a secret impossible to keep long; he got an inkling that the +accounts were about to be looked into, so, having just received his +salary, he absconded suddenly. + +Mr. Lyndwood, irrespective of the loss of the money, felt so keenly for +Dr. Pryse, that he positively refused to make the matter public either +by instituting a search for Edward or letting any one beyond his own +office know of it. He believed the wild youth knew him well enough to +be assured of his forgiveness for his father's sake, should he confess +his guilt bravely and honestly. Therefore, after writing to his old +friend at St. Elvis, he declined to move further in the matter. + +We are already cognizant of the effect this dire news had at the +Rectory, but only Edward knew of a visit to his home in disguise. After +having waited in vain for an answer to his advertisement, he came down +to St. Elvis, and under cover of darkness crept round to the study +window and peeped in. The window was open, and while standing under +shelter of the thick ivy, he heard Silexa pleading for the outcast, and +then what seemed to the youth his father's cruel, bitter words. He was +to be disowned as a son until he had shown his repentance by repaying +the money, and his sisters were forbidden to hold any communication +with the offender. Edward crept away again; rage, hatred, and pride +struggling in his heart. + +"Yet why should I care," he argued, "when he has treated me so +shamefully? I hope I may never see his face again." + +Ah, if Silexa had but known who was outside under the stars that night, +things might perhaps have turned out differently. + +As it was, Edward quitted the home of his childhood that same hour, +and after travelling day and night finally set foot on board a vessel +bound for America. On landing there, his way was prosperous, for he +had invented a most plausible story to satisfy the friends he had made +during the voyage, several of whom were most anxious to do their utmost +for the handsome young man. He had a marvellously winning address and +manner, which went far to gain him supporters, so that when he had +succeeded in quieting his conscience, he congratulated himself on his +so-called lucky hits. + +He obtained without much difficulty a lucrative post in a good office, +and ended by being employed by a large and well-known American firm. +After working steadily and honourably for some years, he was by degrees +advanced to a position of great trust, and received a high salary. + +To do Edward Pryse justice, he did not forget that some day he ought to +restore the two hundred pounds he had stolen. Indeed, his pride could +not brook the idea of being branded as a thief for life. But his dull +and blunted conscience could not show him his sin in its true light, as +a guilty offence towards God. + +"If once," he argued, "the amount were actually paid, no blame ought to +attach to me." + +But he did not think it necessary meantime to deny himself anything +that contributed towards his enjoyment of life. He must have everything +he wanted just the same, and some day, when he was a rich man, and +could do it without discomfort to himself, he would discharge the debt. + +One day, he was sent for by his employers, who informed him they +wished him to undertake a journey to Scotland on behalf of the firm. +He assented willingly, and was then told that his errand was to a +certain Alexander Macdonald, Esquire, of Muirstane, who had a large +sum of money invested in the business. There were some affairs to be +transacted with him which could only be entrusted to a confidential +person, able to undertake the commission. + +In fulfilment of this errand, a handsome stranger suddenly appeared +at Muirstane, to the no small astonishment and curiosity of its +inhabitants, who watched him making his way up to the big house, where +he was at once received as a guest. + +The remainder of Edward's story may be easily conjectured. He was +detained on this business several months, and during that period he +made the most of his time. He had not been many days a guest in the +spacious mansion before he discovered he had fallen hopelessly in love +with the old man's niece, Ethel Macdonald, the most beautiful girl he +had ever seen. The attachment was mutual, for Ethel, nothing loth, gave +her heart quickly away to this noble-looking and fascinating man. + +Mr. Macdonald never dreamt of such a possibility, though the young +people were necessarily much thrown together, for Ethel was in his mind +as much disposed of as if the marriage he wished for her had already +taken place. A wealthy suitor had come forward to win the hand of the +beautiful girl, and it mattered little to the hard old man that she had +openly expressed her great dislike to this proposal. + +Alexander Macdonald had an iron will, which few dared to dispute. He +was consequently both a tyrant and a coward. His anger was great, +therefore, when one morning, about a month after Edward's arrival, the +young man formally asked his consent to make Ethel his bride. A direct +refusal was of course the answer. And it was politely hinted to the +guest that it would be desirable for him to take up his quarters in the +village during the remainder of his stay—a request acceded to at once. + +But Edward's will was strong also. Like a spoiled child, he felt +that what he wanted he must have at any cost. And without pausing +to consider the consequences of his hasty and selfish purpose, he +persuaded Ethel, during her uncle's absence of a week from home, to +consent to their marriage before his return. They were accordingly +united in the presence of witnesses, who heard them solemnly pronounced +to be man and wife. + +Excuse must be made for the lonely orphan, who had been brought up +without a mother's care, and whose life had hitherto been so loveless +and forlorn. Whatever her uncle's feelings were towards her, he never +outwardly had manifested any fondness for her, and she naturally turned +from him to rest in one whom she deemed in every way worthy of her +heart's best affections. She had yet to learn by fierce and adverse +winds that her trust must be placed far higher than in mortal man. The +sharp storm drove her to seek refuge in the cleft of the Rock, and +"through much tribulation" to "enter into the kingdom of God." + +Edward's conduct was, on the contrary, most culpable and selfish, for +he knew that in four months he must depart again for America alone. It +did not suit his plans to take Ethel with him: she must therefore be +left behind to carry on the battle of life single-handed. His purpose +was to leave her at Muirstane, and return to America to wind up his +connection with the firm; this he thought would not take him long +to accomplish. He hoped then to return, and find some employment in +England which would enable him to settle down with his wife there. + +The terrible fear of losing Ethel before he could come back would not +allow him to defer the marriage, for she had told him of her uncle's +designs with regard to the rich and detested man he was bent on her +accepting. The thought of another winning his darling was too abhorrent +to be tolerated for an instant. It was this that silenced the voice of +his conscience. As soon as she was lawfully his own, he brought his +wife to the small cottage he had taken in Muirstane, where he intended +to leave her during his absence. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +NANNIE'S HOME + +MR. MACDONALD'S anger was of a most dangerous kind, when on his return, +he learned from the servants what had taken place. He did not fly into +a furious passion, or grow livid with rage, but he swore secretly to +have his revenge to the very utmost. Ethel should rue the day she +married Edward Pryse, and her husband should be hers no longer from +the time he left the shores of Scotland. There in his miser's den, he +laid the deep schemes which were to be so fatally carried out. But at +present, he could not afford to be uncivil to Edward, because there +were matters still to be arranged, in which it would be as well to +propitiate this friend of the firm. So, though cold, he was outwardly +courteous to him when they had occasion to meet. But with quiet +malignity watched for the opportunity of crushing his victims. + +Ethel seldom went near the great house during the remainder of her +husband's stay. She was afraid to meet her uncle alone, and she felt +perfectly safe and happy with her heart's love. How peacefully those +summer days glided away, as by degrees she beguiled her husband into +telling her all his past history! As usual, Edward managed to throw a +fictitious gloss over the ugly circumstances of the office robbery, +calling it only borrowing. And though Ethel looked up somewhat +doubtfully with her innocent eyes of truth, he argued so plausibly, +that at last it appeared to her a far less dreadful crime than it +really was. + +"But you will send the money back when you get to America, won't you?" +she pleaded. + +Edward promised again and again. + +She then continued: "You will take me to your own home some day? For, +of course, when the debt is paid, your father will not be angry any +more. You will be forgiven, and he will receive us with open arms. I +should be frightened to go there all alone, but with you, it would be +different. Silexa and Minnie will love me as a sister, and we shall all +be so happy together." + +"Yes," said Edward; "we will go to St. Elvis." + +For the lapse of years had softened his bitter feelings towards his +father, and he longed to see the old home once more. He described to +his young wife his boyish haunts, and all the fun he and Minnie used +to have with good Roger Rudd, the hale and hearty fisherman, who never +refused to take them out in his boat with his daughter Lettice, the +quiet, sober maiden, who was somewhat too demure for the mischievous +pair. Ethel liked hearing everything Edward could tell her about his +sisters, and already felt as if she belonged to them. + +"Our baby, if it is a girl, must be called after them," she said one +evening, just before he started. "You wish it, don't you? Ermyn is such +a lovely name; it must be first, I think, and then Silexa." + +"As you please, darling. Yes, it will make them love the little thing +all the more when they see it. My earliest recollections are associated +with the name of Ermyn." + +And then he told her of the dear old church, and the ancient monument +with the dirty little marble angels. + +But the parting was a sore and bitter one, as he clasped a beautiful +locket set in pearls round her neck, containing two curls of hair, and +the monogram of double E across it. How Ethel clung to him and wept, as +he held her to his breast, and comforted her with promises. He really +would come back as soon as he could, and it might be much sooner than +she thought. + +Edward, in his selfishness, little dreamed, as he was going forth +once more into the busy whirl of life, of the cruel weight of utter +loneliness and desolation that sunk upon the poor wife's heart, as she +watched him disappear from her wistful gaze. + +Edward went over these scenes again and again, as now, in an agony of +despair, he flung himself upon the ground, and shed bitter tears for +his lovely lost one. They were tears also of heartfelt contrition, for +he could now see that all these griefs were but the consequences of his +own sin. + +As he lay there on the dreary turf bog, with a white mist wrapping him +round, he cried aloud from the depths of his bursting heart: + + "'I have gone astray like a lost sheep.' + + "'Against Thee, Thee only have I sinned, and done this evil in Thy +sight.'" + +After a while, this was followed by the other cry: + + "'I will arise and go to my Father, and will say unto Him, Father, +I have sinned against heaven, and in Thy sight, and am no more worthy to +be called Thy son.'" + +How the long winter passed he could not tell. It seemed like untold +ages as he went about Muirstane, lonely and miserable, day by day, +trying in vain to catch at the faintest shadow that might indicate +the spot in the wide lonely world where he could begin to track the +footsteps of his beloved. If she were not in the fated ship, he might +yet possibly find her. But the remembrance of that beautiful child's +strong resemblance to Ethel forbade him to cling much to this hope. Yet +why would Ethel be in a ship bound for Ireland? There was the mystery! + +On the other hand, if it was Ethel who was drowned (and he had small +doubt of this in his own mind), what proof could he give to Mrs. Gwynne +that Ermyn was his child? He had no evidence of the fact to bring +forward, and he could not claim her without it. Night and day he prayed +for light in this darkness; but he had to wait God's time for it. He +dragged through the months of frost and snow somehow, doing his best +to beguile the time by relieving the wants of the tenantry around, who +blessed the day Mr. Pryse had come among them as their landlord. His +thoughtful kindness for them made him many friends, who were all on the +look-out to glean tidings that might help him in his search; for all +had loved and pitied his gentle wife. + +Spring had clothed the hills and trees with living verdure. But as the +green deepened and spread on every hand, there was no resurrection hope +and gladness in the heart of the lonely man. Summer was at hand, and +what then? + +He was seated, one sultry day some weeks later, in the little general +shop, talking to the mistress of it about some repairs she wanted done, +when a merry-looking Scotch lassie stepped across the threshold. + +"Ye'll no' ken me," she said, smiling to the shop-woman. "I'm a +stranger here; but maybe ye'll mind Nannie McEwen, wha bided here afore +I was born." + +"Ay, ay, my bonnie lassie, I mind her weel," said the woman. + +While Edward started to his feet, too much staggered at the name to +speak a word. + +"I'm on my road to my aunt's," continued the girl, "wha bides at +Castletoun, and my grandmother, Mistress McEwen, bade me come by +Muirstane, and see gin I could hear ony word o' her bonnie leddy, wha +lived here afore she was married." + +"Where does your grandmother live, my lassie?" said Edward, pale and +trembling. + +"Eh, sir, it's a lang, lang piece frae Muirstane; I've been three days +on the road." + +She then proceeded to detail her route by coach and ferry, from this +out of the world habitation among the hills. + +"It's a wee bit town," she added, "but when ye cross the ferry at +'Glenairg,' onybody 'll tell ye whaur Nannie McEwen bides." + +The girl stared with amazement at her interlocutor, wondering why he +questioned her so closely—he, a stranger she had never set eyes on +before. But she did not object to give him as much information as he +liked, especially when, on quitting the shop, he slipped a bright piece +of gold into her hand. + +"At last! At last!" he panted to himself, as he went up the hill to his +lonely dwelling. "O God, I thank Thee, Thou hast heard my cry!" + +To cram a few necessaries into a bag, and depart in joyful haste, was +his work that afternoon. What mattered difficulties and fatigues, +however great they might be? The wings of Hope had grown again, and +she was now soaring on before him as the dove of peace, with the +olive-branch in her mouth! He was on the right track at last! + +It was a tedious and difficult journey, but Edward never thought of +that, as, weary and thankful, he stepped into the ferry-boat that would +land him within sight of Nannie's home. The man who rowed him across +had never received such a lavish guerdon before. He invoked a blessing +on the head of the traveller, who sprang lightly out, and began +speeding away up the hill opposite, as if he were only setting out on +his journey. + +A little mountain lake lay cradled in the bosom of the hills, and on +its peaceful breast slept soft lights and purple shadows. The loftiest +peak blushed rosy red in the sunset glow, and was reflected in the +clear water, making the dark, green depths on the shady side seem +deeper still. A well-to-do looking farmhouse was situated on a bit +of rising ground just above the lake, and its numerous outbuildings +and byres sloping towards the shore gave it a prosperous look. Rude +flagstone steps inserted here and there among the heather led down +from the door to the water, and a girl in a gay kirtle was on her way +thither to fill the pail she was carrying. An aged woman stood knitting +at the door, every now and then looking up at the grey and pink clouds +above her head. + +As Edward drew nearer, he had time to observe her dress and appearance. +She wore a dark stuff gown, which showed a clear white handkerchief +folded across under the rather open bodice, and on her head a spotless +mutch trimmed with narrow lace, having a black ribbon bound above it. +Some grey locks strayed over the wrinkled forehead, and the soft brown +eyes had a kindly light in them. A sweet smile of welcome played about +her mouth as the stranger advanced. Edward could understand, when he +looked at her, why Ethel had fled to her motherly arms for refuge. + +"A braw nicht, sir," she said, dropping a curtsey. + +Edward courteously returned her greeting, and put the eager question: +"Does Nannie McEwen live here?" + +"'Deed, ay, sir, I am Nannie McEwen mysel', though I dinna ken wha I'm +speakin' till. Come ye ben the hoose, sir," she added, leading the way. +"It's by-ordinar' cauld the nicht." + +The old woman turned to look at her guest, and great was her surprise +to see he had sunk down on a seat by the door, deathly pale, and +gasping for breath. + +"The Lord preserve us a'! What's wrang wi' the gentleman? What ails ye, +sir?" + +"Pardon me," he said, struggling back into self-possession; "the long +journey has wearied me. Thank God, I have found you at last. I am Ethel +Macdonald's husband, Edward Pryse." + +Nannie's knitting fell from her fingers, as with upraised hands she +said, "What! Him that crossed the seas, and left her lane. Ye dinna +mean to tell me ye are my bonnie leddy's ain gude man! Wae's me! Wae's +me!" And, sitting down, she rocked herself to and fro, and began to +weep bitterly. + +"Did she come to you from Muirstane?" asked Edward, white and trembling. + +"Ay, that did she, puir lammie! My mitherless bairn cam' to me ae mirk +nicht a' droukit wi' the rain, spent wi' the journey, and maist deed +wi' the cauld. Whaur is she, sir, the noo? Oh, gin I kent that!" + +"I believe she is with God," replied Edward, with a groan, "but tell me +all you know." + +Then, as he grew calmer, he gave the history of his arrival at +Muirstane, and all the awful facts his visit there brought to light, +the long fruitless search, the chance meeting with Nannie's grandchild, +and his subsequent journey hither. + +"Puir, puir lad! It's a sair heart ye'll carry aboot a' your days, +for I dinna think ye'll meet again till ye meet in oor Father's hoose +above. It's an ower true tale, as I ken fu' weel, though I didna think +to hae tauld it to her ain gude man. I'll tell ye a' aboot it, sir, and +ye'll just bide the nicht wi' us. The bairns and my son are awa', but +I'll do my best to mak' ye comfortable." + +Edward thanked her with a sad look of gratitude in his weary eyes, +entreating her to proceed. + +"It's fourteen years," continued Nannie, "since she cam' to my door. +Weel do I mind hoo she fell greetin' aboot my neck, an' I clappit her +an' made o' her same as she had been the bit wean I mind her in her ain +nursery lang, lang syne. Eh, for the sad tale she had to tell. It'll +be a lang reckonin' her uncle wull hae to gie to the Almighty; and +little did I think to live to see the day when my bonnie leddy wad walk +barefit an' hungry. We put her till her bed, an' twa days after that, +her bonnie bairn was upon her breast." + +"A girl?" eagerly interrupted Edward. + +"Ay, a fine bit lassie; I was the first that handled her, and her +mither's face was like a simmer's day when I laid the wean in her +arms. But the time gaed by, and nae word cam' till her frae across the +sea. Mony's the day my heart was wae for her! Ye may weel believe we +was prood to hae her under oor roof. But it was aye a sair thocht to +her that she an' the bairn were burdensome to us. My ain dochter, our +bairns' mither, was ta'en awa' before she cam' to us, but the bairnies +had a sair work wi' the wee leddy. + +"Mony a time my dear bairn wad say she maun gang to Liverpool, and +speir for news hersel' amang the shipowners, but that wasna wark for +the like o' her, an' ne'er a fute wad we let her gang near it. She wad +traik in an' oot wi' the bairn, for she was a' the pleasure she had. +But there came ae day, an' wae's me that I hae lived to tell it (it +was when the bairnie was aboot saxteen months auld); I had gane to the +town, an' when I cam' back, she was awa', nane could tell me whaur. +Mony a weary mile I followed her, and mony a ane I speired at gin they +had seen her, but frae that day till noo I've never looked on her sweet +face, nor heard tell o' her, or o the wean. Eh, man, it wad be a blithe +day for me gin ye had brocht me word frae my mitherless bairn." + +Edward's head sank lower and lower upon his breast as he listened, and +the kind-hearted old woman would fain have comforted him as her own son. + +"Whiles in the gloamin' I'll still gang doon to the burnside, and I'll +maist think I'll fin' them there, where mony and mony a day I've seen +them sitting amang the gowans, upon the grass, or heard her singing to +the bairn wi' a greet in her voice; or the bairnie crowin' over the +brave locket o' gowd and pearls she wad hing aboot its neck." + +"The locket!" cried Edward, starting up. "Where is it? Oh that I could +see it! I had forgotten about it." + +"She took it wi' her," said Nannie; "but I'll show ye the buik she +wrote in ilka day. I'm thinkin' she'd forgotten it when she gaed awa'. +I'm no scholard, sir, and canna read write; but nae doot ye'll mak' it +oot." + +Edward snatched the volume from her hand, and with trembling fingers +opened it to read on the first page: + + "'My Diary, since the sad day my beloved Edward left me.'" + +Late, late into the night he sat up perusing those precious pages, +though Nannie entreated him to take his rest. A sorrowful memorial it +was, written from the depths of a breaking heart, but a heart that +was true and loyal to him to the very end. All through those dreary +months, when every outward evidence tended to make her believe she was +forgotten and forsaken by her husband, nothing had shaken her firm +belief in his love. + +These pages supplied all the missing links, so ruthlessly broken and +scattered by wicked malice. They told of her cruel and bitter bondage +in her uncle's house, of his sneers and taunts concerning her marriage, +of his villainous hints about desertion and forgetfulness, and of her +mad desperation, when at last, in spite of the watchful guard set over +her, she determined to fly from it all to find her faithful Nannie. She +recounted her long and difficult journey to the house of her old nurse, +and all the never-to-be-forgotten kindness showered upon her there from +first to last. + +The faint writing went on to record her baby's birth, and the untold +joy with which she first held her darling Edward's child in her arms; +the baptism of her precious infant by the aged Scotch minister in the +wee kirk on the hill, and all the little loving details that only a +mother's pen can indite. + + "I have called her after our two dear sisters, as my Edward +wished—Ermyn Silexa," so ran words. "Some day they will hold her in +their arms and love her dearly. Oh, when Edward comes to take me to +them, all will be well." + +There was a break in the narrative; then came this despairing entry: + + "Oh, he must be dead! The letter telling him of my arrival here and +of our child's birth has come back to me. When will this night of +sorrow end? But my Lord and Saviour is with me to cheer its gloom. His +voice hath spoken to me. 'Himself hath done it.' I shall go softly all +my years in the bitterness of my soul. 'In the world ye shall have +tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.' My tired +head is pillowed on His breast; the storm cannot harm me there. Oh, my +Edward! My husband! My one and only love; we shall meet again!" + +Here the manuscript broke off abruptly. There was no hint whatever +given as to her intended flight. + +Nannie believed she fully meant to return, as she left several things +behind her, and would never have taken her final departure without a +single good-bye. + +Edward could only guess whither his wife went by her mention of +Liverpool in her diary, as the place where she hoped to learn tidings +of him. To Liverpool therefore he must go next. And as he mentally +arranged his journey, he thought of the last time he was there, when he +had arrived from America a heart-broken and desolate widower. + +Strange faces had looked at him on the busy, bustling quay, some with +a glance of pity, others cynical and scornful. Now he seemed to have +passed through a hideous dream, only to awake to find the reality even +sadder. He recalled that last tender parting, and the pressure of those +soft arms about his neck. Oh, how his heart ached as the words of the +poet haunted him: + + "I know not what I said; what she replied + Lives like eternal sunshine in my heart: + And then I murmured, 'Oh! we never part + My love, my life, my bride.' + + "Oft as I wake at morn, I seem to see + A moment, the sweet shadow of that shade, + Her blessed face, as it were loth to fade, + Turned back to look on me." + + + +CHAPTER XV + +DAVID AND EUDORA + +THE summer sunshine was glowing fervently in the green Welsh valley, +its sleepy stillness being scarcely broken by a sound. The dusky +long-horned cattle strayed dreamily along to stand in a cool swamp near +the stream, or sought the shadow of bits of projecting rock, as they +whisked off swarms of persistent flies with their tails. The murmur of +bees was heard in one long hum through the flowers, and a cloudless +blue sky canopied over all. Even the sea had a slumbrous sound, as the +sparkling ripples ran up in succession over the shining sand, for there +was no wind to wake them into mirth. + +The ivy-grown Rectory was still and quiet, with every blind drawn-down +to keep the sunbeams from the shabby carpets and curtains. This was +one of Silexa's careful habits, and she often sighed to find that in +spite of her vigilance, both colour and pattern had somehow contrived +to escape. Voices and clatter were combined as usual at the back door, +where the daily business went on in the old accustomed round. But in +front, the flowers in the small circular beds on the lawn seemed to +have it all to themselves. But no, surely the thick branches of the +weeping willow stirred, as a sound of merry laughter came from beneath +its leaves. + +"It is much too hot in here," cried Eudora; "this close green keeps +away all the air from us." + +"I thought you would find it so," laughed Ermyn, "but we need not stay +here. Let us go across to the garden opposite. There are so many shady +corners there." + +"Yes, so we will," replied Eudora, "but let me run in first and fetch +my hat. The shadows will soon lengthen now, and when it gets cooler, we +will walk towards the sea." + +"How bright and strong she has grown!" thought Ermyn, as she watched +the lithe figure step across the grass. "Her hair looks as if sunbeams +were at play in it. Oh, how glad I am to have my darling back again!" + +The two girls formed a striking contrast, as, with their arms linked +together, they passed through the Rectory gate and crossed the +road—Ermyn's hair shining glossy and dark against Eudora's soft, golden +locks. The blue eyes and delicate complexion of one fair face setting +off the rich, rare beauty of the other. + +The enclosure they entered was a good specimen of a thoroughly +old-fashioned garden, or rather gardens, for there were four or five +of them leading out of one another by small doors. In the first were +mostly flowers—roses, sweet-peas, mignonette, hollyhocks, geraniums, +clove carnations, nasturtiums, and scabius. It was too hot to linger +here, so Eudora led the way down a step into the next division. It was +a well-stocked place, but instead of trim neatness there was luxuriant +confusion. A dear old rural garden, telling of plenty and contentment, +as one sat in its quiet nooks, far-away from the hurry and haste of +noisy, panting cities. + +"Let us climb up on this medlar bough," cried Ermyn, as, springing +lightly from the ground, a canopy of leaves spread green above her. + +"Is there room for two?" said Eudora. "Ah yes, there is a dear little +niche close to the trunk; that is delightful! Now, Ermyn, I am quite +sure you have a great deal more to tell me." + +For it seemed to Eudora that hitherto she had had all the talk. There +had been so much to relate, the friends having been separated for a +longer period than was at first anticipated when the flitting took +place from the Rectory. + +The year that had been such a long and sad one in the cottage by the +creek had brought back with its autumn tints the good old rector +and his daughter, but not Eudora. The change to Southsands had +done such wonders for the delicate girl, that the doctor whom Miss +Pryse consulted there thought it would be a foolish risk to expose +her to another winter in St. Elvis until her health was thoroughly +re-established. Silexa had therefore yielded to the kind entreaties +of Mr. Lyndwood's friends that she might stay with them until she was +quite strong. + +So, in the midst of a happy household of healthy, merry young people, +our quiet Eudora had found that good spirits and innocent recreations, +combined with numerous interesting and intellectual pursuits, were +among the good gifts showered down from the bounteous hand of our +loving Father, "who giveth us all things richly to enjoy." + +It was a bright page in her life; and she was delighted to go over it +all again with Ermyn, who had pined and longed for her friend, thinking +the spring would never pass. But it did at last, and in the summer +sunshine her darling had come back. They both felt the talks would +never end. + +"But, Ermyn, why did you not tell me about David?" whispered Eudora, +burying her head among the thick leaves to hide the blush that deepened +on her cheek. + +"We wanted it to be a surprise to you," replied Ermyn, without looking +round. "Davie made us all promise faithfully we would not tell; and you +don't know how very difficult it was to keep the secret in my letters." + +"But you did keep it," laughed Eudora, untying her hat and flinging +it on the ground. "I was sitting in the old high pew with auntie that +Sunday, when, just as service began, and I expected as usual to see +grandpapa's white head appear in the reading-desk, whom should I see +but David! I could not believe it at first, for I did not even know he +was at home. How I started when I heard his voice! Auntie gave a little +smile from her corner, and then made herself grave again; while I—oh, +Ermyn, how foolish I was!—I was obliged to bend my head quite low and +pretend to be looking for a book on the cushion, because the tears +would come into my eyes." + +"He is such a dear, good brother," said Ermyn; "I am so proud of him, +and I cannot tell you what it is to have him once more in the old home. +Our precious mother has not to work any more now, you know. Davie will +not let her, and she looks so sweet in the nice black silk gown he +brought her. No one has such a dear mother as we have, I am sure." + +Eudora sighed, and was silent for a moment before she answered; for her +memory was busy recalling the countless times that Lettice had taken +her on her knee when she was a little child, to stroke the fair head +that nestled to her bosom. "I wish she were my—Oh, Ermyn, look at that +greedy bee! He has got more honey than he can possibly carry." + +Ermyn, unsuspectingly, did as she was bid, and then turned to look at +her friend. "You never used to have such beautiful rosy cheeks, Dora. I +am so glad you went to Southsands. Are you tired of sitting here?" she +added, noticing that Eudora's eyes had a far-away look in them. + +At this moment David appeared, approaching from a distance. The girls +were silent until he came up to the garden gate. + +Mary Llewellyn at the same time approached from the opposite direction. + +"I came to look for you," she said to Ermyn. "Mother wants you about +something. Can you come home with me now?" + +"Yes," replied Ermyn; "I meant to come this morning at any rate. +Good-bye, Dora; I shall be with you again by and by." + +David and Eudora stood for a moment to watch the two figures as they +turned to climb the hill. + +"Are you going across now, Miss Eudora?" + +"Yes, I am," she answered, smiling, and waited for him to speak next. + +He was, however, silent. + +And she exclaimed, with a gaiety that seemed forced, "I must get that +lovely cluster of wild roses," suddenly springing towards the hedge, +where a long and beautiful spray waved high in air. + +As she did so, a piece of honeysuckle that was fastened in her dress +fell to the ground. David picked it up, and then helped her to gather +the wreath. + +Eudora took her hat off, and twisted it in gracefully with the ribbon. + +David watched her in silence. "You were very happy at Southsands, were +you not, Miss Eudora?" he said, lingering at the gate. + +A bright light came into Eudora's eyes as she answered, "Oh yes, so +happy! My friends were all most kind to me, and we used to do such +pleasant things there. But I often longed to come back to St. Elvis, in +spite of it all." + +"You are not tired of us yet, then?" + +"Davie! Mr. Gwynne," she added, blushing crimson, "how can you say +anything so unkind? I never want to live away from St. Elvis, never, +never." + +"Please do not call me Mr. Gwynne," he pleaded. "Have you forgotten our +games on the beach, and all we used to do together?" + +"Oh, but you don't seem a bit like the same; you are such a tall—" +"Gentleman," she was going to say, but checked herself, feeling he had +always deserved that name, for the chivalrous courtesy of his manner +was nothing new. "I could scarcely believe it was you," she stammered, +"when I saw you come into church, and yet I was so glad." + +A smile like a sunbeam broke over David's grave, earnest face, as he +heard these words. "You will come out again in the old boat soon, won't +you?" he said, holding the Rectory gate open for her to pass through. + +"Yes, I will," she answered, with a half-sad look. + +"Good-bye, Miss Eudora." + +"Good-bye, David." + +Eudora had not missed the bit of honeysuckle, and he did not remind her +of it as he held it in his hand. + +"How foolish I am!" he murmured, as, striking down through the meadow +path, he turned towards home. "How dare I ever dream of winning her? +My fair queen-lily, growing so far beyond my reach! I must bury my +love deep down in my heart, and let a crust of hard work grow over it. +She must never know it, for it is quite hopeless. How can I, a poor +curate, and not even of gentle birth, think for a moment of asking her +to share my labour? And yet she is not proud. No, simple and sweet as +a spotless flower. But I am poor," he added bitterly, "and so is she. +God has given me a mother and sister to care for; I must not ask Him +for another gift until He sees fit to bestow it upon me Himself. He has +granted me my heart's desire in placing me among my own people, and to +feed and nourish them faithfully and well shall be my life-work. + + "O my God, grant that I may be one of Thy true under-shepherds, +following in Thy footsteps, to lead the flock beside green pastures and +still waters. My Saviour Christ, let me spend and be spent for Thee!" + +No one had known of the sharp struggle in David's heart, through those +weeks of suspense, when Eudora hovered between life and death in +that terrible illness. Ermyn's letters had grown sadder and sadder; +he hardly expected to see the sweet face again. He thought God was +going to call her home. Then had come the joyful tidings of hope. Her +bright springtime was not to end here; he would still see its lovely +blossoming. + +Oh, those happy weeks, when he had walked beside her, leading the +donkey so carefully, and fearing every breath of the strong sea-breeze +as it blew upon her in its freshness. David's heart knew then for +the first time in all its force what kind of love his was for Eudora +Meredith, but he had kept it hidden and still. It was too sacred to +show to any one. He would not pain her with what he believed to be a +hopeless affection. He must pray to be made brave and self-forgetful in +his work among the people. + +Poor Eudora! The love had come into her heart too, but she could not +speak of it to a human being. Her dear Lettice was David's mother. +She must be utterly silent on this point with her. Aunt Silexa never +seemed to suspect such a thing for a moment, or if she did, she had not +betrayed her thought by look or sign. As for Ermyn, it had not entered +into her mind for a moment that her brother could regard Eudora with +other feelings than she did herself, her friend now, and her playfellow +in past years. The trio would be always unbroken. + +"I don't think he cares for me!" sighed Eudora, as she ran quickly +upstairs to her room over the porch, and watched David calmly walking +away towards Porthmynwr. + + +It was one evening soon after this little episode that Ermyn lured +Eudora away for a ramble along the cliff. For a while they rested at +the Sainted Well, drinking the clear water, and playing with the ferns +that fringed its margin. Ermyn had told Eudora about the visit of the +mysterious stranger to St. Elvis; and they now began to discuss the +matter again, wondering why he had painted the picture, and what his +name was. Their speculations ended in their weaving a most romantic +tale about him, and the innocent girls little guessed how near they +were to the truth as, rising, they continued their stroll. + +The coast path wound along most unevenly through the prickly gorse, +making long detours round volcanic-looking hollows, where the land +had gradually given way to the encroachments of the sea, leaving +precipitous sides down the rocky cliffs, from whence at a great height +one could look down and watch the waves break into the caverns below. +It was an unsafe route for strangers, but for Ermyn and Eudora, who +had been accustomed to run along it ever since they were quite little +children, there was no danger. + +"The sea will look lovely from Chanter's Seat to-night," said Eudora; +"we must wait and see the moon rise." + +"Yes, we can," replied Ermyn; "for Davie promised to come and fetch us." + +Eudora's heart felt very light after that, as she climbed down the +bit of sloping rock and gave her hand to her companion. One jump, and +they were both hidden from the public path by an angle in the cliff, +where was a ledge hollowed out in the stone overlooking the whole bay, +and known by the name of "Chanter's Seat." It was so-called from the +peculiarity of its echo, which had the charm of doubling and trebling +the power of the human voice, so that when any one sang there, it was +with a marvellously rich and beautiful effect. + +"Oh, what a glorious sunset, Ermyn! Just look at those colours across +the water." + +The two friends sat together side by side, watching it in silence. The +blue bay stretched out calm and lovely before them, with rose-colour +and green lights playing across its surface, while beyond, over the +horizon, rose the shadowy cloud-land, whose pink and purple outlines +seemed to belong to an ethereal and glorified shore. + +"What a depth the sea is below us!" said Eudora, as they leaned over to +gaze down at the gorges, clefts, and chasms into which the water rose +and roared, ascending in fountains of snowy surf, and retiring again +with a low murmur, in a line of fretted foam along the sands. + +There was a fascination in watching it. They felt so safe in their +eyrie in the cliff, as they looked and listened, entranced and quiet. + +"I must gather some of that samphire for auntie," said Eudora, +scrambling towards the edge, where the spiky green of this sea-loving +and aromatic plant crept low on the ground in the greatest profusion. + +"Wait, Dora, I will come and help you. Oh, what a funny smell it has! I +don't think I like it at all." + +They were startled in their occupation by hearing footsteps above them. + +"Ah, Davie, there you are!" cried Ermyn, in glee. "Come down; we are +only waiting for you to begin our singing." + +"Miss Llewellyn will be here presently," he answered. "She would not +allow me to wait for her, as she was detained in the village, but I see +her now in the distance just crossing the stone wall." + +"I will run and meet her," shouted Ermyn, as, springing up, she bounded +off like a young fawn. + +Eudora looked wistfully after her, but it was too late to follow the +fleet runner, and she did not know whether she was pleased or not to +be left alone with David. She felt more shy of him every time they +met now, for a wall of ice seemed to have grown up between them which +puzzled them both. How they longed for the old days to come back again, +as they sat there exchanging commonplace remarks! It was a relief when +the others joined them. + +"Now," said Mary, seating herself, "I am going to have a treat. You +three are going to sing me, 'Lift thine eyes to the mountains.' Please +make haste and begin." + +The singers looked at each other and smiled, then the glorious melody +burst forth, rich and clear: + +"Thy Keeper shall never slumber," sang Eudora, in soft contralto; while +David and Ermyn took up the words, "Never, shall never slumber," until +the last faint notes of the anthem died away in a whispered hush of +melody. + +"Now, little sister," said David, when they had finished, "let us hear +you sing alone, 'Oh, rest in the Lord.'" + +Ermyn obeyed. + +Peace and rest sank down into each soul as the holy words fell softly +on the still evening air. Yea, hope and courage also, as more than one +heart prayed for the child-like spirit of perfect trust in a loving +Father who never slumbers, while He watches over the sons and daughters +of His care. + +They talked long of this rest and peace, then of "the golden homes +beyond the sunset," and, long after the glow had faded, wended their +way homeward in the moonlight, silently, side by side. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +LOST AND FOUND + +EDWARD PRYSE had no time to linger among the exquisite beauties of +Nannie's mountain home, fraught though they were with the dearest and +most tender associations. Here he was treading in the very footsteps of +his Ethel; and where she had dwelt must henceforth be a sacred place +to him. He looked out upon the sunlit hills cradling the peaceful +lake, and thought how her dear eyes had rested on them, as in spirit +she travelled across the wide sea, yearning for one word to soothe her +aching heart. The silence and calm loveliness of nature would make her +feel yet more lonely; they could not fill the strange void, nor bear a +message to her beloved. + +Sadly and mournfully Edward turned away from this beautiful and +sequestered spot, to exchange it, after a weary journey, for the tumult +and busy stir of the great port of Liverpool. When he reached it, +gaslights were blazing in the shops and thoroughfares, and enormous +buildings, telling of wealth and luxury, rose on either hand. Edward +noted nothing as he drove on, through the din and crowd, to the hotel +where he passed the night. + +At an early hour the following morning, he was at the well-known +shipping agent's office. There seemed an unusual amount of business on +hand, and Edward found it no easy task to find the clerks who could be +of any assistance to him. But after patient and persistent waiting, +and being referred from one place to another, his search was not in +vain. The answers he received were gruff and unsatisfactory at first, +for the Company did not care to be reminded of one of the most serious +disasters they had ever experienced. + +But Edward was firm in his determination and polite in speech, and, +quietly persisting in his inquiries, he soon received a due amount +of attention. The sheet of the "Illustrated London News" secretly +abstracted from the country inn in Scotland, and containing a picture +of the ship "Ocean Queen," was of the greatest service, for with the +date, it gave exact information concerning the disaster. + +Books were referred to, and passenger lists consulted, but "Pryse" was +not among the names of the passengers who had sailed in the fatal ship. +This was what Edward had expected, as the thought had struck him on his +journey that for some reason Ethel might have assumed her maiden name. +Was there a passenger of the name of Macdonald? How his heart throbbed +in expectation of the answer! Yes, there was, in the steerage list: +"Ethel Macdonald, aged twenty-five, and infant." + +There was nothing further to be gained from the hard-looking clerks, +whose information had just crushed out the last spark of hope that +Ethel might after all be somewhere in the world. What did it concern +them that a lonely stranger had timidly moved among them fourteen +years ago? How had she looked? What did she say? Who knew, and who +cared? Edward felt hopeless tears rush into his eyes as he asked +himself these questions. He was just leaving the office, his confused +thoughts surging through his brain, when he caught sight of a +respectable-looking porter, whose face he fancied he had seen when in +Liverpool before. + +The man touched his cap to him, and something within him made Edward +stop and speak. + +"I think I can remember your face," he said; "you must have been in the +Company's service for many years." + +"Yes, sir," replied the man; "I pretty well know the look of this +place, for I have been about it twenty years." + +"Indeed!" rejoined Mr. Pryse. "Then you must have seen a good deal of +the bustle of life in that time. I suppose, though, you never notice +who comes, or who goes in here?" + +"Tisn't very often, sir, I have much occasion to. There's so many faces +that I get confused among them all, and couldn't tell at the end of the +year whether I had seen them or no. But sometimes things happen that +a lifetime wouldn't make one forget. Did you ever hear of the 'Ocean +Queen,' sir, one of our fine paddle-steamers that was wrecked off the +Welsh coast?" + +Edward leaned against the wall he stood near, and a dizzy faintness +came over him, which greatly surprised his interlocutor. But he checked +himself sufficiently to answer in a hollow voice: "Yes. I have been +making inquiries concerning that very ship. Do you know anything about +her?" + +"Why, sir, 'tis this way. I think it must be fourteen or fifteen years +ago, when one day I noticed a pretty young woman standing here with a +baby in her arms. She asked me a few questions, and I found she was +quite a stranger to Liverpool. It seemed as if she hardly knew what she +was saying or doing. Her dress was not like a lady's, but she had the +face and speech of one, and a more modest-looking young woman I never +saw in my life. She had come to inquire about her husband, who, she +said, had gone to America." + +Edward grasped his arm. "For mercy's sake, tell me all you know about +her!" + +The man looked wonderingly, but continued: "Well, sir, while I was +talking to her, she suddenly fell forward in a fainting-fit, but I +caught her before any harm was done. There she lay looking like death, +and I couldn't tell what to do with her, nor where to take her. A crowd +soon gathered round, prying and wondering. But I was so sorry for the +poor young thing, and didn't like her to be made a public spectacle of, +so I hailed a cab and took her right off to my missus, who is always a +wonderful hand at doing people good. She soon got better in our little +parlour. I think it was the crying of the baby that roused her to +herself. + +"Our hearts ached when she told us her story. Ethel Macdonald was her +name; and oh, what a long journey she had taken to hear about her +husband. She wanted to go to America after him, but we told her that +would be no good, if she didn't know where he was. Then we asked her if +she had any relations, and she said, 'Yes, her husband's people lived +in South Wales; she would go to them.' + +"One of them, I think she said, was a clergyman of the name of Pryse, +but I cannot recollect the name of the place she said he lived in. I +only know it was a country town somewhere on the coast. Her husband +had promised to take her there some day, she said, but they were all +strangers to her, so she would not write to them. My wife and I looked +at each other, and we both made up our minds that she should not be +turned out into the street, helpless and forlorn, for she looked so ill +and tired out, poor thing." + +"God bless you," said Edward, when he could speak, "for your kindness; +you will have your reward. That lady was my wife." + +The man started, and looked incredulous, but one glance at Edward's +blanched and haggard face was enough. + +"Beg pardon, sir; who would thought it? And that is why you have +come to Liverpool, I suppose. Things do happen queer in this world +sometimes! I am just going home, sir; if you will come with me, I will +tell you the rest of the sad tale." + +Edward obeyed mechanically, feeling as if in a dream. + +"'Twas our doing, I fear, sir, that your good lady was put into the +'Ocean Queen,' but we thought we were performing the greatest kindness. +My wife's sister was then staying with us, and she had arranged to go +back to her home in Cork in this very ship. Her husband traded in a +small vessel between Ireland and a Welsh port; and being a native of +South Wales, he knew about everything and everybody in that part of the +country. + +"After we had consulted together, we thought the best plan would be +for the poor lady to take her passage with my sister-in-law, who also +had a young baby. She took no end of a fancy to the lady's pretty +child. Eliza promised that as soon as they reached Cork, she would +put Mrs. Macdonald under her husband's care. He would be sure to know +whether there was a clergyman called Pryse living in the place the lady +mentioned; and he was such a good, kind man, he would not leave her +until he had discovered her friends, and seen her safely with them. My +wife will tell you the rest, sir," added the man, as he opened the door +of a quiet-looking dwelling in a back street. + +A pale, middle-aged woman was sitting at work in the little parlour +into which Edward was ushered. The man, in a few low words, +communicated to her who the stranger was. She put her hand to her brow, +and looked earnestly at him, then her face filled with a reverent pity. + +"Oh, sir!" said she, as the tears gathered in her eyes. "That was a sad +year for you and for us. My dear sister and her young baby we never saw +again from that day to this. The news stunned us when it came, 'All +hands lost!' + +"I was so ill for weeks after, my husband thought that I should have +died. And the poor man in Ireland, who was looking out for his dear +wife, was in such a state I believe he lost his senses for a time. And +that lonely lady, with her sweet face and ways, and the darling little +child, all drowned! Oh, it was heart-rending!" + +"I grieve to recall these sad facts to your memory," said Edward +gently, "but you will be doing me the greatest service on earth if you +will only tell me all you can." + +"Well, sir," continued the woman, "I am sure, then, for her dear sake I +will. It seems as though it only happened yesterday, it is all so fresh +in my mind. She was only with us two days, but though the time was so +short, I got to love her dearly; for oh, she was such a Christian, and +it was a great comfort to talk to one who followed the dear Saviour +so closely. I shall never forget the last morning when I watched her +dress her baby, and saw it playing with a beautiful locket that hung +from a chain round the mother's neck. It was a gold one set round with +pearls—very valuable, I should think. Baby thought it a fine toy, and +liked having it between her little fat hands better than anything else, +and the mother laughed and told her it should be her own some day." + +"I wonder," thought Edward, "if that locket was found by the fishermen! +If it was on the body, it must be in some one's possession. But, ah no, +the woman would surely have mentioned such a fact as that, for it would +be the chief clue to the child's identity. Besides, such a valuable +article as that would not be kept long by poor people; they would be +sure to turn it into money. Still if it had even been seen by some one, +there would be sufficient ground for claiming the child." + +Edward started from his reverie, to see the woman watching him intently +with her sad eyes. + +"God has directed my way to you," he said; "it must be so, for +otherwise I should never have found this last link in the wonderful +chain of evidence that has guided me so unerringly in the long search +for my lost ones." + +Mr. Pryse then proceeded to make the most minute inquiries into +details of all that Ethel had said or done during her brief stay with +these Good Samaritans, and the kind woman told him all she knew. This +account, when added to the Diary so abruptly broken off, gave Edward a +connected story of the sweet, sorrowful life, since the day their hands +had parted, and the long good-bye was said. + + +It was late on Saturday night before he could manage to reach St. +Elvis, even by the most rapid travelling, so there were no curious +gossips standing about to watch him as he entered "The Jolly Sailors" +and engaged his rooms. He could see the churchyard from his window, +and stood watching late into the night the waving sycamores over those +two graves in the corner, until his heart felt ready to burst with its +sorrow. + +And there down the quiet valley, with the sea breaking near it, stood +the cottage that sheltered his precious child—his one link with Ethel +in heaven. Would she be glad to call him father, when he clasped her in +his arms? Or would she turn away and say she did not need his love now? +This agonising doubt prevented sleep from visiting his eyelids until +daylight began to dawn through the dingy stuff curtains of his room. + +Then he fell into a troubled but heavy slumber, from which he was only +awakened by the ringing of the church bells for morning service. Voices +and footsteps hurried by in the street below, and he caught snatches of +sentences— + +"Dr. Pryse is not going to preach till afternoon," said one. + +"It will be Mr. David, then, I suppose." + +"Ay, ay; he's a fine preacher, that young man." + +"Who would have thought of Widow Gwynne's son rising to be a minister!" + +"He speaks plain enough, don't he?" said the first speaker. + +"Ay, that he do, indeed; he don't mind calling things by their right +names, do he? Offence or no offence; and yet he's a good friend to the +poor." + +The conversation grew distant, and Edward Pryse relapsed into his +reverie. + + +The afternoon sun was streaming into the church windows, showing +the dancing motes. Service had just begun, when Lettice noticed the +mysterious stranger who had taken such a fancy to her child come in +and seat himself near her, in one of the free seats by the font. Her +heart gave a little flutter when she saw him; she could not tell why. +What had he come back for? Who was he? Lettice felt quite ashamed to +discover her thoughts were causing her mind to wander utterly from the +service. She had not heard any of it for the last five minutes, nor +joined in a single response! + +When they rose to sing, Ermyn handed a hymn-book to the sad-looking +gentleman, whom she recognised as the same who had taken her likeness. + +Dr. Pryse ascended the pulpit-stairs, and in a distinct though +faltering and aged voice read as his text the story of the Prodigal +Son. Then, after a pause, continued: + + "What a sad and life-like picture we have here! A dearly loved son, +with every comfort and blessing round him, wishes to leave it all and +go away from his father's face. + + "'Give me the portion that falleth to me.' + + "What was it? Just the very portion that men of the world are craving +for nowadays—'his living;' all that they think life is worth; the +worship of the golden god with all his attendant train, 'the lust of +the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life': this trinity +of evil was what the young man desired as his portion, and he got it. + + "Did it satisfy him? Was it a portion that filled him with good? Ah no! +Alone in a stranger-land, he sat and wept. Instead of the dainty meat +he had once fed upon, there was the swine's trough set before him. In +vain he held out his empty hands. 'No man gave unto him.' + + "Then he remembered the light and love in his father's dwelling. There, +in that home of peace and purity, no rough winds could come; no hunger, +no drought. Thrice blessed they who dwelt beneath its shelter! There +was not only food, but enough and to spare. Even the hired servants +could know no want. Alas for him, sitting out there alone in the cold, +with no eye to pity, no hand to raise up! But while he mused over his +desolation and misery, a light shone into his soul,—a light as bright +as that which lit up the prison darkness that surrounded Saint Peter. + + "'Arise!' it said. 'How many hired servants of my father's have bread +enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to +my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, +and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me +as one of thy hired servants.' 'If only I can be in my own fair home +again, and under the same roof as my father, he may give me the office +of a menial; I will serve him joyfully.' + + "Ah, but he did not know the father's love even then; he put a limit +to it. He was judging him according to his own poor standard. He could +not believe that from the day the erring one left the shelter of his +home the father had yearned for his return. My friends, have you ever +known what it was to lose a son? I do not mean by death. Has your +well-beloved child ever wandered away upon the mountains and never come +home?" + +The aged pastor could get no further, for a sob choked his utterance, +as he leaned heavily on the pulpit cushion. But he checked himself. For +years he had struggled to speak to his people from this parable, but +could not. He must do it now. + + "Does not the love for the absent one," he continued, "grow deeper +and deeper as the years move on? Would you not give all you possessed +for that precious life? Forgiveness! Ah, that is only the glistening +surface of the deep well. You must go beyond that, deeper and deeper +still. It is all love beneath, nothing but love! How was the prodigal +received? + + "'When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had +compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.' + + "Oh, my friends, behold this Divine Compassion, so far beyond our poor +earthly love, however deep that may be. Alas! An earthly parent may +have been the cause of driving his son into the far country. We can +never say that of God. + + "'He willeth not the death of a sinner, but rather that he should turn +from his wickedness and live.' + + "It is 'we' who have turned our backs upon Him. + + "'Come home, O wanderer!' calls the voice. 'Come home! Come home!' + + "Poor sinner, God loves you. He is your Father. Will you not turn and +seek His face, and let Him lead you home? A royal welcome awaits you +there—the best robe, fair and white, and the jewelled ring of His +everlasting love. If that poor young man had stayed where he was in the +fields, and made no effort to arise and come, he would never have been +clasped in his father's loving arms. + + "See how God's grace to the guilty one is shown forth in this story. +He first convinces him of sin by His Holy Spirit, causing him to +cry,—'Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in Thy sight, and am no +more worthy to be called Thy son,' and then gives him the white robe +that will make him clean and fair for ever. + + "'Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your +sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red +like crimson, they shall be as wool.'" + +Lettice started and turned pale, for she thought she heard near her a +groan and a heavy sob. A few minutes after, to her great surprise, the +stranger rose hastily and left the church. + +Edward Pryse could not stay to hear the remainder of that sermon. The +arrow, feathered with love, had shot straight into his heart, making +it bleed with sorrow and contrition. He sought where to weep. The +churchyard was no fit place, for in a few minutes the people would be +coming out. He quickly made up his mind. There was but one place. It +was his home, and thither he went. + +The Rectory doors were never locked on Sunday, though Molly was in +church with her mistress. So Edward passed into the quiet, empty house, +unperceived by any one. + +The study door stood open, and he crept stealthily in. Nothing was +changed! There were the shabby carpet and ancient furniture, the books, +the pictures, and quaint sampler. The colour had faded a little out +of the sweet girlish face that smiled at him from its frame. Yes, +Minnie had looked just like that, when, struck one day by her artistic +appearance, he had made his first study from life. Those laughing eyes +seemed as if they could never know sorrow. He had left his little +sister bright and young, and such she would ever be to him, while he +had grown grey in the stern soil of grief. The last wind of trouble had +stripped and made bare his branches, and he felt very, very old. + +The window was open, and a gentle breeze stirred the ivy leaves +outside, bringing whispers to his memory of that sad night long ago, +when he had crouched beneath them to listen to his father's wrathful +sentence. Suddenly, and overpowering the sound of the rustling leaves, +came the echo of human voices from the churchyard. The service was +over, the congregation was dispersing. His father and Silexa would be +at home in a few minutes! + +Should he flee and hide himself? Oh, he dared not meet them. What +should he say? He felt like a guilty thief. He thought of the lonely +garret at the top of the house. But just as he was meditating a flight +to it, he heard Molly enter by the back door, and he was afraid to run +the risk of meeting her. So he stood still as if spellbound, gazing at +the picture. His heart felt as if it must stop beating when he heard a +firm, decided footstep approaching the door. He could not turn round +to see who it was. Trembling in every limb with nervous agitation, he +heard the handle sharply turned. Some one had entered. Yes, he must +face that person, whoever it might be. One look was enough. + +"Edward! My brother!" burst from Silexa's lips, as she sprang forward +and knelt beside the fainting figure, that had sunk into a seat below +the picture. + +In that moment of wonder and amazement, her yearning sister-heart had +penetrated the disguise that Time had woven round him. She had heard of +the mysterious stranger's visit to St. Elvis, but had refused to allow +herself to dream of the possibility she so often longed for. Now she +read the secret. The sea of sorrow had given up its dead! + +When Edward came to himself, her strong arms were supporting him, his +head was on her breast, and he knew it was his own sister Silexa who +was weeping over him. + +"Don't talk yet," she said, rousing herself with her usual brave +determination. "Rest here, Edward, on this sofa. No one will disturb +you. I must go to our father. The shock might kill him. How thankful I +am David detained him, and that Eudora is waiting in the churchyard to +bring him home!" + +Silexa calmly retraced her steps to the lych gate, but what a mingling +of thanksgiving and sorrow was going on in her heart! My readers know +enough of Silexa's past history to enable them to understand what she +felt at such a crisis. + +Eudora was seated on a moss-grown tombstone, but rose when she saw her +aunt coming through the gate. + +"What is it, auntie dear? David and grandpapa are having such a long +talk. Did you want me? Oh, auntie, why are you looking so white? And +you are shaking all over. Something is the matter." + +Silexa took the girl's hand and sat down beside her. + +"I am weak and foolish," she said, wiping away the tears that would +drop from the grey eyes. "Oh, Dora, my darling, help me to bear up! +Your grandfather's life depends on whether we can be calm and patient. +I can trust you," she added, looking into the sweet upturned face. +"Dora, your Uncle Edward has come home." + +Eudora had heard the sad history since she had grown up, for the +confidence had become dearer and closer every day between aunt and +niece since Eudora's dangerous illness. But as it was before her birth +that this sorrow had come to the Rectory, she had never known the agony +of the loss, nor half its bitterness. Therefore, this sudden news was +only the source of the keenest joy to her. Yet the gentle, sensitive +girl understood the situation in an instant, and took in all its +emergencies. She put her arms round Silexa's neck, and in that loving +caress whispered, "Our Father has been very good to us, auntie. How +safe we are in His keeping! Your prayers have indeed been answered. +There is grandpapa coming towards us," she added. "I will run and meet +him as if nothing had happened." + +But David lingered by the old man's side, as he watched Eudora glide +gently along the daisy-bordered path. Dr. Pryse put his hand forward +and took her arm. Eudora felt perplexed, and wished David would say +good-bye. But she could not tell him this. What was to be done? + +"Ah, Silexa!" said the aged minister. "I thought you had gone home. Why +did you wait?" + +"I came back again, father, to tell you some one is in your study +waiting to see you." + +"Who is it? Where did he come from?" + +David and Eudora always remembered the clever way in which Silexa +parried these questions, until she had paved the way for a safe avowal. + +"Father," she said, at length; "you have been telling us about the +Prodigal Son this afternoon." + +"Yes, Silexa, yes, but it was a sore subject for me. God grant that my +people may never know such a sorrow as mine!" + +"Father, what would you say if 'your' prodigal came home? We have never +actually heard of his death." + +"Ah, my daughter, a father's welcome should be his, but that can never +be now on earth. I shall clasp him to my bosom in the Father's house +above. I know we shall meet there." + +"Father dearest, God will let you meet him before then. It has pleased +Him to hear our prayers and wipe away our tears. Edward has come home. +He is the stranger I have called you in to meet." + +The poor old man seemed as though he heard not, but gazed from one to +the other. David came closer to him, and supported him as he trembled +from head to foot. He could not speak, but began to sob like a child. +Tenderly they led him on through the garden and into the study. David +and Eudora turned away on the threshold. + +Silexa guided the tottering footsteps to the accustomed seat in the +great mahogany chair, and then put Edward's hand into her father's. The +penitent knelt down, and with bowed head received the paternal kiss +and blessing. The sister softly turned to leave the parent and the son +alone, and heard her father murmur, as she closed the door,— + +"'This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.'" + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE TREASURE CLAIMED + +DAVID GWYNNE walked slowly back to his home; his mother met him at the +door. + +"Davie, did you see the stranger in church?" she said. + +"What stranger, mother?" + +"Why, the artist that came here last year so shabbily dressed, and took +Ermyn's picture. What is he here again for? And why did he leave the +church before service was over?" + +"Mother, a great secret has come out to-day; there is joy at the +Rectory. The prodigal has returned to his father's house; your stranger +is the lost son, Mr. Edward Pryse." + +When David saw his mother's white and troubled countenance, he was +sorry he had made the announcement so hastily. + +"Edward Pryse!" she ejaculated, lifting up her hands. "Davie, you are +dreaming; it cannot be." + +"Go up to the Rectory, mother dear, and see for yourself. You will +find a rejoicing going on there, such as is never made except over a +recovered treasure. I expect the good news is all over the town by this +time. Ermyn!" he called. "Come here quickly; we have something to tell +you." + +"What is it, Davie?" cried she, appearing from the inner room. + +"Why, they are all so happy up at the Rectory; Mr. Edward Pryse has +come back." + +"Has he? When? Oh, I want to see him so much. I wonder what he is like." + +"You have seen him, Ermyn; he took your likeness last summer, and he +was in church to-day, sitting very near you." + +"Davie! No, you cannot mean it; it is just one of your jokes. It is not +really true? That sad-looking man Miss Silexa's brother! Impossible!" + +"You will know more about it to-morrow," laughed David, little dreaming +that in his words lay the seed of a revelation that would spring up the +next day to bear bitter fruit for Lettice. + +"Oh, I am very glad!" rejoined Ermyn. "What does Dora say to it all? +This is indeed a happy day for St. Elvis. That heavy grief has been +lifted off at last." + +Lettice heard her children talking, and discussing the joyful event in +all its details, but she could not remain long in the same room with +them. Her heart was fluttering like a bird trying to get free. + +The meaning of that sobbing groan in church was explained now. That +flash of instinct had been a true one, the day she had walked beside +him to the churchyard, and fancied those piercing brown eyes were like +Edward's. She could interpret now those sad, averted looks, and that +abstracted manner. And oh, how heedlessly she had run on, telling him +his own sad history. What a simple fool she had been! + +Then came another thought that hung like a millstone round her neck, +threatening to drag her down with its sudden weight. His eyes were like +Ermyn's. What had the sight of the child so agitated him? Had he power +to take her darling from her? No, no, that could not be. He did not +even know of the wreck until she informed him of it. + +She could not tell Ermyn or David of her terror. God grant that her +fears were groundless! She would pray over it. + + "Thou art a refuge for the oppressed," she cried; "a refuge in times of +trouble." + +But the fear haunted her all the evening; she could not put it from +her, and was grave and silent. + + +The following morning all St. Elvis and Porthmynwr rang with the good +news. + +"Master Edward has come home," echoed from lip to lip; "only to think +the good parson has got his son again! Indeed and indeed he has!" + +"We knew he would come some day," nodded the gossips; "there have been +signs in plenty about it, for those who had eyes to see them, and who +believe in such things." + +Ermyn ran off to rejoice with Eudora, and David went to his parish work. + +Only Lettice sat still in the house. She heard footsteps coming up +the causeway. It was surely Miss Silexa's voice; and Lettice looked +out to see her coming towards the cottage, leaning on the arm of the +mysterious stranger. + +"Forgive me, Lettice," said he, in a tremor of agitation, as he held +out his hand; "it was wrong of me to deceive you, but thank God for all +you were to me that day, I was so lonely and miserable." + +Silexa's manner was more tender than Lettice had ever known it. There +was a calm, deep joy in the eyes of the rector's daughter. But Mrs. +Gwynne thought she also detected a keen pity, which made her fear what +was coming next. + +"Where is Ermyn?" said Silexa gently; and Lettice saw tears gathering +in her eyes. + +"I have not seen her since breakfast," replied Lettice, in an unsteady +voice. "She was going first to the Rectory, and then to see Mrs. +Llewellyn." + +"We are glad she is not here now, Lettice," said Edward, laying his +hand on Mrs. Gwynne's arm. "Lettice, my sister tells me you have a +locket in safe keeping. Will you show it to me? It is a gold one set +round with pearls. I gave it to Ethel my wife when I left her to go to +America. Our initials are worked across the hair. My good, kind friend, +you have been a mother to my child. God bless you for it!" + +Lettice could not answer; she bowed her head in her hands and wept +bitterly. + +Silexa knelt beside her and put an arm tenderly round her. + +"I knew it," sobbed Lettice. "I knew last night you would come to-day +and take away my darling." + +The brother and sister glanced at each other. Silexa had only seen her +look like that once, when the dead baby Ruth lay upon her knees. They +both felt how hard it was for the poor woman, after having nurtured and +brought up the child as her own, suddenly to be called on to give her +up. But the unselfish heart of Lettice soon recovered its balance. + +"How wrong I am!" she murmured. "How selfish and cruel!" As rising, she +left the room to fetch the locket. + +When she returned, God's peace was once more visible on her chastened +face. + +"Here it is," she said. "No eye has seen it but mine since the day I +locked it away; and there is the little shirt laid in the box beside +it. There was nothing else." + +Edward put his hand into his breast-pocket, and producing the tiny +half-finished garment he had discovered in Ethel's workbox, gave it +to Lettice. The two women saw at a glance the same hand had made both +shirts, for the pattern was the same, and there was a fancy-stitching +across the sleeves of each that corresponded to a thread. + +Edward then repeated the tale that Silexa had sat up so late the night +before to hear, of his wanderings and return, the search for Ethel's +child, and the chain of evidences that had grown so wonderfully out of +each discovery. + +"Ermyn is your child without a doubt," said Lettice calmly, when he had +concluded. "I thank God for giving her to me to nurse and take care +of for you all these years. 'The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken +away,'" she added, with a sob. + +"We shall never forget that you have been a mother to her," said the +brother and sister in one breath; "and I am sure Ermyn will always feel +the same." + +"Lettice," continued Silexa, "listen! Please do not turn away with +such a sad, hopeless look. My brother is longing to clasp his child in +his arms, and I yearn to hear her call me 'auntie.' But we have quite +decided that no one shall tell her anything until you have informed +her yourself of her past history, and how it was you came to be such a +good, kind mother to her." + +"Thank you both for that," said Lettice, smiling through her tears. +"You shall not wait long for your joy. I will bring her to the Rectory +this afternoon. How kind you are to me! It will not be so hard to give +her up to you. I was always afraid some stranger might claim her. +Good-bye." + + +Silexa and Edward walked quietly home through the sunny pasturelands. +And the sister recalled to mind that morning so many years ago when she +had trodden that very path on her way to learn tidings of the wreck, +and seen for the first time the little motherless infant who had so +strangely proved to belong to her own dear brother. + +"I kissed your Ethel, Edward, as she lay in the cottage in her last +sleep. She had a lovely face." + +"I am glad you saw my darling, even in death," he answered. + +There was silence after that as the two stepped among the daisies +beside the stream that ever sang its glad song of hope, heedless of +human joy or sadness. + +Ermyn, all unconscious of the change in her destiny, came tripping up +the causeway some time after, singing a merry tune. + +"Oh, mother," she cried, "everybody is so glad up at St. Elvis; they +are all shouting and talking about it. I went to the Rectory first, and +Dora came out to meet me, and she kissed and hugged me and looked at +me again and again with happy tears in her eyes. I did not think she +would care so much, but the joy has quite turned her head, mother. I +never knew her so absent or strange in her manner. She kept stopping in +what she was going to say, and then blushed as deep a pink as the roses +growing on the porch. At last I ran away, pretending to be angry, and +I have been with Mrs. Llewellyn ever since. I hope the poor gentleman +will look happier now. But it is all so odd, mother, I cannot make it +out yet." + +"Did you see Dr. Pryse?" asked Lettice, turning away to busy herself at +a drawer in the table, that Ermyn might not notice her trembling hands. + +"No, mother, I did not. The sudden surprise last evening quite upset +him. Dr. Llewellyn has ordered him to keep quiet in his room all day +and see no one." + +Lettice sat down in the low rocking-chair—the very one she had sat in +the night baby Ermyn was hushed to sleep on her knee after the terrible +wreck. The room looked just the same, only the cradle was not there now. + +"Ermyn, child, come to me. I want to talk to you for a little." + +"Yes, mother darling," she cried, seizing the little wooden stool, +always called her own since babyhood, and seating herself with her head +laid down on Mrs. Gwynne's knee. "Now this is like old times. I was +afraid I was getting too big for this, mother. We haven't had a cosy +talk for a long time." + +How sweetly and naturally the word "mother" fell from her lips! Lettice +noticed it now with an aching heart. Would she call her that again +when she knew all? A gulf had opened between her and her darling since +yesterday; it was growing wider every minute. Only a few hours ago +she was her child; now she was far removed by birth and station, able +to take the rank of a lady, while she, Lettice, would always remain a +humble peasant woman. Oh, cruel truth! But it must be told, and that +without delay. + +"Ermyn, I am going to tell you something. Listen!" + +"Yes, mother." + +"It happened a long time ago, just a year after I lost my dear little +baby Ruth." + +Ermyn looked up all eager attention. + +"I was sitting here one evening on a very wild, stormy night. The sea +roared and the wind howled, and heavy sheets of rain dashed against the +windows. Oh, it was an awful storm! Davie was a little boy then, and +lay fast asleep in that bed, and your dear old granddad—" here Lettice +checked herself, "my father," she added, "was out with the other +sailors on the jetty." + +"What was he doing, mother?" + +"Nancy Lewis came up to tell me there was a fine ship driving on to the +rocks close to the Head, and nothing could be done for her." + +"Oh, poor, poor people!" said Ermyn. "Did granddad try to save them?" + +"Yes, he put out in a boat with several of his brave mates. But it +wasn't a lifeboat, so they could do nothing to help, and the ship went +down." + +"Was any one saved?" asked Ermyn breathlessly. + +Lettice continued her story, as though she had not heard the question. +"Presently we heard voices, and when I opened the door, granddad and +the sailors were carrying in a poor drowned lady, and I heard a baby +cry. Then I looked and saw granddad holding something wrapped up in a +bit of fishing-net. I took it from his arms and found it was a dear, +helpless infant." + +"Was the lady dead?" inquired Ermyn. + +"Yes, indeed she was; nothing more could be done for her. She was laid +in the churchyard to sleep the next Sunday." + +"And what became of the baby?" + +"I nursed her and took her for my own instead of little Ruth. Ermyn, +you were that little babe." + +[Illustration: "OH, MOTHER, WHY DID YOU TELL ME?"] + +"Mother, oh, mother!" cried Ermyn, kneeling and flinging her arms round +Mrs. Gwynne's neck, while the two sobbed together. "Oh, mother, why did +you tell me? I would rather never, never have known. Don't say you are +not my own mother." + +"Hush, my darling, there is more to tell you. Forgive me for hiding +from you the secret of your history. Perhaps it would have been better +if you had always known it." + +"Why, mother?" + +"Ermyn, sweet child, you are mine no longer! Your father lives. He +is waiting and longing to clasp you in his arms to-day. You are the +daughter of Mr. Edward Pryse, and his people at the Rectory are your +own kith and kin. Miss Silexa came with him this morning, while you +were out, to break the news to me." + +It is impossible to describe the effect these words had upon Ermyn. She +was dumb in open-eyed wonder for some minutes, thinking it must surely +be a dream of the night. Then she understood it all; and with a low cry +flung herself into the arms of Lettice, murmuring, "Oh, mother, mother, +don't send me away from you! I don't want any one but you!" + +Lettice said no more; for she saw the effect her words were having +on Ermyn's highly strung nerves, as the hysterical sobs grew louder. +She half carried, half led her into the inner chamber, and, loosening +her dress, laid her on the bed. Then shading the light from the small +window, she kissed her tenderly and left her. + +In the afternoon, they were treading the valley-meadows together, +calm and quiet. Ermyn felt timid and shy. Poor child, it was hard to +realise her new situation in so short a time. Would they be glad at +the Rectory? Did Dora know she was her own cousin? Yes, she felt sure +she did. But eyes were already on the look-out from the rose-clustered +windows, and Silexa stood waiting in the porch. + +"Come in, darling! My niece and godchild Ermyn. Edward, here is your +child!" + +Ermyn said nothing till she found herself clasped in strong, loving +arms. Then she knew she had indeed found a father. + + +A week later, Lettice was sitting alone at work in her cottage. The +shadows were lengthening on the causeway, and the returning tide broke +in soft murmurs against the boundary wall, as a hum of voices from the +jetty was borne upon the sultry air. Her fingers were busy, but her +thoughts were far-away. She was still learning in the school of her +Lord and Master Jesus Christ; the lesson-books were not put away yet, +and on the page turned to-day great silent tears were dropping. + +Ermyn, her child and treasure, was going away; far-away from her to +her northern home. The devoted father would have his daughter all to +himself in Scotland. Would she forget the cottage by the creek? The +lowly village-maiden was an heiress now. In time, she might learn to be +ashamed of her former poverty and upbringing. + +"Oh, my God!" cried Lettice half aloud. "Why did they take my own +ewe-lamb from my bosom? She crept in there in place of little Ruth, +and the space is cold and empty without her. I know her love will ever +be warm and faithful for me; but oh, it can never, never be the same +again." + +A footstep so light that Lettice only perceived it when it was close to +the door, now caught her attention, but not quickly enough to give her +time to hide the tears that were falling. Looking up she saw the sweet, +fair face of Eudora Meredith, and rose to greet her. + +"You did not hear me coming, Lettice. Sit down again, please. I want +you to pretend I am the little Dora of long, long ago. I shall steal +Ermyn's stool and come and sit at your feet. There! I have taken off my +hat. Now, stroke my hair as you used to do." + +Lettice obeyed, while Eudora put one hand into hers. + +"Mrs. Gwynne," she continued, as the golden head bent low, and a +crimson blush dyed the delicate cheek. "Lettice, I have come to tell +you something that I hope will make you very happy. I know you are +dreadfully sad to-day," she added, "because your darling Ermyn is so +soon going away, but her love for you will never change, Lettice. She +will be always the same. Still, we know she cannot be quite so much +your child as she used to be. Lettice, kiss me and put your arms round +me. I am to be your daughter now. Davie has asked me to be his wife. +Will you be my mother?" + +Mrs. Gwynne started and turned pale. She could only say, "Miss Eudora!" + +"You are never to call me that again," said Eudora, springing up and +flinging her arms round the neck of the astonished and overjoyed woman. +"I knew you would be very glad, and I made Davie promise, as one of +the conditions, that I should be the first to tell you. He has been +very good and kept his secret. Oh, you don't know how unhappy we have +been! He was afraid to ask me, because we were both poor; and I thought +he did not care for me at all. Aunt Silexa has been our good angel. I +wonder how she guessed! When Uncle Edward came to her, wanting to know +how he could repay even a part of all the kindness and care you have +given his child throughout her life, auntie told him there was one way. +And what do you think that was, Lettice?" + +Mrs. Gwynne could only smile inquiringly. + +"Why, he has bought the house that has been built close to Dr. +Llewellyn's, and given it to Davie; you are to live with us," the happy +girl ran on. "And the dowry Uncle Edward gives me will be quite enough, +with David's stipend, to make comfortable. Now I have told my news." + +Lettice at first could find no words to express her joy. She felt God +had honoured and blessed both her and her house beyond her highest +expectations. She scarcely believed she heard aright. + +"I could not think what Davie wanted," broke in Eudora, with a little +laugh. "He came to me in the kitchen garden this morning when I was +getting something for auntie, and his face looked as if he was the +happiest man in the world. Then he followed me about, holding my basket +until it was filled, and then somehow we found ourselves sitting +together under the medlar boughs. Lettice, dear Lettice, you can guess +the rest! + +"Here is Davie himself, and Ermyn too, I declare! You are both of you +very naughty," said she, turning to them. "I thought I had slipped +away, and that you would not find me for ever so long." + +What a happy talk there was after that in the old cottage, as Eudora +and Ermyn pretended to be jealous of each other, in their caresses of +the dear and much-loved mother. Lettice could only feel that, instead +of losing her treasure, another child had been given to her wide +mother-heart. + +"Mother," said Ermyn, "Davie and I came home on purpose to tell you, +you must please put on your Sunday gown and cap at once; for you, and +auntie, grandpapa, father, and all of us are going to have tea together +at Dr. Llewellyn's." + +"Oh, what a delightful plan!" cried Eudora, springing up. "Just like +our dear, kind friends! How I wish Maurice had been at home; there +would not have been one wanting then." + + +While Lettice arrayed herself in her plain black silk and white cap, +and her children waited to escort her, Mary Llewellyn was as busy as a +bee. She was not pretty, but her bright, honest eyes and sweet, frank +smile made the face a very attractive one to watch. She moved about +quickly and quietly, setting out the oval table in the most festive +manner for the expected guests. The snowy tablecloth hung in glossy +folds, and the pretty green and white tea-service and homemade bread +and butter looked most tempting upon it. + +"Let me see," said Mary, smiling towards her mother, who was a +delighted spectator of the hospitable arrangements. "That little glass +basket I brought from London will look the prettiest for the flowers in +the centre; and I declare I quite forgot the honey—and such honey too! +What can I be thinking of, mother? My wits are woolgathering." + +"We have so much to think about, dear," replied Mrs. Llewellyn, +laughing, "that I do not wonder your ideas are inclined to go astray. +Even now I can scarcely believe our pretty, simple lily of the valley +is transformed into a fine lady." + +"She will never be that, mother; she has too much good sense—thanks +to her being blessed with two such mothers as you and Lettice; for +you have been quite a mother to her. What a blessing it is, as +circumstances have turned out, that Ermyn has had such a thoroughly +well-grounded education!" + +"Oh, but I must not take all the credit of that. The child was so +bright and clever it was a pleasure to teach her; and you, Mary, have +also done a great deal for her, and for Dora too." + +"They are a sweet pair of cousins, mother. Is it not funny it should +all have come out as it has? I am so glad they have been thrown +together so much. I keep on thinking I am reading a fairy tale, but I +did not expect the transformation scene so soon. Now let me shake up +your cushions and make you tidy. You must have on your cap with the +lavender ribbons to-night." + +"I never thought my fanciful daydream about that child would ever be +realised," said Mrs. Llewellyn, as she thanked and kissed her daughter. + +The guests arrived at the appointed hour; and never was there a merrier +feast. Everybody was hungry, and did full justice to Mary's bountiful +cheer, as she presided at the tea-tray, all the more pleased that the +cups were sent up again and again to be replenished. + +"My grandchildren," said Dr. Pryse, looking at the pair of laughing +girls before him, "I must have you one on each side of me to-night. +What a rich old man I am, with all my treasures about me!" he added, +looking round the table with a gratified smile on his aged features. +"I am not going to give away my little love yet," quoth he, with a sly +glance at David. + +This was the signal for a great deal of fun. And Dr. Llewellyn arrived +in the middle of it all, adding his hearty laugh and amusing sayings to +the merry-making. + +David and Eudora could afford to be laughed at now. They did not mind +how soon all St. Elvis heard the news, and were much too happy in +one another's love to care for the opinion of the world, or what the +gossips would say round the ancient cross. + +"What is this I hear about a lifeboat?" said Dr. Llewellyn. + +"Oh, the news has flown like the wind among the sailors," answered +David. "Miss Ermyn Pryse has given the money for one, and it is to +arrive here and be launched before the winter sets in." + +"And it is to be called 'The Ermyn,'" put in Eudora eagerly. + +Lettice had not heard this piece of information before, and tears of +joy filled her eyes as she thought of the many brave lives it would +probably be the means of saving on that dangerous coast. + +"It is in memory of dear old granddad," whispered Ermyn, as she slipped +her hand into that of Lettice. "I wish he had lived to see it." + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +CONCLUSION + +MUIRSTANE donned its gayest holiday attire the day Edward Pryse was +expected to arrive with his young heiress. The great iron gates leading +to the manor-house no longer mourned in rust and weeds, but had been +freshly painted and flung wide open, while an arch of evergreens and +flowers spanned the portal. Little children stood on either side of +the hilly road near the entrance, holding bunches of flowers in their +hot hands, and they all set up a joyous shout on seeing the carriage. +It was a new experience for Ermyn, as she sat by her father's side, +prettily dressed in quiet grey silk, smiling and nodding to the eager +crowd, who came streaming out into the road to get a sight of her. + +Edward's heart was too full for speech. Tears came into his eyes as he +thought of his Ethel, but oh, the joy of having her child with him now! +How lovingly he watched her return the glad greetings! How tenderly +he handed her from the carriage into the spacious hall of the noble +old mansion! It should henceforth be his pride and pleasure to watch +over and care for her. No one must interfere with his newly found +treasure—she must be all his own, his very own. + +Reader, pardon his selfishness. He had to dive into very deep waters +ere he found his pearl. No wonder she was priceless now. + +With reverent footsteps, Ermyn followed her father from room to room. +Her own dead mother had lived here, and everything she had touched and +used was sacred, Ethel's little sitting-room especially so. When her +child entered it, she started and looked at Edward; for there, hanging +in a gilded frame above the mantelpiece, was the picture of herself, +as she had stood by the Sainted Well in her old blue dress and red +petticoat. + +"Oh, father, how well I remember that day!" + +"So do I, my daughter." + +For the first few weeks that followed, it was all novelty and +brightness for Ermyn. Her affection for her father became deep and +passionate. It seemed as though all her child-love for him had been +storing itself up through long years, to be poured out in a golden +treasure at his feet when he should come to claim it. + +Her filial devotion gradually healed the open wounds in his heart. +How he loved to hear this beautiful girl calling him father! His cup +was full now. Together the two would wander among the wild and lovely +Scottish scenery each glen and exquisite haunt had its story about +Ethel. The heather bloomed as sweetly now as when he had pulled its +purple blossoms at her side; the little brown burns still tinkled their +merry tune. + +Ermyn won all hearts among the poorer tenantry. She had known poverty +and toil, and could come among them with true kindliness. She was +none the less noble and refined that she had once worked hard for her +living; nay, rather it added to her woman's worth, because it had +enlarged and drawn out her sympathies towards the poor. They all called +her "oor bonnie leddy," and loved her well. + +But, notwithstanding her pleasant occupations, her father's untiring +love and devotion, and the long affectionate letters received from +Wales, her heart yearned to return to St. Elvis. When she laid her +head down on her pillow at night, she missed the mother-kiss. And she +wanted her sweet cousin to share her new pleasures with her. Sometimes +she would weep in secret about it, and even pine to be the humble +cottage-maiden again. + +Edward soon began to notice her drooping looks, and besought her +to tell him what was the matter. But Ermyn, afraid of wounding his +feelings, and still anxious to be more of a comfort to him, could not +confess the truth. She evaded his questions by laughing excuses, and +tried to look brighter again. But all in vain. Her heart was not in +Muirstane. And as the months moved on, the trouble could be hidden no +longer. + +"Father," she said one day, "please don't be angry with me. I know I +ought to be quite happy here, but I want to go back to St. Elvis. I +miss them all so very, very much." + +A grieved look of pain came into his face, and she saw it. + +"Ermyn, my child," he answered, "try for my sake to make yourself happy +here with me through the winter. In the spring, we will go back. Let me +have you to myself till then." + +Ermyn hid her disappointment by a bright smile of acquiescence. This +promise was something definite, at any rate; but oh, how long the +spring was in coming that year! Ermyn watched the snow melt away at +last off the stern hills. And when the April sunbeams tipped them with +brightness, she and her father turned their backs on Muirstane and set +out for St. Elvis. + + +A joyous peal of welcome was ringing out from the old church tower as +they entered the town. Silexa, Lettice, David, Eudora, and the dear old +grandfather were all standing waiting to receive them. Oh, how glad +they were to get their darling back again!—Not one bit changed, no—they +all said that. + +And when the May-buds blushed pink, and there was "a little piping of +leaf-hid birds" in their downy nests, the bridal morning dawned. + +Ermyn, once more our blithe, merry maiden, was standing in Eudora's +room, helping Aunt Silexa and Lettice to dress the bride in soft clouds +of white muslin. How like a lovely flower looked the child of the +Rectory to-day! And how proud they all were of her! + +The beloved and aged grandfather with his silver locks stood within the +communion rails, as the simple procession moved up through the crowded +church. In clear though trembling tones, he read the solemn marriage +service, which united the two persons whom all firmly believed God had +joined together. Eudora's lip quivered and her cheek paled, but her +voice was clear and calm, as she uttered the familiar thrilling vow. + +What a burst of jocund music rang out from the ivied tower, as the +joy-bells sounded loud and sweet when the newly wedded pair left the +church! What a feast there was for the poor in the Rectory kitchen, +after the pretty breakfast was over in the dining-room! Nobody in St. +Elvis ever forgot that day. + +"I hope you and Davie will have a happy time together at Muirstane," +whispered Ermyn, as she said good-bye to her cousin. "I will look after +everybody, and do the work of two curates in the village till you bring +Davie back again. Good-bye, good-bye! Auntie, give me an old shoe to +throw after them!" + + +While the two were away spending their honeymoon among the heathery +moorlands of Scotland, Lettice had her hands full of work. But she did +not labour alone, for Silexa and Ermyn joyfully helped her each day, in +the pleasant task of beautifying and making ready the new pretty home +for David and his bride. + +"Oh, how charming it is to be able to do this for them!" cried Ermyn, +in an ecstasy of delight, as she ran from room to room, discussing and +settling about colours and furniture. "I long to see my Dora's glad +face when she enters her home." + +Lettice felt very sad the night she slept in the old cottage by the +creek for the last time. True, she had known poverty, sorrow, and care +while dwelling under its roof, but God's presence had never forsaken +her. Her loved dead had rested under its peaceful shadow, and made it +a hallowed spot. She would like to have ended her days here in humble +seclusion, had it not been for the entreaties of her children. Then, +Jem and Nancy Lewis had been long wishing to remove their large family +into this more spacious cottage; and as Jem had bought Old Roger's two +boats, and succeeded to his fishing trade, they seemed the right people +to take possession. + +"I cannot leave the cradle," said Lettice, as she was looking over her +things, most of which she intended to bequeath to her successors. "That +must go wherever I go. Davie, and dear little Ruth, and Ermyn all slept +in it; it is full of tender memories and associations; I will never, +never part with it." + +So the cradle journeyed up the valley with some more of Mrs. Gwynne's +household treasures, and they gave her large, airy room in David's +house a home look at once. + +The few weeks that the bride and bridegroom were away seemed a short +time in which to get everything completed, but as all worked with a +will, they managed to do it. + +The evening before David and Eudora were expected, Ermyn was with her +father in the newly made garden, pulling up stray weeds, and tying up +the flowers. Suddenly she looked up from her work to see Mary Llewellyn +at the gate, and Maurice standing by her side. + +"Well, Ermyn," cried Mary, in glee, "is not this a surprise for all of +us? We only knew of it this morning." + +Ermyn advanced shyly to greet almost a stranger now, for it was long +since she and Maurice had met, not since she had been a hard-working +little cottage-maiden. She felt at first she would like to run away and +hide. + +"Miss Ermyn Pryse," said Maurice, frankly extending his hand, and +reassuring the timid girl by a glad smile. "You have said good-bye to +childhood since we met, and yet you are not a bit altered. I should +have known you anywhere." + +"But you are considerably changed," replied Ermyn, laughing, as a blush +tinted her cheek. "Father, let me introduce Mr. Maurice Llewellyn." + +"Is it not delightful?" rejoined Mary, as she kissed Ermyn. "Maurice is +to be at home a whole month before he goes away on another long voyage." + +"Oh, I am so glad!" replied Ermyn. "Now we shall be all together once +more." + + +The welcome that St. Elvis gave to the curate and his wife the +following day was a right royal one. The church bells rang out a +deafening peal. And when the carriage appeared in sight, a troop of +strong young men ran a race to meet it, when they unharnessed the +horses, and insisted on drawing the carriage themselves to the new +home. Gay summer blossoms were flung in fragrant showers upon the young +and happy wife, as she sat smiling and nodding by her husband's side, +while the village children shouted,— + +"Hurrah! Hurrah! Welcome! Welcome home!" + +Silexa, Ermyn, and Lettice stood at the porch to receive them, and the +wedded life of David and Eudora at St. Elvis began. + +No one liked to think that some of the members of this happy and united +circle must soon again separate. But Maurice had been appointed to take +the medical charge of a large ship bound for America; and he had mapped +out for himself a long course of hard work in the world before his +vision of settling down with his father in St. Elvis could be fulfilled. + +He went away full of hope and courage, but has invalid mother could not +help shedding some bitter tears after saying good-bye to her son. The +first letter from him revived her spirits: + + "St. Elvis," he said, "would ever be the brightest spot in the whole +world to him, and he should be always longing for home." + + +Edward Pryse began to grow somewhat weary and impatient, as week after +week Ermyn put off their journey north. But at last it was settled, and +she went back to Muirstane with her heart full of dutiful and strenuous +resolutions. She must make it her home now, and try to do the very best +among her people there. She would fill the old house with light and +brightness for her father; he should never see her discontented again. +And she did it. + +Six years passed quietly and evenly away. The father and daughter +gathered numerous pleasant friends and acquaintances around them, who +were all charmed with the youthful mistress of the manor. Guests came +to stay in the house, which soon became renowned for its hospitality +and good cheer. + +Edward Pryse never objected to visit St. Elvis when Ermyn wished it, +but the place was so filled with painful associations to him that she +soon saw it was a great effort. Besides, his health was very feeble +now; the sorrows of his youth had broken him down, and made him an old +man before his time. Therefore it was only at intervals that the child +of St. Elvis was seen in her old loved haunts. + + +But the years brought new joys and interests to the sweet young wife +Eudora, for some baby-voices now echoed in the pretty home. Lettice had +her hands full, with helping to care for the imperious little autocrats +of the nursery, who were always climbing about her, and making her +their willing slave. There was Edward, the first-born, and Roger, his +fair-haired brother, then toddling, lisping Ermyn, and sweet baby Ruth. +Yes, Lettice held another little Ruth in her arms now, and the same old +wooden cradle rocked her to sleep. + +Sometimes as Mrs. Gwynne, with her foot on the rocker, looked within +it, she would think it must be all a dream, and that she was back again +in the cottage by the creek. But dear old granddad had sailed away to +the golden shore; he was with her own little Ruth now, in the happy +land above. + +And Eudora! How the years had deepened and sweetened, as the stream of +life flowed on, broadening and widening. She sometimes felt she was +almost too happy, and feared lest shadows should begin to fall. But in +her husband's love she felt calm and secure, and she knew that "the +blessing of the Lord which maketh rich," adding no sorrow with it, was +theirs, whatever might happen in the future. + +What light and warmth there was for David in that sweet, peaceful home, +whither he bent his tired footsteps at the close of each day's work! In +the true spirit of wife-like devotion, hers was— + + "An ear that waits to catch + A hand upon the latch; + A step that hastens its sweet rest to win. + A world of care without, + A world of strife shut out, + A world of love shut in." + +She was sitting thus one evening waiting and watching, busily plying +her needle on a tiny garment that had been torn among the valley +brambles. Lettice was upstairs in the nursery, and Eudora could hear +her low voice hushing baby Ruth to sleep with a soothing lullaby. +Eudora thought it was David's step on the gravel outside, and rose to +meet him with her usual smile of welcome. But when she opened the door, +to her no small surprise there stood Maurice Llewellyn. + +"Why, Maurice," she said, "who would have thought of seeing you! Mary +certainly told me you were not coming until next week." + +"I did not think I could," he answered, "but I was able to get away +sooner than I expected." + +"Well, come in," quoth she, with a bright look, "the children would +have been scrambling down to see you by this time if they had not been +asleep in their cots." + +Maurice followed Eudora into the pretty, well-lighted sitting-room, +which now had its curtains drawn and a cheerful fire burning. + +"Sit down," she added; "I am expecting Davie every minute, but he told +me he should be later than usual, as he has gone some miles off to see +a poor woman who is dangerously ill." + +In spite of this cheery welcome, Maurice looked very dismal, as he took +a seat opposite Eudora. She noticed his gloomy manner, and at once +guessed the cause. + +"I hoped I should have found Ermyn Pryse at home in the old Rectory, or +staying with you," he said presently. + +"And so you will," cried Eudora triumphantly. "Hasn't Mary heard that +she is coming to-morrow or next day? Her father has promised to let her +stay over Christmas, and I am to have her to myself part of the time +for a visit to us." + +"I am afraid it will not make much difference to me, Eudora," he said +sadly; "I know you have guessed my secret long ere this, so I need take +no pains to conceal it, but there is a hopeless gulf between us." + +"Why?" asked Eudora innocently. + +"Oh, I could never be beholden to my wife for money; not that it need +be really so," he added, "for I would always work hard to earn an +honourable living by my profession." + +"Then where lies the difficulty?" queried Eudora. + +"Her father would say directly that I wanted to marry her for her +money; he is so hard-looking and unapproachable, and I am sure he +dislikes me. I dare not attempt it." + +"Poor man!" sighed Eudora. "Oh, Maurice, don't judge him harshly. The +burden of grief he has had to carry has well-nigh crushed him." + +"Yes, and for that reason he would hate me all the more for attempting +to rob him of his only child," continued Maurice, in a dreary voice. "I +do not know what is to be done. Each time I have seen her since your +marriage, she has grown dearer to me; and how lovely she is, so modest +and gentle! I could never love any one else as I do her. I would that +she had always remained the lily of the valley my mother used to call +her. I could then have reached forth my hand to gather the flower, and +no one would have said me nay. But now it is quite hopeless. After +looking once more on her beauty, I shall go away on a long voyage, and +perhaps never come back again." + +"Maurice, you are both wrong and selfish; you quite forget your mother, +and how she yearns over you." + +"You are unfeeling, Eudora." + +"No, I am not, but I want you to pluck up your courage and face your +trouble like a man." + +"How can I?" pleaded Maurice piteously. + +"Ask Ermyn yourself, the first opportunity you have, and hear what she +says." + +"Do you really think, then, I have a chance, Eudora? Don't offer me +advice that I shall rue afterwards. Do you think she will listen?" + +"I am not going to say anything about that, Maurice," replied Eudora, +laughing. "How the fire has caught my face," she added, reaching up her +hand to take down a screen from the mantelpiece. "Maurice, I wish you +good speed on your errand. Nothing venture, nothing win! You know the +old lines: + + "He either fears his fate too much, + Or his deserts are small, + Who dares not put it to the touch, + And win or lose it all." + +"At worst, you can only be where you were before." + +"God bless you, my kind friend!" cried Maurice, starting to his feet +and grasping her hand. "You have done me good. I shall come to you for +comfort if I am turned away a lonely, heart-broken man." + +"What nonsense you talk!" cried Eudora, with a little rippling laugh. +"You are just a donkey, Maurice—yes, I will say it—to go on working +yourself up into this sentimental misery. I have no sympathy with that +kind of thing, no, none whatever." + +This homely thrust was the best possible medicine at that moment for +Eudora's patient, though he winced a little. Yet he could not be angry +with his playmate of former days, so he smiled somewhat grimly at her +instead, and said he must go home. + +"Mind you do as I tell you," she called out after him, as he went down +the garden path. + + +And so it came to pass, about a fortnight after this conversation, that +Ermyn Pryse was kneeling beside Mrs. Llewellyn, burying her face in the +sofa cushions. + +"I am so glad, so very glad, my darling!" murmured the voice of the +invalid, in tender mother-tones. "You have been dear to me for many +years, and now you will be my own daughter. Maurice was naughty not to +tell me his secret before." + +"He was afraid I should refuse him," whispered Ermyn; "and all because +of that paltry money. Oh, Mrs. Llewellyn, I have loved him such a long, +long time. Dora found it out somehow, but he did not know. Father is +so good and kind about it too, which makes me quite happy, and," she +added, with a tighter clasp round her friend's neck, "oh, I am so glad, +for I shall always be the child of St. Elvis now! Our home in Scotland, +dear though it will be, cannot break the link with the loved and lovely +valley of my childhood." + +Mrs. Llewellyn could only answer her with her tears and blessing: + + "'The Lord bless thee and keep thee, my child: the Lord make His face +shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: the Lord lift up His +countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.'" + + +Late that night, after the household were asleep, Silexa crept into +what used to be Eudora's little room over the porch. It was all so +unchanged; the grotesque chintz still grimaced at all comers, the ivy +twigs and roses still tapped against the casement. What was different? + +Silexa shaded the light, and looked into the small bed. There, instead +of Eudora, lay the sleeping Ermyn, sweetly dreaming, and unconscious +that human eyes were watching her. Her dark hair was flung over the +pillow, and her rosy lips had a half smile on them. + +"She will be very happy," thought her good aunt; "and there is no one +in all the world more worthy of her love than Maurice Llewellyn. Oh, +how strange and sweet is life!" she went on to herself, as softly she +left the sleeper and closed the door. "It is no longer an intricate +maze of dancing shadows. How dark it was once! How hopeless and dreary! +Now I can look back and see the path, with all its windings, was +leading me towards a better country, that is, an heavenly. I did not +always think so. Life is the letter; death is but its envelope." + +Silexa entered her own room, the very room where she had knelt on the +night of that agonised conflict, when she thought her niece was dying. +It all came back to her now, as sitting down she opened an old brown +much-worn book and read: + + "God knoweth best what is needful for us, and all that He does is for +our good. If we knew how much He loves us, we should be always ready +to receive equally and with indifference from His hand the sweet and +the bitter; all would please that came from Him. The sorest afflictions +never appear intolerable, but when we see them in the wrong light. +When we see them in the hand of God, who dispenses them; when we know +it is our loving Father who abases and distresses us, our sufferings +will lose their bitterness, and become even matter of consolation. Let +all our employment be to know God: the more one knows Him, the more +one desires to know Him. And as knowledge is commonly the measure of +love, the deeper and more extensive our knowledge shall be, the greater +will be our love; and if our love of God were great we should love +Him equally in pains or pleasures. We cannot escape the dangers which +abound in life without the actual and continual help of God; let us +then pray to Him for it continually. How can we pray to Him without +being with Him? How can we be with Him, but in thinking of Him often? +And how can we often think of Him, but by a holy habit which we should +form of it? We must 'know' before we can 'love.' In order to know God +we must often think of Him; and when we come to love Him we shall then +also think of Him often, for our heart will be with our treasure.'" + + "O Lord, I have known and believed the love that Thou hast to me," +murmured Silexa, as she closed the book; "for Thou hast given Thy Son +Jesus Christ to be the Saviour of the world. + + "'This God is our God for ever and ever: He will be our guide even unto +death.' + + "'Only a few more shadows, and He will come.'" + + "And a sense of tune, + A satisfied love, meanwhile, + Which nothing earthly could despoil, + Sang on within her soul." + + + + THE END + + + + Printed by MORRISON & GIBB LIMITED, Edinburgh + + + + _UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME_ + + EVERY GIRL'S BOOKSHELF + + Her Treasure of Truth. By H. Louisa Bedford. + Beryl's Triumph. By Eglanton Thorne. + Annie Carr. A Tale of Two Hemispheres. + Ellen Tremaine. By M. Filleul. + The Girls of Marleigh Grange. By M. M. Pollard. + Little Maid Marigold. By Eleanora H. Stooke. + The Mysterious Locket. By Ruth Lynn. + The Mistress of the Manor. By E. Kirby. + Anthony Cragg's Tenant. By Agnes Giberne. + The Heart of a Friend. By Florence Wilmot. + Brown Eyes and Blue. By Annie Mabel Severs. + Arthur Glynn. By Ruth Lamb. + Two Enthusiasts. By Evelyn Everett-Green. + The Faith of Hilary Lovel. By Evelyn Everett-Green. + The Romance of Miss Hilary, and other stories. + Kitty and Kit. By Florence Wilmot. + The Colleen's Choice, and other stories. + Dick and Brownie. By Mabel Quiller-Couch. + Alwyn Ravendale. By Evelyn Everett-Green. + Half-a-dozen Sisters. By Evelyn Everett-Green. + Brought out of Peril. By Emma Leslie. + + LONDON: THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79291 *** diff --git a/79291-h/79291-h.htm b/79291-h/79291-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..44d4625 --- /dev/null +++ b/79291-h/79291-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8291 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The Mysterious Locket │ Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/image001.jpg" type="image/cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size:12.0pt; + font-family:"Verdana"; +} + +p {text-indent: 2em;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +h2 {font-size: 1.17em;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + +.w100 { + width: auto + } + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 125%; + text-align: center + } + +p.t2 { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center + } + +p.t3 { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center + } + +p.t3b { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center + } + +p.t4 { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center + } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.poem { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + padding: 20px 0; + text-align: left; + width: 555px; + } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 90%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79291 ***</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>"COME TO GRANDAD, MY BEAUTY."</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h1>THE MYSTERIOUS LOCKET</h1> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +BY<br> +</p> + +<p class="t1"> +RUTH LYNN<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p class="t3"> +AUTHOR OF<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> +"CITY SPARROWS, AND WHO CARED FOR THEM"<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +<em>WITH COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS</em><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> +LONDON:<br> +</p> + +<p class="t3"> +THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> +4 BOUVERIE STREET AND 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3b"> +CONTENTS<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>CHAP.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_1">I. NO LIFEBOAT</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_2">II. MISS SILEXA</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_3">III. THE LOCKET SET IN PEARLS</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_4">IV. THE DESIRED HAVEN</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_5">V. THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_6">VI. A LIGHT IN THE TUNNEL</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_7">VII. A PARABLE FROM NATURE</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_8">VIII. A SHADOW ON THE THRESHOLD</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_9">IX. A SUNNY GLEAM</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_10">X. THE GOLDEN SHORE</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_11">XI. THE SAINTED WELL</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_12">XII. THE LAIRD OF MUIRSTANE</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_13">XIII. BAFFLED HOPES</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_14">XIV. NANNIE'S HOME</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_15">XV. DAVID AND EUDORA</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_16">XVI. LOST AND FOUND</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_17">XVII. THE TREASURE CLAIMED</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_18">XVIII. CONCLUSION</a></p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t2"> +<b>THE MYSTERIOUS</b><br> +<br> +<b>LOCKET</b><br> +</p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image004" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image004.jpg" alt="image004"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_1">CHAPTER I</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>NO LIFEBOAT</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>THE harbour of Porthmynwr lies in a deep cleft, between high rocks, +through which the sea flows inland, changing the voice with which even +in summer it wails at the foot of the cliffs, till it whispers softly +to some cottages in a sheltered valley.</p> + +<p>The entrance to the little port is marked on one side by a bold point +of dark red rock; on the other by a small jetty, which is said to have +been built by the Romans, and which flings itself across, curving round +with a graceful sweep.</p> + +<p>The creek winds a little on its way up the valley, so that looking down +from the hillside the water appears like a blue and silver snake lying +between heather-clad rocks. The hills on either side rise steeply; and +in summer on their sunny slopes purple and gold flowers bloom among +the bracken fern, rustling grasses bend to the breeze, the honey-bee +murmurs with sweet content, and the grasshoppers raise their chirrup; +while around there floats that indescribably sweet smell, which comes +only from the warm breath of summer, of dried grass, scented leaves, +and flowers pressed under foot.</p> + +<p>In winter, the great waves, angry with breaking against the point of +rock, come riding in over the jetty, curling into each miniature cavern +of the little bay, while the snowy sea-foam drifts up the gorge till +it rests on the fields beyond. Yet even then, the harbour looks what +it is, a haven of rest, offering safe shelter from the raging waters +to such small craft as can make its narrow entrance. In the calm of +summer weather, as the tide rises, slate and culm hulks ride in sleepy +security. Higher up, some rowing boats chained to the rocks swing to +and fro with each swirl of the advancing waters, which creep up and up +until they lip the boundary line marked by the preceding tide against a +sloping stone causeway on the right, and lay a fresh tribute of green +seaweed on the stones and sand that almost touch the meadow-land beyond.</p> + +<p>To the left are limekiln, whose white heat quivers in the still air, +and where men burn the stone the hulks bring into harbour. A clear +little stream comes chattering down the valley, to find its way to the +ocean through the creek, and at the point where the fresh water mingles +with the salt, ducks wade in and out, occasionally sailing towards +the sea, but afraid to venture far when they feel the heave of the +wave-swell against their breasts.</p> + +<p>The white-roofed cottages are dotted about here and there, some on the +hillside, and others close to the water's edge; the pastures stretch +upwards among tracts of purple moorland, intersected by roads branching +right and left, one of which leads to the town of St. Elvis, lying at +the head of the valley.</p> + +<p>A cottage stood by itself at the head of the creek, close to the +stone causeway, where carts passed every day at low tide to take the +culm from the stranded vessels. It was built on a promontory of red +sandstone, covered with earth and tufts of coarse grass, and bounded at +the foot by a kind of outwork wall, below which was a huge boulder of +rock, with an iron ring firmly fastened into it, for securing the boats +in rough weather.</p> + +<p>The cottage was ancient, and of a shape difficult to describe, for it +seemed to have had lean-to additions made at different times, thus +presenting the appearance of three buildings joined together. One bit +of the roof was slated, but the slates being very old had here and +there started apart, and lichens and bright mosses filling up the +interstices gave it a gay patchwork look. The rest was thatched, and +heavy stones were placed upon it to keep the reeds from being blown off +in the fearful storms that in winter sweep up through the ravine from +the sea. Tufts of yellow flowers and grasses clung about the straw, and +flourished; birds alighted to chatter round the dilapidated chimney, +while beside it, ever in changeful rhythm, the brooklet sang an eternal +song of longing towards the sea.</p> + +<p>It was October, and all the summer songs were ended.</p> + +<p>The autumn rains had turned the silver-shining stream into a turbid +current that shot swiftly through the valley past sedge-lined banks, +bearing on its bosom dead stalks and russet leaves. All day long the +sullen sea had been surging and moaning, in anticipation of the coming +storm, which, as the darkness deepened, seemed to gather all its +strength for a stern struggle.</p> + +<p>Seabirds circled and cried towards shore, as if sharing in the distress +of the sailors who stood on the slippery jetty in the mist and spray, +watching with hopeless eagerness the signals of distress from a ship +which they knew, alas! was drifting surely on to her doom; for both +wind and tide carried her each moment closer to the teeth of the jagged +rocks, which must soon seize her for their prey.</p> + +<p>"It will be too late soon, Father Roger," said a boy, whose impetuous +youth chafed against the apparent calmness of the older men.</p> + +<p>The sailor appealed to turned impatiently, only saying—</p> + +<p>"Do you want to drown with them? Where's the good of talking like +that?" adding to himself, "God help her now, for 'we' can't! What boat +of ours could live in that sea?"</p> + +<p>The white mist which enveloped the watchers drifted gradually on to the +cottage, and covered it up; and the wildest of winds howled round it as +if to tear it in pieces.</p> + +<p>The red glow from a steadily burning fire of culm and clay lighted +up the interior, revealing the shelves hollowed in the wall full of +crockery, the wooden settle by the hearth, and the two cupboard-beds +which stood like huge chests in the centre, dividing the room as by a +partition. Above, among the rafters in the heather-lined roof, hung an +empty wooden cradle; and as Lettice Gwynne knelt to pray for the safety +of her old sailor-father, she looked up at it now with tear-dimmed +eyes. Five-and-thirty years of life's toil and trouble had left their +traces on the pale, sweet face, and to-night it wore an anxious weary +look, as she heard the rising waters plash and gurgle against the +boundary wall, and sudden gusts of wind shook the cottage to its very +foundations.</p> + +<p>"My little Ruth," she murmured; "my own baby; no need to rock the +cradle now. The Good Shepherd has you in His arms, my lamb, and the +cradle-bed in the churchyard is green and still. There will be wild +work to-night," said she, rising, and sighing heavily. "I wish father +had the boats anchored by this time. Oh, my God, keep him safe, this +awful night."</p> + +<p>A sleeping child was breathing softly near her in one of the +cupboard-beds. And as he stirred, she looked lovingly at the boy of +eleven years, David, her only son. His rosy sunburnt cheek was lying +on one of the brown hands, and though his face was turned towards the +flickering firelight, the eyelids were fast sealed, and no noise of +rain or tempest without could disturb the youthful dreamer.</p> + +<p>But his mother could not keep an easy watch beside him long; she must +go to the door again to listen. In vain did she strain eyes and ears +against the darkness and noise; the only sounds distinguishable were +the booming waves breaking across the jetty, and the sullen sobbing of +wind and rain.</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Nancy Lewis?" cried she, suddenly catching sight of a +fluttering shawl. "Come in, come in."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm most drowned and torn to pieces with being out in such +weather; there's no standing on the jetty, and 'tis as dark as pitch. +I've come up to tell ye what's going on down there," rejoined the +woman, pointing in the direction of the sea. "There's a fine ship gone +to pieces out beyond the sunk rocks, and my Jem and your old father, +with some more of 'em, have put off in a boat to try and pick up some +of the poor creatures. But they'll all be drowned; nothing but a +lifeboat could live in such a sea; and more's the shame there's never a +one belonging to Porthmynwr. The water seems as if devils were raving +in it, indeed it do."</p> + +<p>Lettice could not answer; her lips and cheeks were ashy pale, for +Nancy's words had recalled with terrible vividness a night-scene two +years ago, when she had waited to welcome her husband, brave Richard +Gwynne, and he had been borne home by his comrades, pale and silent in +the death that had overtaken him amid those cruel, hungry waves. Never +since that night had Lettice joined the groups of watching women on +cliff or shore when a gale was blowing. She preferred to plead alone by +her widowed hearth for the safety of those at sea.</p> + +<p>"Did you say my father was gone?" she gasped, drawing Nancy in, and +shutting the door. "Are you quite sure?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," said Nancy; "he was the foremost to go, for all he's the +oldest among 'em. None of 'em would have gone if it hadn't been for +him," she added, sobbing; "and now I shall lose my Jem, and there's all +those six little blessed innocents lying asleep to wake up fatherless +in the morn. You've only one; 'tis not so hard on you."</p> + +<p>The sharpest sting of all lay in this selfish ending of the speech, but +Lettice pressed her lips together with a hard-set expression and did +not speak. She was sending up a silent prayer from her stricken heart, +whose anguish God alone could know, while Nancy ran on unheeding with +her stream of words.</p> + +<p>"I've been looking for this for weeks and months; I knew there'd be +death close to us soon. I and my neighbours have seen the corpse-lights +again and again blazing like a ball of straw, and there's many a one as +has watched the ghost-funerals walking through the churchyard, and old +Di Jones said to me, says she, 'Nancy, there'll be a funeral go up from +Porthmynwr to St. Elvis afore we're many days older.'"</p> + +<p>"Don't listen to her," said Lettice sharply; "she is always trying to +frighten folk like that. Those who have the true light in their souls +need not fear the corpse-candles. The good Lord would tell us in a +better way than that, if He meant us to know things beforehand."</p> + +<p>"Ah, it's fine talking," broke in Nancy, "but you know you wouldn't +walk through St. Elvis churchyard after dark to save your life."</p> + +<p>"And why not?" answered Lettice. "What harm would the dead quietly +sleeping do to me? If I could help a living person by walking there, I +would go any night with all my heart. What cause for fear have they who +love the Lord Jesus, who 'died, and rose, and revived, that He might +be Lord both of the dead and living'? Didn't He say, 'Nothing shall by +any means hurt you'? I believe 'that,' Nancy, before all the old wives' +words. And when I walk home from St. Elvis of a night, I always like to +think His angels are walking beside me, and I say to myself,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me,'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"And He never lets me be afraid."</p> + +<p>Nancy shook her head incredulously, saying, "There's wiser folk than me +nor you as have seen the corpse-lights and funerals, and it's a lucky +thing for you that you are not afraid of them, and that's all I've got +to say. And now I must be off again, and see what's doing down the +creek. That's my Jem's voice," she cried, springing towards the door, +"or I'm not a living woman. Ay, they're calling and hollering fine +about something."</p> + +<p>"Stand back!" shouted Old Roger Rudd, as Lettice stepped forward with +her companion to welcome her father.</p> + +<p>"Don't be frightened, my lass; there's work for you to do, though I +fear it be too late. A wreck and all hands lost!"</p> + +<p>No need to add more, for the light streaming upon the causeway from the +cottage showed what the sailors were carrying.</p> + +<p>"Try and save her, Lettice; mayhap some brandy might bring her round, +though indeed," added poor Old Roger, trembling, "I fear it's no use +now. Well, well, only to think! They were both lashed to a spar, and +it's all that's left of the noble ship."</p> + +<p>A baby's cry made Lettice deaf to the remainder of the sentence, and +Old Roger, placing in her arms an infant a year and a half old, wrapped +in a bit of old fishing-net, turned to assist the other men in carrying +the silent sleeper within shelter of the cottage. One look at the young +face showed Lettice that the sail which carefully covered the slender +form was a shroud for the dead.</p> + +<p>"Can nothing be done?" said Roger, as tears coursed down his +weather-beaten cheek. "Poor lass!" he added, seeing Lettice shake her +head. "The storm has, I hope, landed her in the haven where she would +be safe with the Lord who walked on the waters. The vessel foundered +upon yonder reef, and I reckon the fog hid the lighthouse. The sea is +running mountains high, and no boat could have got near them."</p> + +<p>"Poor young thing!" said Lettice. "Not more than twenty-five, I should +say."</p> + +<p>And the widow wept as she turned to hush the wailing of the motherless +babe. Tenderly she carried it to the fire, and taking off the coarse +netting and soaked little shirt, chafed the tiny limbs until they +warmed and revived.</p> + +<p>Only a year ago her own baby-girl had thus lain upon her knees, but God +had taken her away to Himself, and the cradle had been left empty. How +often, with sore eyes and heart, had Lettice looked at it! She could +not bear to put it away quite out of sight, so for months it had hung +among the heather up in the roof.</p> + +<p>And now some baby garments were taken from the chest in the corner, +and as the little hands passed through the sleeves Lettice whispered, +"Darling little Ruth! The daisies are growing on your cradle-bed, and +you are singing with God's angels above the sky."</p> + +<p>And laying the helpless little stranger down on the settle, she mounted +a chair and unfastened the cradle from the rafters. The mother's heart +ached as she set it on the floor, but the rescued babe knew nought of +this as, in a soft blanket, it was gently laid within it, and rocked to +rest before the bright fire.</p> + +<p>Roger went out with the other sailors to make fast his boats and see if +there was anything more to be done before night. And Nancy stayed with +Lettice to assist in arranging the body.</p> + +<p>Lettice had no fears as she closed the dead eyes, and folded the small +hand with the wedding ring on it over the other across the breast that +had done with life's heavings now. While doing so, she observed a small +gold chain and locket set in pearls round the throat, which she gently +disengaged and put carefully aside. Inside the locket were two curls of +hair and a monogram worked in gold thread across them. It was the only +token by which to identify the body or discover the story of this life +so early closed, for the silent lips could not reveal the secret.</p> + +<p>They laid her in an inner room, where nets and fishing-tackle were +strewn about, on a mattress taken from one of the beds, and, according +to the custom in those parts, placed lighted candles at the head and +feet.</p> + +<p>Lettice kissed the lovely face, and then covered it reverently, saying, +as she closed the door, "May God's angels keep watch here to-night, as +they did by our blessed Saviour's tomb."</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_2">CHAPTER II</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>MISS SILEXA</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>THE small town of St. Elvis was early astir the following morning with +tidings of the wreck. Dick Rees, from Clythwr Farm, half-way down the +valley, had been among the first to bring the news, and knots of eager +talkers and listeners soon gathered in the principal street, round +the steps of the old stone cross, to add to the gossip which grew as +rapidly as a rolling snowball.</p> + +<p>"Who could she be? What would happen to the child? Who would be at the +inquest? And when would the burying take place?" were the foremost +among the questions on that autumn morning.</p> + +<p>The small corner shop, kept by Meg Evans, the postmistress, was soon +filled to overflowing, and Nancy Lewis found herself a most important +personage, as she let out, bit by bit, all the slower in proportion to +the anxiety of her hearers, the particulars of the sad scene of the +night before.</p> + +<p>"She's a lady, whatever they may say," repeated Nancy, "for her hands +are as white as yon cloud, and never been used to hard work, for sure; +and her beautiful long hair was a-hanging about her like seaweed when +they brought her in, and the baby bleating like a lamb for its mother. +Indeed, it's as sweet a corpse as ever I looked upon."</p> + +<p>"Ah well, ah well, poor thing, her troubles are over now." "Indeed +and indeed, I'm sorry from my heart," said one and another, while +each woman secretly resolved to visit Lettice Gwynne's cottage before +the day was much further advanced; for a death in St. Elvis or its +peculiarly healthy neighbourhood was such a rare event that the sight +of the body was not to be resisted.</p> + +<p>Old John Jenkins, the pew-opener, discussed the matter with Will Jones, +the ancient gravedigger, who stood leaning on his spade just inside the +churchyard gate. And Old Dinah Jones, wife to the latter, lost no time +in hurrying up in high hat and cloak, stick in hand, from Porthmynwr to +the Rectory kitchen.</p> + +<p>There Miss Silexa Pryse found her scaring Molly the servant with facts, +which Dinah affirmed to be a perfect fulfilment of her prophecies +concerning corpse-lights and ghost-funerals. The girl stood, kettle +in hand, with wide staring eyes of fright and wonder, watching her +narrator, while Eudora, a little child of six years old, crouched +beside the dresser, terrified by this dismal story of death and +drowning.</p> + +<p>The effect of Miss Silexa's entrance was like that of a flash of +lightning.</p> + +<p>"What are you standing staring there for, you great goose?" said she, +angrily facing the petrified girl. "Get on with your work, and remember +life's short enough to do it in; that's 'your' lesson for to-day if +you'll learn it, you idle wench."</p> + +<p>"Eh! But, Miss Pryse—have you heard?" interrupted Old Dinah.</p> + +<p>"Heard!" screamed Silexa. "Who could help hearing, I should like to +know; with all the women like a pack of crows over a bit of meat, and +the men with their tongues wagging like a thirsty dog's? Of course we +have heard. You didn't think but that the Rectory would be the first to +be told. And now I suppose you've been gabbling on to Molly all your +pack of lies and nonsense about corpse-candles and such-like rubbish, +and you think it all true because God in His wise providence has chosen +to take that poor soul unto Himself, and her body is to lie with us +here at St. Elvis. 'Tis a pity you have not got something better to +think about.</p> + +<p>"Here, Dora, child, run and feed the fowls; they are calling for their +breakfast. You will find the corn-basket on the store-room table.</p> + +<p>"I should have thought you would have known better," she added, as the +child ran off, "than to talk such stuff before that baby, who is as +frightened as a bird at all times, with that scared look in her blue +eyes. Go home, Di. I've no charing to be done to-day, and you only +hinder Molly if your hands are not scrubbing or carrying, and she's +idle enough as it is. Here, wait a minute."</p> + +<p>And the mistress dived into the larder, reappearing in the space of +time that the old woman took to hobble across the kitchen to the door. +"I expect you haven't had your breakfast; gossip is as satisfying as +food, no doubt. Take this plate of potatoes and this bit of dripping, +and fry yourself a good meal, and to-morrow there'll be a day's work +for you here, for we shall be busy."</p> + +<p>Old Dinah grasped the plate with a thankful clutch as her bright +eyes twinkled greedily over it, but with her thanks there mingled +disappointed mutterings about the news she thought she had been the +first to bring, and Miss Silexa's reception thereof.</p> + +<p>Miss Pryse waited until her old pensioner had hobbled across the +courtyard, and out at the gate, then she shut the door with a sharp, +decisive slam, as if setting the seal to what she had been saying, and +stepped briskly through the now empty kitchen.</p> + +<p>Molly, at the present juncture of things, thought it prudent to be out +of the way. So, quickly putting on the kettle, she vanished into the +front parlour to set the breakfast.</p> + +<p>Her mistress did not follow her there, but turned into her father's +study, where we will take a sketch of her for the reader's benefit.</p> + +<p>The peculiarities of her morning toilet did not set off her tall, gaunt +figure to the best advantage—the faded calico lining pinned up round +her waist being all that was seen of the skirt of her dress. An old +brown woollen shawl, crossed and tied behind in a clumsy knot, covered +the body, and a pocket-handkerchief was bound closely over her hair in +lieu of a cap. She was nearly forty, but her keen grey eyes still kept +the restless activity of youth, and only the purest truth could stand +before their penetrating gaze. The broad forehead, the aquiline nose, +and firm, decisive lips, still bore testimony to the beauty of former +days, though time had robbed her face of its freshness. She was a lady +born—no one could doubt it who looked at her for an instant—but one who +utterly scorned appearances, or what people might say or think of her.</p> + +<p>The sun rarely caught her napping; for generally long before his rays +had warmed the shady corner of the valley in which the old house stood, +she was attending to her live stock in the farmyard, or, as she termed +it, "getting beforehand with the day."</p> + +<p>Sometimes there were visitors staying at the Rectory, but though it +were my Lord Bishop himself, it made no difference to Silexa Pryse—her +broom would be heard thumping down the staircase as usual, and her +voice calling to the luckless Molly to come hither and thither. St. +Elvis would have thought something had surely happened to the good +lady, if it had not seen her day by day tramp in high pattens to and +from the village well, with arms bared to the elbow, carrying her +dripping buckets, or holding her apron full of vegetables culled from +the kitchen garden on the opposite side of the road. Her hand, rough +and red with honest labour, was stretched out in friendly clasp, alike +to rich and poor, for a hearty shake.</p> + +<p>She was a general favourite, in spite of her sharp manner and still +sharper tongue, for no case of real poverty or deserving distress +was ever disregarded by her, though she was altogether merciless and +without pity, where virtue was held lightly or deceit discovered. +Kind-hearted to the very core, she yet lacked tenderness in manner; +and this it was that made little children tremble and turn away, and +the timid shrink from telling her their troubles. The hard, uninviting +shell held a sound kernel, but those who failed to penetrate the +outside would never know the worth concealed within.</p> + +<p>The study of the Rev. Theophilus Pryse appeared to have been furnished +nearly a century ago. The carpet scarcely revealed the straggling +pattern on its shabby thread-worn surface; the table with its numerous +clawed legs seemed ever on the defensive, and the straight-backed +chairs were about as hard and uncomfortable as wood and horsehair +combined could make them. Nevertheless, Silexa's duster still made its +daily careful circuit over the most superannuated furniture until the +last speck of dust sped swiftly off to settle elsewhere.</p> + +<p>On one side of the fireplace, against the dingy red and buff paper, +hung a framed sampler, which informed the inquiring reader that one +Margaret Pryse achieved this work of art early in the century. The +design was unique. Two trees of the candelabrum type stood on either +side of a square house, above the smoking chimneys of which rose an arc +of birds and flower-buds of rainbow-hues, surmounted by two crab-like +cherubs, who struggled to support between them a golden crown twice as +large as themselves. The words, "Be thou faithful unto death, and I +will give thee a crown of life," and "Gloria in excelsis," filled the +remaining space, beyond which an elaborate border completed the whole.</p> + +<p>Corresponding to this, on the other side of the old-fashioned chimney +mirror, was a portrait of a young girl roughly sketched in chalks. +Silexa remembered watching her brother draw every line of it, and as +she looked, the long, dreary distance of years seemed suddenly spanned, +and her only sister was standing beside her again. The story of the +wreck and the motherless babe at Porthmynwr recalled the history of +another life so vividly, that ere she was aware, tears had stolen into +her eyes, and she sunk down on the nearest seat, covering her face with +her hands.</p> + +<p>But the sound of the child's footsteps in the garden at once restored +her frigid dignity, and she hastily rose, vexed with herself for +having yielded to her feelings. No one should ever see her sorrow; it +was sacred, and invited no sympathy. None but God knew of the well of +tenderness that lay so deep beneath the still surface.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Meanwhile Eudora, on being dismissed from the kitchen, gladly escaped +into the dewy sunshine of the garden. The little lawn lay green and +sparkling in morning light. And though the storm of the previous night +had snapped the fastenings of the rose-trees nailed against the wall +of the house, leaving trailed and draggled branches desolate on the +ground, and leaves and twigs hurled and scattered about, there still +swayed a cluster of monthly rosebuds above the study window, freshly +opening in pearly pink, and shaking off showers of shimmering drops as +the breeze tossed them to and fro.</p> + +<p>The sight of sunshine and flowers brought a smile into the pale, +frightened, little face, their life and beauty dismissing some of the +fear that held her spellbound while listening to Di's dismal tale. On +she ran, brushing past the wet bushes until she came to the farmyard, +when the cackling chorus that always greeted the corn-basket began +at once, bringing more and more cheer into the child's heart, as she +watched the fluttering fowls scuffle and scramble for the scattered +seed. But while the small hand let the grain fall, her heart pondered +the words she had heard in the kitchen. How she longed to run to +Lettice Gwynne and ask her all about the matter!—Dear, kind Lettice, +whose cottage was of all others the retreat she loved best.</p> + +<p>But Di had said the dead body was lying there! Perhaps it was stretched +out beside the old chest where she and Davie played, and arranged their +seaweed and shells. No, she could not go there. But the dear little +baby! Di said there was a baby. Oh, how she had longed for a little +sister to play with and love in her lonely hours. She could remember +Ruth, and how Lettice used to let her hold her in her arms as she +sat on a low stool beside the cottage hearth, and now there was only +a daisy-dappled grave, and baby had gone away to God. Had God sent +Lettice this baby instead? Oh, if Davie would come and tell her. She +dared not ask Aunt Silexa. How could she find out?</p> + +<p>The child sauntered slowly back to the rustic seat beneath the willow +tree, thinking, thinking, until she was suddenly startled from her +reverie by her aunt's sharp voice calling her to come to breakfast. As +she ran lightly across the sward to obey the summons, Miss Pryse cast +another lingering look at the picture on the wall, mentally comparing +it with the one in the garden. The same blue eyes, shaded by soft, +silky hair, looked up towards the window, but the face of the little +one was paler and more thoughtful.</p> + +<p>"Come, Dora, be quick, and see that you rub your shoes clean before you +come in. There is always so much mud brought into the house, one would +need to be for ever cleaning here."</p> + +<p>The words fell chill and cold on the child's heart; she longed to ask +about the little baby at the cottage, as she came forward to join her +aunt, but the question died on her lips. Miss Silexa's reserved and +thorny manner drove little Dora daily farther from her, and prevented +her belief in the tender self-sacrificing love that in spite of all +really existed for her. Slowly, she followed her aunt into the parlour, +and in another moment the trembling hand of her grandfather was laid +lovingly upon the flaxen head. She timidly looked up into the face, +furrowed more deeply by affliction than by time, though his scanty +silver locks and bent frame hinted that the appointed time of man's +days on earth had nearly run.</p> + +<p>It needed no scrutinising glance to see that a heavy life-sorrow had +helped to dim the brightness of eyes that looked out with a settled +expression of calm sadness. A great grief was bringing down his grey +hairs with sorrow to the grave; his heart was heavy with the anguish +of a bereavement which is sometimes more terrible than a blank left by +death.</p> + +<p>"Well, my little love," he said, kissing the child; "I have been +waiting for you. Where have you been? Ah, Silexa," he added, turning to +open with trembling fingers the Bible for family worship, "this is sad +news from Porthmynwr."</p> + +<p>"Don't speak of it now, father," interrupted Silexa, glancing towards +the child, whose eyes were eagerly fixed on his face; "she has heard +too much already. I am going down to Lettice Gwynne's after breakfast +to hear the rights of the story; there are too many tongues clacking up +here; one cannot tell how much to believe."</p> + +<p>The elderly man sighed heavily and was silent. Then turning to the Book +of Revelation as Molly entered to take her place, he read,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the +first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea. And I John +saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, +prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a great voice +out of heaven, saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and +He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people, and God Himself +shall be with them, and be their God. And God shall wipe away all tears +from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor +crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are +passed away."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>The voice read on, though unsteady with emotion, and Eudora's eyes +filled with tears. Molly looked at the grey church tower opposite, +and watched the crowds of cawing rooks alight on the turrets and +grass-tufted niches. Miss Silexa sat stern and erect in her chair +with a determined expression on her face, and only He who knoweth the +secrets of all hearts saw her soul bow in its sorrow when they knelt +to join in fervent prayer for the unknown mourners of the brave men +who had been engulfed in the depths of the mighty waters, and for the +orphan baby cast up by the waves helpless and forlorn.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_3">CHAPTER III</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE LOCKET SET IN PEARLS</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>THE sun shone bright and warm, as Miss Pryse stepped briskly down +through the pasturelands of the valley towards Porthmynwr.</p> + +<p>People hardly ever went this way, because a good firm road ran parallel +to it on a higher level, but Silexa chose it because she wished for +solitude. Already scattered groups of twos and threes were setting +out on their search of inquiry from St. Elvis, and she cared not for +further talk concerning the wreck until she had sifted the subject for +herself. It stirred thoughts within her that made her heart ache with a +keen pang, and in this bitterness no stranger might intermeddle. So the +stream was her only companion, and the murmur of its sweet solo, softly +breaking the silence around, suited well her present frame of mind.</p> + +<p>Sunbeams following upon showers robed the meadows with an emerald +sheen, and the balmy air and quiet heavens told no tale of the previous +hurricane. Some long-horned black cattle, standing about in the +hollows, lifted their heads for a stare of dumb surprise at the lonely +figure, and then resumed their grazing.</p> + +<p>At length, rounding the bend of the hill, Miss Silexa saw the sea, +stretching out in a long sweep of blue across the horizon, smooth and +still.</p> + +<p>To her there was no beauty in the sea. For her, in "the laying bare +of sands, when tides retreat," there was no subtle charm, and her +ears distinguished not the chant of the wave-choir from rocky cavern +depths. The soundings of the sea spoke to her of sorrow and death, and +therefore she never sought the shore from choice.</p> + +<p>Those waters in their immensity never reminded her of the measureless +love of her Father in Christ, because she had never lost herself in its +depths.</p> + +<p>With reverent fear she worshipped Jehovah, as the omnipresent, +omniscient One; and she beheld afar off the Son of His love as the +Saviour of sinners, on whom all hopes of salvation must rest in death.</p> + +<p>But of the believing touch of the garment's sacred hem, and the receipt +of healing virtue in herself for the new life on "this" side the grave, +she knew nothing. Therefore life to her was a strange complexity, an +unravelling of dark threads, a steep hill to be climbed, while clasping +duty as the only way by which to reach the appointed goal.</p> + +<p>Her life lesson had been hard and bitter, and she had not learned its +meaning yet.</p> + +<p>The pierced Hand must uplift the curtain, behind which lie hidden God's +mysteries of love; the scales must fall from the eyes, before the +joyful fact can be chronicled, "Whereas I was blind, now I see."</p> + +<p>Silexa marched on, musing sadly, until the little brook parted company +by suddenly slipping under a fiat stone bridge, and mingling beyond it +with the waters, which now lapped lazily against the boundary wall of +the cottage.</p> + +<p>Beyond the jetty, there was a heaving groundswell, causing all the +boats at anchor to sway and swing against their moorings in noisy play. +The sun shone brightly on torn and flapping sails and outspread nets, +and on the hideous hulks, making their black, wet sides glisten in the +glow of morning.</p> + +<p>The door of Mrs. Gwynne's cottage stood open, and some people who were +talking in knots moved aside to leave space for Silexa to pass.</p> + +<p>The usual greetings in Welsh were exchanged as she went by, but no one +followed her over the threshold.</p> + +<p>The sound of the baby's cry made her stop for an instant. But Lettice, +catching sight of her, came forward quickly; and her calm peaceful face +brightened into a smile as the eyes of the two women met.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Miss Pryse, I'm right glad you've come. I was thinking I had best +step up to the Rectory, but did not see how I could leave until—the +inquest, you know," she added, with a sad look towards the inner door.</p> + +<p>"No, of course you could not," said Silexa decisively. "That is why I +came, but I cannot talk against the screaming of that baby. Poor little +thing! It is a pity it survived its mother, for life is a stormier sea +than the one it was saved from."</p> + +<p>David was seated on a low stool beside the hearth, his round rosy face +wearing an expression of subdued happiness as he rocked the little +orphan to and fro, and pressed the tiny face to his own, to stifle the +persistent cries that grew more piteous every instant.</p> + +<p>Lettice turned towards the old chest in the corner, and a tear fell on +the small flannel hood she took out.</p> + +<p>"Carry her towards the jetty, Davie, and mind you keep the shawl well +round her," she added, taking the baby from him to wrap her up tenderly +in hood and plaid.</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother," said Davie, stepping out with his precious burden in his +arms and a glad smile on his face. Baby's cries grew more distant every +minute.</p> + +<p>"That will be better," said Miss Pryse, seating herself on the settle. +"Now, Lettice, how did it all happen?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed and indeed, I can scarcely say, Miss Silexa. There was no +lifeboat, as you know to put off to save the poor creatures, and more's +the pity for a place like St. Elvis. Father and his mates say there +never has been such a wreck in these parts. To watch the signals of +distress, and see the poor creatures go down, without being able to +stretch a hand to save them; oh, it must have been awful! And the dear +little babe, who can tell us nothing, is the only one saved."</p> + +<p>"The child must go to the parish," said Silexa abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Never, Miss Pryse, as long as I am spared to her! The Lord has taken +my own little lamb to Himself, and she is well off there, though it was +hard to look into the empty cradle. Perhaps it was to make room in my +heart for the motherless babe now drawn from the waters. Anyway I hear +the voice saying plainly to me, 'Take this child and nurse it for me, +and I will give thee thy wages.'"</p> + +<p>"I call that blindly trusting in Providence, Lettice. Why, you cannot +afford to keep your own boy without help. By the way, if you 'do' +burden yourself with the baby, she is as much entitled to be on Lady +Ermyn Brande's fund as David is."</p> + +<p>"True, I did not think of that," said Lettice; "indeed, so she is, for +the mother is drowned, and most likely the father too. But even if the +trustees refuse to give her the grant, I am not afraid to trust to the +promise, 'The Lord will provide,' for I have never found it fail me +yet, never, not in my darkest days."</p> + +<p>Miss Pryse was silent, but her heart's musings ran thus: "A dead sorrow +is better than a living one, and if both burdens are laid upon one +back, it cannot be borne without staggering under the load. When the +future is a blank, with no cheer in prospect, how can one trust and be +thankful? ''Tis our lot, and we must bear it like oxen at the plough.'</p> + +<p>"Well, Lettice," she added aloud, "you see I can't take the child, for +Eudora is enough to provide for and look after. But I will help you all +I can, and stand godmother to the babe at her baptism, which had better +take place on Sunday, after the funeral."</p> + +<p>"As you think best, Miss Pryse, but what name shall we give her? She +may have been baptized already, for anything we know. See, this is the +locket I took off the body last night; perhaps you can tell what the +letters are across the hair."</p> + +<p>Miss Pryse examined the monogram carefully, and her fingers trembled +visibly as she said—</p> + +<p>"It is a double E, Lettice. You must give the child a name beginning +with E. Better call her after Dame Ermyn Brande, as she will be one of +her orphans."</p> + +<p>Before Lettice could reply, a shadow darkened the doorway, and the +village doctor stepped in.</p> + +<p>"I have not had a minute to come before," said he. "Called to a sudden +case ten miles off. Very sad news this, Miss Pryse; ship went down like +a stone, I hear. Several bodies washed in farther down the coast since. +It is supposed to be a ship from Liverpool bound for Ireland. So you've +got the poor baby, Lettice. Well, it has drifted into a mother's arms, +at any rate," he added, as Lettice, opening the door into the inner +room, signed for the doctor and Miss Pryse to enter.</p> + +<p>The calm dignity on the sweet face disclosed to view made the doctor +pause in his speech for a few minutes, and they looked in silence.</p> + +<p>"A strange, sad mystery," he said, at length, "which will be buried +with the quiet dead. Is there no other trace?—No letters, or papers?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing but this locket," said Lettice; "I was just showing it to Miss +Pryse. Stay," she added, "I was forgetting the little shirt I took off +the baby when she was brought in dripping wet," and Lettice ran quickly +to the hearth where the tiny garment hung.</p> + +<p>The mark was eagerly sought, but though material and work were of the +finest quality, not even a single letter was discernible. While Silexa +searched, she felt conscious of a mist before her eyes.</p> + +<p>And she turned back alone once more into the inner chamber before the +tears had time to gather and fall. What made her bend over the quiet +sleeper and impress a kiss on the smooth brow? She could not tell why +she did it, and almost surprised herself by the suddenness of the +action. This dead stranger was nothing to "her." Why should her heart +be moved towards her, and a yearning pity take the place of frigid +sternness? That kiss was her seal to one of God's beatitudes, though +she knew it not.</p> + +<p>"I am a fool!" she muttered, half aloud, as the cessation of voices in +the next room recalled her to herself.</p> + +<p>She found Lettice alone and the doctor gone.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Meantime, David had staggered along with baby over the rough path past +the limekiln, in the direction of the jetty. The brilliant sunshine +made her blink, and she stopped suddenly short in her screaming, to +stare with wondering eyes on the masts and rigging against the blue sky.</p> + +<p>"Davie's darling!" murmured the boy, kissing away the large tear-drops +that rested on the little face.</p> + +<p>And baby stretched out both arms and gave such a sudden jump that he +well-nigh lost his balance. But he held on tight, and in spite of the +fresh sea-breeze that seemed to dispute possession with him by blowing +the corners of the shawl about, he climbed over the last bit of rock +with her, and stepped on the level jetty, finally seating himself on a +bit of timber, where he could look over the wall out to sea.</p> + +<p>"Hulloa, Davie!" cried a sailor. "What's that you've got?"</p> + +<p>"It's our baby," said Davie, getting very red at the thought that +perhaps some one else might claim her. "Our very own—mother said so—and +you'd best not come too near her, or she'll cry ever so again."</p> + +<p>"Why, Jem," said a comrade, "that's the very one Old Roger cut from the +spar and wrapped in the net. Bless her little heart! Let us come and +have a look at her."</p> + +<p>And a group of men soon collected round the children.</p> + +<p>One and another bent down, and tenderly touched the waxen fingers, and +ventured to kiss the little face. But when a pair of brawny arms were +stretched out to take her, she hid her face in David's breast, and +would have cried if he had not quickly changed the game to Bo-peep.</p> + +<p>At this moment, Old Roger Rudd was climbing up the slippery steps from +one of his boats, and came suddenly on the scene unperceived by all but +baby, who began to struggle in Davie's arms.</p> + +<p>It may have been the old man's fancy, but he thought she knew him, and +stretching out his arms to her, he cried, "Come to granddad, my beauty!"</p> + +<p>And baby went with a happy smile, and from that hour the hearts of Old +Roger and his mates were hers for ever, and she took possession of +Porthmynwr in her own right like a little queen.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_4">CHAPTER IV</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE DESIRED HAVEN</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>IT was Sunday, and the old parish church of St. Elvis had been well +filled for the Welsh and English morning services, which follow closely +upon one another. And during the interval before afternoon worship, a +Sabbath stillness brooded over valley and shore, as if to breathe the +Saviour's loving message to weary hearts, "Come unto Me, all ye that +labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."</p> + +<p>The simple fisher-folk were conscious of the holy hush, as they +gathered in silent groups near the cottage by the creek, outside the +door of which a coffin was resting on wooden chairs. Tears fell softly +from many eyes, as the white-haired and venerable-looking pastor +appeared to take his place among the mourners.</p> + +<p>For a moment he bent his uncovered head in silent prayer, and then in +a distinct, though tremulous voice, gave out the following hymn, which +was sung in Welsh—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"'Why do we mourn departed friends,<br> + Or shake at death's alarms?<br> + 'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends<br> + To call them to His arms.<br> + <br> +"'Why should we tremble to convey<br> + Their bodies to the tomb?<br> + Since there the dear Redeemer lay,<br> + And cheered its dreary gloom.<br> + <br> +"'The graves of all His saints He blessed,<br> + And softened every bed;<br> + Where should the dying members rest<br> + But with the dying Head?<br> + <br> +"'Thence He arose, ascending high,<br> + And showed our feet the way;<br> + Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly<br> + At the great rising day.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>The echoing rocks took up the notes of that song of hope as a gentle +wind wafted it up the valley. And little Dora, who stood next to her +aunt, looked up into the blue sky, and thought the angels must be +singing too.</p> + +<p>The hymn died away into silence, and the long procession wound slowly +along the road towards St. Elvis. The service proceeded, the solemn +silence only broken by the wailing of the babe, who beside the open +grave, all unheeding of what was passing around, cried bitterly in the +motherly arms of Lettice Gwynne.</p> + +<p>"A sorer sight St. Elvis never looked upon," said one of the sailors, +as he followed the others into the church for afternoon service. "God +bless the baby!"</p> + +<p>"Ay, mates, for sure He will. He has given His word for it," was Roger +Rudd's fervent response, as he wiped away a heavy tear-drop with his +coat sleeve.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Eudora went meekly into the Rectory pew with her aunt, after a wistful +but ineffectual appeal to be allowed to stay beside Lettice and the +baby.</p> + +<p>To the child, this stately compartment was an imprisoning cage. Once +inside it, she saw nothing but the bobbing up and down of a few high +Welsh hats, even when she stretched her diminutive height to the utmost +while standing on the seat during the singing.</p> + +<p>All that came within her range of vision, when seated in one of the +dusty corners, was first and foremost Aunt Silexa herself, who never +failed to occupy the opposite angle, sitting sideways, so that the +child always saw her sharp profile against the oaken boards.</p> + +<p>Her working dress was exchanged for a black silk gown somewhat shiny +with age, though rarely taken from its lavender-strewn wrapper except +on Sundays. An old-fashioned black cloth cloak, which had been her +mother's, and a black straw bonnet plainly trimmed with black silk, +completed her costume. Silexa despised gloves, and had not a single +pair in her possession.</p> + +<p>Looking beyond the high edge of the pew, Eudora saw a bit of the +dark-groined roof, or it might be her grandfather's silvery head and +strikingly handsome face, as he stood in the pulpit, against one of +the mouldy Norman arches; while immediately above her, near enough for +her to spell out every letter, line upon line, was an ancient marble +tablet, bearing the following inscription:—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;"><em>TO THE MEMORY OF</em></span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;"><em>DAME ERMYN BRANDE,</em></span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><em>RELICT OF SIR GEOFFREY BRANDE, BART.,</em></span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><em>OF CASTLE LLANRI,</em></span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;"><em>IN THE COUNTY OF PEMBROKE.</em></span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;"><em>BORN FEB. 1720.</em></span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;"><em>DIED MAY, 1798.</em></span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 12.5em;">—————</span><br> + <em>As a bequest to her native town of St. Elvis, the orphans of mariners +shipwrecked in sight of Porthmynwr, if dwelling in the town, shall be +entitled to the sum of two pounds sterling per annum, until they attain +the age of sixteen. If boys, a free education shall be granted them in the +Grammar School of St. Elvis, likewise endowed according to the last will +and testament of the said Dame Ermyn Brande.</em><br> +<span style="margin-left: 12.5em;">—————</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><em>REQUIESCAT IN PACE.</em></span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>This tablet had been one of Eudora's earliest lesson-books. And +whenever she sat in the pew, her eyes would stray towards it until by +long practice she had made out all the letters, and their meaning began +to dawn dimly, though the long words still puzzled her sorely. The +"Requiescat in pace" she concluded at last, after much contemplation, +must be a part of Dame Ermyn's name.</p> + +<p>Eudora wondered if the dirty little marble angels at the head of the +monument felt frightened at night when the church was shut up, and it +was all dark and cold, with the wind howling through the trees outside. +She remembered hearing Old Dinah tell Molly about the night of All +Hallow E'en, and how she and some more old village crones had assembled +in the churchyard at midnight to listen to the shrieking of spirits +in the wind, prognosticating who would die in the ensuing year. This, +and similar ugly superstitions, came crowding into the child's mind, +haunting it with fear and dread. The words of the beautiful service +fell unheeded on her ear, and the Saviour's message to the little ones +did not reach her, neither could she see the Good Shepherd standing +near to welcome the shivering lamb to His warm embrace, and shelter it +on His breast for ever.</p> + +<p>With a guilty start, she was suddenly and gladly aware that the service +was at an end, and that Miss Silexa was unfastening the door of the pew.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes, they were standing beside Lettice and the baby round +the old time-worn font, in which baby was immersed (as was the custom +in that part of Wales among both gentle and simple), and received the +name of "Ermyn Silexa."</p> + +<p>After the ceremony, Lettice took her back into her arms, praying +fervently that the babe might indeed "not be ashamed to confess the +faith of Christ crucified, and manfully to fight under His banner, +against sin, the world, and the devil, and to continue Christ's +faithful servant unto her life's end."</p> + +<p>Little Ermyn, wrapped in a warm blanket after the immersion, was then +carried to the Rectory kitchen, and dressed beside a bright fire.</p> + +<p>Eudora's fears all vanished when she was really kissing the dear little +one, and heard Lettice whisper, "Come down to the cottage to-morrow, +my pet, and you shall nurse her as long as you like, and Davie and you +shall have a nice play together, when he comes back from school. Now we +must be getting home. Where's father and Davie?"</p> + +<p>And Lettice stepped out into the sunshine, which beamed brightly on the +sleeping infant.</p> + +<p>Eudora stood long at the Rectory gate, watching the groups dispersing +to their different homes in the village and down the valley. The +sky was grey and dimpled, and there was a fresh stirring wind among +the tree-tops. The child listened to the wind whispering among the +branches, as the last sunbeams lit up her hair, and with a little sigh +she turned into the house, for her heart had followed David and his +mother to the old cottage by the creek.</p> + +<p>Lettice walked along in the evening glow beside father and child, +thinking of her dear ones who had passed beyond the sunset into +"eternal day and endless light," and the words of the benediction were +echoing in her heart:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'The peace of God that passeth all understanding shall keep your +hearts and minds through Jesus Christ our Lord.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>She felt that this peace was part of "the rest that remaineth to the +people of God," in the midst of the storm and unrest of this world, the +"peace, be still" that Jesus speaks to those who know His voice and +follow Him.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Why did this peace not reign in the heart of the aged Theophilus Pryse, +as, weary and worn-out with the duties of the day, he sought his silent +study?</p> + +<p>He had been telling his hearers of the love of God in Christ, and yet +in his own heart there was a dreary blank. There was not a Gospel truth +that he did not know and believe, yet his cry from the depths was,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'I am troubled, I am bowed down greatly, I go mourning all the day +long . . . Mine eyes fail for Thy word, saying, When wilt Thou comfort +me?'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>What was the shadow between him and his God? Alas! He thought the Lord +had dealt hardly with him; the windows of his soul were darkened with +sorrow, and he could not say with Eli,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'It is the Lord: let Him do what seemeth Him good.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Or with Job,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Shall we receive good from the hand of the Lord, and shall we not +receive evil?'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>The exceeding bitter cry of David was his:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for +thee!'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>No wonder that the light of the glorious Gospel of the blessed God +failed to shine forth from him in its fulness. It was hidden under the +bushel of sorrow, and the light struggled out but dimly.</p> + +<p>The careless and hardened remained indifferent, because the fire was +lacking; and "the joy of the Lord" not being his own experience, he +could not speak of its strength to those who were needing its cheer in +dark and toilsome days.</p> + +<p>These thoughts passed through his mind to-night as he mused sadly in +the firelight, until with streaming eyes he fell upon his knees, to +falter out,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Lord, be merciful unto me: heal my soul; for I have sinned against +Thee . . . That which I see not teach Thou me.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>And the Lord, who is "very pitiful and of tender mercy," heard the cry +of that sorrow-laden soul; the answer was already on its way. God's +angel had been waiting until the moment when he should be commanded to +"fly swiftly" to the weary waiting one, whom the Lord had been teaching +and leading, though by a way he knew not, towards "the city that hath +foundations, whose builder and maker is God."</p> + +<p>The Lord of the kingdom had also provided means for feeding the flock +with food, which the pastor's hand was too feeble to give them.</p> + +<p>He has always His "hidden ones," His faithful few in reserve, to set +the stream flowing that from various causes sometimes fails to run in +appointed channels; and Roger Rudd, the lowly fisherman, was one of +these.</p> + +<p>The old sailor had long been in the habit of gathering about him on a +Sunday evening a number of his companions in labour, and any others who +cared to come and hear something out of the Book of God.</p> + +<p>"They are too busy like in the week," he would say, "to give much heed +to the Holy Scriptures, so I like to have them in and talk to them a +bit about the real country beyond the waves, and the dear Saviour who +wants to take us there."</p> + +<p>It was all real to Old Roger, and he made it real to his hearers; this +was why they heard him gladly.</p> + +<p>Every corner of the cottage was carefully arranged, with a view to +giving a comfortable and cheery welcome to those who strayed in +to listen, and soon every nook and cranny was filled, and the old +patriarch sat in the midst, calmly turning over the leaves of his great +Bible, waiting to begin.</p> + +<p>Lettice had one foot upon the rocker of the cradle, and David knelt +as close to it as possible peering over the edge with his bright eyes +to watch the sleeping baby, who, being an object of general interest +throughout the fishing-hamlet, was an evident cause of the cottage +being more crowded this evening than usual.</p> + +<p>"I think, mates and neighbours," Old Roger began, "the Lord is very +good to put so much about the sea into His blessed Book, as if on +purpose for us poor sailors, as well as for those we leave ashore to +look out for our return. It seems as if it was because He knew we +should often be in danger, and need the comfort out in the cold and +wet, shipping heavy seas, and fearing rocks ahead, at the mercy of +winds and waves. Ah, we need something besides a plank betwixt us and +the waters then; we want to see the Light of Life as our beacon star, +and to feel the 'everlasting arms' underneath us, and hear the voice of +Jesus say above the roaring of the storm,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'It is I; be not afraid.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"I hope the poor drowning ones who went down last week before our very +eyes had Him very nigh them, for an arm of flesh could not save them in +their sore distress. If they called upon him, they were surely holpen, +and would find the path through the sea was only the shortest way home. +I think we'll read one of the stories about Jesus and His fishermen +to-night, in the fourth chapter of St. Mark, from the 36th verse. Here, +Davie, your eyes are younger than mine, and ye'll be a better scholar +than your old granddad; read us the words, my boy."</p> + +<p>So David took the book and read:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'And when they had sent away the multitude, they took Him even as He +was in the ship. And there were also with Him other little ships. And +there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so +that it was now full. And He was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep +on a pillow: and they awake Him, and say unto Him, Master, carest Thou +not that we perish? And He arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto +the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great +calm. And He said unto them, Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye +have no faith? And they feared exceedingly, and said one to another, +What manner of man is this, that even the wind and the sea obey Him?'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Ay," said Roger meditatively, as if the subject was too mighty for him +to handle, "St. Matthew, when he tells us the same tale, calls it 'a +great tempest,' so I reckon they were finely tossed about, and it was +pretty nigh over with them. Ah, some of us have felt like that before +now, when darkness was round about, and drowning stared us in the face. +We thought God had forgotten us, and that He did not care. But He is a +loving Father, and He don't want us to think hard thoughts like that, +so He has told us by His prophet Isaiah that—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'He hath measured the waters in the hollow of His hand.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Just think of that! Why, then, He must be holding us in that hand as +safely as if we were on the dry land.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Thou rulest the raging of the sea: when the waves thereof arise, Thou +stillest them." (Ps. lxxxix. 9).<br> +<br> + "Jesus says, 'My sheep . . . shall never perish, neither shall any man +pluck them out of My hand." (John x. 28).<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Never perish! No, not even if they drown, for the same hand that +holds them will rock them to sleep, to wake them up in glory. Our +blessed Lord slept soundly on a pillow, though the waters were roaring +and filling the boat. We also may have a pillow to sleep on in the +storm—the pillow of the promises—and with our heads on that, our sleep +shall be sweet:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Yea, we 'shall lie down, and none shall make us afraid.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Well, we must go on with the Gospel story. The poor sailors came in a +great fright to wake up their beloved Master.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'And He arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, +be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Ah, mates!" said the aged seaman, looking round on his hearers with +kindling eyes. "It must have been grand to see Him, and hear Him say +those words. Can't you see those great roaring waves fall quiet as a +lamb at His feet? And the wind hushing its breath to listen to His +voice? We have the same Master with us to-day, if we will but hear Him. +He is saying the same words, 'Peace, be still.'</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Peace, peace to him that is far off, and to him that is near, saith +the Lord; and I will heal him." (Isa. lvii. 19).<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"We are lost, lost, hopelessly lost! Rigging, spars, and timbers all +rotten! And sin and death, like hungry waves, are swamping our boat. +The ship is sinking. Eternity is near. What must we do to be saved? +Stretch out the hand of faith and take hold of Him.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Lord, save me . . . I perish.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"A look at the Crucified One, and we are safe.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us +from all unrighteousness.' (1 John i. 9).<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"For—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'All we like sheep have gone astray . . . and the Lord hath laid on +Him the iniquity of us all.' (Isa. liii. 6).<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Oh, believe and live; cry to the Holy Spirit to open your blind +eyes that you may see the Lord of Life, and then take Him to be your +Saviour. You will need no other, whether on sea or shore.</p> + +<p>"This is all written for those who—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; these +see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep.' (Ps. cvii. +23-24).<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Davie, read in the hundred and seventh Psalm, lad."</p> + +<p>So David found the place and read:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'He commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the +waves thereof. They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the +depths: their soul is melted because of trouble. They reel to and fro, +and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit's end. Then they +cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He bringeth them out of their +distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are +still. Then are they glad because they be quiet; so He bringeth them +unto their desired haven. Oh that men would praise the Lord for His +goodness, and for His wonderful works to the children of men!'" (Ps. +cvii. 25-31).<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"You have got the Lord's offer to-day," resumed Roger; "don't say 'No' +to it. Some think if salvation is so easy to be got, they can stretch +out their hand any day to take it. No hurry now. That won't do, my +friends. Don't put out to sea in a leaky boat; she may be all tight and +trim for fair weather, but how about the storm? The water will soon +rush in and swamp the ship when it finds out the hole in her. The Lord +is bidding us now 'to make our calling and election sure' by believing +on Him. Will you listen? It may be too late to-morrow. 'Jesus of +Nazareth passeth by.'"</p> + +<p>"Who," said Roger, with vehemence, rising and looking round, "who will +have Him for their own to-night?"</p> + +<p>"I will," and "I," said one voice after another, carried beyond +themselves by the reality of the message so faithfully delivered, while +a sob here and there escaped from the heaving breasts of the strong men +who listened, and were bowed by the Holy Spirit of the Lord.</p> + +<p>"Will you?" said Father Roger solemnly. "Will you have Him for your +Master, and serve Him faithfully 'even unto death'? Can you by the +power of the Holy Ghost promise this? Then you may trust and not be +afraid; then you may be sure your Saviour is always in the ship beside +you, come storm or shine. When your hearts are failing you for fear, +and human help can do nought for you, turn away from the tossing waves, +and hide your face in the bosom of Jesus, and think of the heavenly +harbour whose lights will give you a brighter welcome than any you ever +got on earth. Never forget to take the Master aboard—that is the secret +for us poor sailors.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'The floods have lifted up, O Lord, the floods have lifted up their +voice; the floods lift up their waves. The Lord on high is mightier +than the noise of many waters, yea, than the mighty waves of the sea."<br> +<br> + "'The sea is His, and He made it: and His hands formed the dry land. +O come, let us worship and bow down: let us kneel before the Lord our +Maker. For He is our God; and we are the people of His pasture, and the +sheep of His hand. To-day, if ye will hear His voice, harden not your +heart.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Now, let us sing—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "'Why those fears? behold, 'tis Jesus<br> + Holds the helm and guides the ship;<br> + Spread the sails and catch the breezes<br> + Sent to waft us through the deep,<br> +To the regions where the mourners cease to weep.<br> + <br> + "'Led by Christ, we brave the ocean,<br> + Led by Him, the storm defy;<br> + Calm amidst tumultuous motion,<br> + Knowing that our Lord is nigh.<br> +Waves obey Him, and the storms before Him fly.<br> + <br> + "'Though the shore we hope to land on<br> + Only by report is known,<br> + Yet we freely all abandon,<br> + Led by that report alone;<br> +And with Jesus through the trackless deep move on.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>A simple prayer, followed by fervent Amens, closed the service; but Old +Roger would never have thought of giving it so grand a name.</p> + +<p>"It was only a bit of a talk with the lads," he said.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_5">CHAPTER V</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>THE parish of St. Elvis had been richly endowed by different testators +belonging to the county, who at various times had left part of their +wealth to be laid out in specified charities; and as Miss Silexa was +the almoner of the Rectory, much of the money passed through her hands.</p> + +<p>She took care to dispense the benefits only where they were deserved +and actually needed, thereby at times giving great offence to some of +the farmers and others, who considered they had as much right to the +dole of bread and clothing as their poorer neighbours.</p> + +<p>But she held her ground with so much independent spirit and true +kindliness, that there were few who did not submit to her sway with +grateful contentment.</p> + +<p>Her store-room was a sight; for not only did it contain food and +clothing, but medicines, herbs, healing ointments, and cordials.</p> + +<p>Dr. Llewellyn, whose acquaintance we made in Mrs. Gwynne's cottage, +called her his assistant-surgeon, for well could he rely on her prompt +attention and unfailing nerve in cases of emergency, when others would +shrink from the sight of suffering.</p> + +<p>Silexa rose into her noblest self on these occasions, for, stern and +unflinching though she was where duty was concerned, she was a true +woman at heart, full of tenderness and sympathy.</p> + +<p>Monday was her busiest day in all the week, and to-day there was an +unusual press of pensioners at the back door. Molly sung gaily at the +scullery pump, as she pared her potatoes; and Old Dinah was clinking +about on her pattens with pail and broom.</p> + +<p>The rain streamed off the roof with a spluttering sound into the +gutter, and there was a lowing of cattle in the sheds across the yard. +The cocks and hens clucked and strutted up and down, pecking and +scratching, and claiming a right of way over the threshold, to continue +their researches for scraps on the lime-ash floor of the kitchen.</p> + +<p>These border raids were occasionally disturbed by a loud swish from +Miss Silexa, and they fluttered out with resentful clucks and a +scuffling rush, to join the delighted ducks, who found countless +puddles wherein to disport themselves.</p> + +<p>The mistress was seated on a low stool by the kitchen hearth amid +flying feathers, for she was busy plucking a goose, which seemed an +endless labour, as she was interrupted every five minutes by some one +knocking.</p> + +<p>"Come in, Bessie Thomas," she cried; "I can't be for ever on the flit +to and fro the door; be quick and tell your errand, for I have no time +to waste."</p> + +<p>"If you please, ma'am," began the woman thus admonished, "I've come up +to say Lewis, Lewis' wife had twins this morning, and she's sent up to +know if you will let her have another square of flannel and some more +baby clothes, as we're driven up short."</p> + +<p>"How provoking!" Silexa ejaculated. "As if there were not enough babies +in the world without extra ones. Such a thriftless body I never knew in +all my days, always living from hand to mouth, never anything ready or +laid by, and her man earns as good a wage as any in St. Elvis."</p> + +<p>"She's a weakly poor soul," interrupted the woman, "and eight +children's a hard handful."</p> + +<p>"Ay, but," rejoined Silexa, "that's no excuse for idleness and want +of forethought. Folks don't deserve to be helped who won't help +themselves."</p> + +<p>Yet, notwithstanding this severe sentence, the store-room keys were +already jingling in Miss Silexa's hand. And the woman was soon laden +with a good-sized bundle, and a can of hot soup for the little ones, +with orders to come for more as long as the mother was laid aside.</p> + +<p>Meantime, a hungry-eyed girl stood waiting her turn.</p> + +<p>"Please, Miss Pryse, Annie's worse, and mother can't get her to eat +nothing."</p> + +<p>"And that's no wonder," said Silexa sharply, "considering the dirt and +rags the child is kept in. Your mother ought to be ashamed of herself, +keeping her house like a pigsty, and not even a clean seat for me to +sit down on the last time I called. What is your father? He always +takes care to keep out of my road, but I saw him slinking out of 'The +Jolly Sailors' on Saturday night, and that's where all his money goes, +and Annie and all the rest of you may starve for aught he cares. Come +down at one o'clock, and there'll be a pudding for Annie. And see that +you wash your face and hands before you show yourself here again, and +tell mother I'll step up towards evening."</p> + +<p>And so the petitioners came and went.</p> + +<p>Miss Silexa prescribed and scolded alternately, packing up food and +medicine, and giving homely advice where it was sought, and words and +smiles of encouragement to the hard-working and industrious, who seemed +to gain fresh zest for their labours by seeing her ever brisk and busy +as a bee. Thus, the morning hours sped away.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Eudora's dreamy eyes often peeped round the corner leading to the +kitchen, trying in vain to secure a moment's attention from her busy +aunt, or a word of explanation concerning the sampler she had been +stooping over at the study window.</p> + +<p>"It's no use, grandfather," she said at last, with a little sigh; "it's +all wrong, and Aunt Silexa always sends me away. I wish people never +made these horrid things. I don't like writing my name with a needle +and thread at all, and these ugly flowers are not a bit like the ones +that grow in our garden. I wish it would stop raining, that I might go +down to Lettice."</p> + +<p>"Eh, my little love! What is it you are prattling about?" said her +grandfather, who had been deaf to her short soliloquy, buried in his +books and writing. "Has the boy been down with the letters yet?"</p> + +<p>"No, grandfather, but I'll watch for him." And the child set herself to +count the beaded drops of rain that collected along the woodwork window +and dripped on the sill below.</p> + +<p>The postal arrangements in St. Elvis were most primitive, for the +mail-cart, besides bringing the letters from the nearest town, sixteen +miles off, had baskets and parcels stowed away under its box; for the +crazy old coach ran only once a week.</p> + +<p>These were the only regular means of inland communication with the +world that the inhabitants of the village had at their command. So it +came to pass that the arrival of the mail was never very exact. After +the letters were sorted in the village shop, they were entrusted to an +honest farmer-lad who delivered them at the various houses.</p> + +<p>To-day he was later than usual. But at last, Eudora caught sight of +Dick's rosy face appearing round the laurel hedge, and she ran out to +receive the two letters he held in his hand.</p> + +<p>Her grandfather quivered and grew white as he broke the seal of +one, and a mist came before the dim eyes when he read the following +communication—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "MY DEAR FRIEND,—I lose no time in forwarding to you news which +I am sure will do something towards lessening a grief of many years' +standing. This morning I received a mysterious packet in an unknown +hand, enclosing bank notes to the amount of £200, with the word +'Restitution' written inside. All means by which I might trace this +have been carefully concealed.<br> +<br> + "Can you suggest a solution of the mystery?<br> +<br> + "I need not add how greatly I rejoice with my valued friend that the +blot on the family honour is at last wiped away. My hope and trust +now is that the self-banished prodigal may some day be restored to +his father. I will spare no pains in seeking to ascertain the clue to +this, but the seal of secrecy is always hard to break. I am, yours most +faithfully,—<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">"WILLIAM LYNDWOOD."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>The child watched with a frightened interest the effect of the letter, +as her grandfather perused each line again and again in a vacant way, +as if he could not take in its meaning. Seeing him at length sink back +in the chair in a faint, she summoned her aunt from the kitchen by a +sharp cry.</p> + +<p>His daughter was at his side in a moment, and Eudora was hastily put +out of the room and the door closed upon her, so she ran off to relate +the scene to her chief confidante, Molly, who in her turn wondered what +had come over master.</p> + +<p>But when the mistress appeared again in the kitchen an hour afterwards +to dish up the dinner, she betrayed no sign that would give any clue to +curiosity, either in face or manner, and Molly's sidelong glances were +met by a steady look from the grey eyes, which the girl interpreted as +meaning "Mind your own business."</p> + +<p>Outside, the heavy rain-clouds were lifting, and a glint of golden +sunshine lighted up the shining laurels. And as Eudora went softly to +fetch her grandfather in to dinner, she saw a happy smile on his face, +that somehow seemed strange to the wondering child, who unconsciously +always associated sadness and dolour with his worn though kindly +features.</p> + +<p>"May I go to Porthmynwr, Aunt Silexa?" was the request timidly +proffered at the conclusion of the meal.</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you keep on the high road and don't get wet."</p> + +<p>This permission was joyously hailed by the child, who, duly defended +in cloak and clogs, set out for the cottage. The mile of road was +soon traversed, and Lettice heard the little feet come trotting up +the causeway, and rose to open the door and welcome her pet. Baby was +standing holding on to the bar of a chair, looking very proud of her +achievement, but she tottered forward with a sunny smile into Eudora's +open arms.</p> + +<p>"Come, and let me feel if your feet are wet, my little one," said the +motherly Lettice, taking the child on her lap. "Davie will be back at +four o'clock, and you can have a nice play, and I'll take you home +myself by and by."</p> + +<p>There was something about Lettice that made children run to her like +chickens to the sheltering wing of the mother-hen. She neither scared +nor spoiled them, and a word or look from her was sufficient at all +times for rule and discipline. She was quite as important in her sphere +as Miss Silexa in hers, and her life was fully as busy, though it +flowed more quietly and evenly.</p> + +<p>She was often summoned to scenes of sickness, and her gentle presence +always seemed to soothe the sufferer. Not only did she possess much +knowledge and skill in simple remedies, but she ever carried with her +the healing balm of Gilead for sin-sick souls. She loved to tell them +of the Good Physician and tender Shepherd "who came to seek and to +save that which was lost", and was one of the few to be found among +either gentle or simple who sacrifice themselves for the good of others +without knowing that it "is" a sacrifice. Her cheek often paled with +the weariness of a long night-watch by the bedside of a neighbour, but +she never complained, and was quite as ready to do it when asked again, +even though the fatigue must follow a hard day's toil, for she had to +earn her own living, and her store was scanty enough sometimes.</p> + +<p>She was like a bit of warm sunshine to Eudora's timid heart. And since +the child had grown big enough to go down by herself to Porthmynwr, +Lettice had seen much more of her, and did her utmost to disperse the +unchildlike gravity that almost always rested upon the pale little face.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Gwynne," said Eudora, hiding her face on the good woman's bosom, +"please, do the white ghosts walk about in the churchyard when it's +dark? Dinah told Molly so, and I'm so frightened."</p> + +<p>"My poor little dove! And that is what they have been scaring you with, +is it? I wondered what made you so white yesterday. What a shame!" +murmured Lettice indignantly, as she took off the child's bonnet and +tenderly stroked her hair. "No, my lamb; don't you ever listen to such +tales again, for they're not true. I'll tell you something better to +think about. Do you remember the snowdrops and crocuses and lilies that +your Aunt, Miss Silexa, plants in the garden?"</p> + +<p>Eudora nodded.</p> + +<p>"Well, they are not pretty flowers when she puts them into the ground, +but only hard, dry roots, so she covers them up with soft warm earth, +and then the snow and rain come down, and they keep so still and quiet +all the winter. In the spring, the kind, bright sun shines down, warms +the earth, and the little flowers begin to show their bright eyes, and +grow beautiful day by day, and when you see them you clap your hands +and say, 'Spring is come! The flowers are here.'"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Eudora, becoming interested, "and I put some always in my +own garden."</p> + +<p>"My dear little lady," continued Lettice, "the churchyard is called +God's garden; and when those who love Jesus die, their spirits go to +heaven, and their bodies are laid to sleep in the quiet grassy grave, +and angels keep watch over them. Some day, when Jesus comes again and +calls them, they will rise up out of the dark earth like the flowers, +and He will put them on a glorious body that shall never die any more, +and they will live for ever and ever with Him."</p> + +<p>"Will Jesus take care of 'me' when I go to sleep in the churchyard?" +asked Eudora earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my darling, if you will be one of His lambs now and love Him."</p> + +<p>A new revelation seemed dawning across the child's face as she looked +up and listened. Lettice paused, for she saw the little mind was +grappling with a difficulty.</p> + +<p>"But then," added Eudora slowly, and as if thinking out each word, "why +do they put such big heavy stones upon some of the graves, because the +poor people under them won't be able to rise up quickly when Jesus +comes, will they?"</p> + +<p>This was a thing evidently hitherto undreamt of in Mrs. Gwynne's +philosophy, and for a moment the good woman was fairly baffled. But the +next instant, the words of Scripture came to her aid, and she replied, +"When Jesus our Saviour lay in the tomb, God sent a shining angel to +roll away the stone; and He will do the same when He calls His people +to come out of their graves."</p> + +<p>Eudora seemed much relieved, but presently shook her head, and said +very decidedly—</p> + +<p>"But I would rather have a grave with only daisies on it, like little +Ruth's. Don't cry," she added coaxingly, putting up her small hand to +stay the tear that was finding a course down the careworn cheek. "Tell +me some more. I want to see Jesus, and ask Him to love me. Can I speak +to Him now?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, quite easily," answered Lettice, smiling through her tears; +"and He will be sure to hear, because He is everywhere, and you have +only to shut your eyes and pray,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Lord Jesus, make me one of Thy little lambs; give me Thy Holy Spirit, +and wash me in Thy precious blood, and I shall be whiter than snow.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Let me hear if you can say it."</p> + +<p>So Eudora said it with her little hands folded.</p> + +<p>And Lettice continued: "Be sure, my dear, He 'will' love you, for He +says now, as He said on earth,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Suffer the little children to come unto Me.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Lettice then kissed the child, and set her down off her knee to go +after baby, who had scrambled away on a voyage of discovery out of +sight behind the cupboard-bed.</p> + +<p>Eudora took her accustomed seat on the low stool by the fire, quite +ready to nurse and rock her to sleep, while Lettice tidied up the room +and got ready for tea. Presently, with a merry whistle, David ran in +from school, and the games by the old chest were carried on with great +spirit, while Eudora's cheeks grew rosy, and her eyes sparkled. She was +a happy child again.</p> + +<p>Lettice led her home in the twilight, and as they passed the quiet +churchyard, Eudora did not shiver with her usual nervous dread, but +looked at the deepening shadows there, and thought about "God's +garden," and the angels keeping watch above the quiet graves.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>It had been a relief to Miss Silexa to get rid of the child, for since +the arrival of the agitating letter in the morning, a restraint had to +be put on words and looks. The secrets of the Rectory were jealously +guarded; and though the villagers knew much of the sad past, and had +embellished facts with an extra amount of fiction, yet they did not +know all. They were obliged to content themselves with vague guesses at +the truth, while Miss Silexa carefully fenced every outlet for gossip, +and found silence her best security.</p> + +<p>Molly retailed her account of the reception of the letter as given her +by Eudora. And this was repeated from mouth to mouth, until it grew +into the most wonderful story, and the whole village was agog.</p> + +<p>Many pairs of eyes watched Miss Silexa come out from the Rectory gate +in the afternoon. But the expression on her face was unsatisfactory in +its stoicism, as it suggested nothing to elucidate Molly's whisper. The +good lady looked as usual, and walked steadily on to the post-office, +where she slipped a letter into the box, and calmly resumed her walk.</p> + +<p>The gape-seat of the village was an ancient stone cross in the centre +of the principal street. On its time-worn steps, both in summer and +winter, a group of idlers of both sexes might generally be seen ready +to discuss with a will any event that had happened in their own or more +distant neighbourhoods, or to chatter over things that concerned or did +not concern them.</p> + +<p>"I reckon that letter could tell us something," said the first speaker; +"'tis not often Miss Silexa writes one herself."</p> + +<p>"Maybe they've heard some news of the young master," suggested a +second, "as the old gentleman took on so."</p> + +<p>"Not likely," interposed a third, "unless, indeed, he's dead, which +for certain is the truth, for its twelve years this fall since he went +away. Don't you mind how old Dick Howell said three months ago, when he +was up on the hill one moonlight night to watch for the ghost-funerals, +he saw one come out from the Rectory gate as plainly as I see my hand +afore my face? He counted six carriages and a hearse, and the horses +were black."</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay," nodded the gossips, while one and another produced the +small stocks of facts they had to build upon, which had been added to +from time to time, and served up again and again as a savoury dish of +scandal.</p> + +<p>But Miss Silexa upheld the honour of the Rectory by her silence, and +never once stooped to sift the stories that sometimes reached her by +a side-wind and those who had been foremost in circulating them would +slink away abashed if confronted by her steady eye. She asked no +sympathy, for she did not believe in it.</p> + +<p>"'Cause every man to go out from me,'" was the cry of her spirit, as +she sought where to weep and bury her sorrow out of sight. She had +dropped her treasures one by one into a sullen sea, and could not find +them again, for, "He alone never loseth what is dear to him, to whom +all things are dear in Him who is never lost." ¹</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<br> +¹ St. Augustine.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_6">CHAPTER VI</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>A LIGHT IN THE TUNNEL</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>SILEXA neither saw nor heard as she passed the town-cross, for her +heart was busy with its own bitterness, going back through the long +years swiftly and steadily, as if searching for the hopes she had +buried one by one. The grass grew on those graves, but the graves were +still there; and the unexpected letter had come as a resurrection voice +to revive her hopes. Yet she shuddered to think that they might be as +short-lived as the spring leaves which autumn winds were now sweeping +withered and brown to her feet.</p> + +<p>The eternal beauty of the resurrection springtide, for which "the whole +creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now," had not +touched her stricken heart with its glow of anticipated gladness. +Therefore, she could not "with patience wait for it," but yearned for +present satisfaction, mourning to find each earthly treasure crumble +into dust and ashes at her touch.</p> + +<p>The straggling streets were soon left behind by her swift footsteps, +and clusters of cottages by the wayside grew fewer, until solitary ones +at rare intervals sprinkled the side of the hill she ascended.</p> + +<p>It was a bare, rough bit of road, and the modern stone house on the +top overlooked the whole village and valley, commanding a magnificent +view of the broad blue bay that stretched away from Porthmynwr. Dr. +Llewellyn lived here, and the good people of St. Elvis had not ceased +to wonder at his choice of this exalted situation in preference to the +snug house near the Rectory, where his predecessor and partner had +lived and died.</p> + +<p>Not a few grumblers were found to complain bitterly of the steep and +stony way that had often to be surmounted before his services could be +secured. But Miss Silexa was not among these, for she loved the pure, +fresh breezes, and knew every hill for miles round. So she soon reached +her destination, and had plenty of breath to spare to inquire for Mrs. +Llewellyn, as an elderly servant appeared in response to her ring.</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am, I'm sure she will see you," was the answer, "though, +indeed, I'm sorry to tell you she has had a day of uncommon suffering. +Master has been summoned again to Llanri, which, as you know, ma'am, is +ten miles off. Please step into the parlour, and I'll go upstairs and +tell my mistress."</p> + +<p>In a few minutes, Miss Silexa was following her guide up the staircase +and into the invalid's room.</p> + +<p>Somehow this room never suggested sickness; it always seemed full of +cheer and happy life, giving a mingled impression of soft tinting and +comfort, though the surroundings were of the simplest character. Silexa +always stepped very softly across this threshold, for a gentle spell +seemed to bind her here, which she could never understand but only +feel. She had to make her way across the length of the room to the +westerly window, where streaks of sunlight played lovingly about the +invalid couch, as if to console the patient sufferer lying there.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Llewellyn knew, alas, that in this life her feet could never tread +those green slopes she loved to gaze on, nor climb the purple hills now +bathed in sunset glory. She must wait for "the far better," "the far +more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."</p> + +<p>The face resting among the cushions belonged to a woman past middle +age, and bore the stamp of great suffering, which, instead of ageing +the features, had beautified and ennobled them, giving a refinement +which seemed to shield her from every rough or ungentle touch.</p> + +<p>Silexa never had found a heart-friend in woman all her life. Persons, +however intimate, could only get a certain length, when a repelling +hedge of thorns barred the approach, and effectually secured her +against further intrusion. And yet in her self-will, she had often +yearned for sympathy, but the price demanded was too high, therefore, +she put it from her. An unseen victor, however, had stolen round by +a secret way, and, all unawares to the holder of the citadel, was +storming and taking possession.</p> + +<p>This was no other than the gentle invalid. A perfect stranger to St. +Elvis until the last few years, when her husband brought her to try the +effect if its celebrated climate, she knew nothing of the sad history +of the Rectory, except what she had gathered from the gratuitous +information of those about her, and what she had learned by her own +quiet intuition.</p> + +<p>Silexa liked her from the first, having never met any one with such an +utter absence of curiosity in her nature. And she could talk freely, +for Mrs. Llewellyn possessed that rare talent which invites confidence, +but never forces it. So it came to pass that the weary heart often +sought the shade and shelter of that sick chamber, and all unwittingly +leaned upon the strength found there.</p> + +<p>To the self-reliant Silexa, this study of glad and submissive +patience was a perpetual puzzle. She could believe in stoicism and +self-imposed martyrdom, but "rejoicing in tribulation" was with her +an impossibility. Therefore, she had been inclined to doubt if such +a thing was ever genuine, until she found it existing here in living +force. Indeed, her new friend's faith bore not green leaves only, but +showed fair blossom and pleasant fruit, inviting the wayfarer to turn +aside and rest under its shadow.</p> + +<p>"How kind of you to come! And I know you are so busy," was the cheery +greeting, as the soft eyes sought to read the meaning of an increased +expression of care and anxiety that rested on her visitor's face. "Sit +there," she added, pointing to a comfortable chair beside her, "and you +will get the benefit of these bright blinks of sunshine."</p> + +<p>But Silexa had already lifted over a sensible-looking cane chair, as +she never felt comfortable in a low easy seat. And Mrs. Llewellyn, +remembering her preference, did not remonstrate.</p> + +<p>"Where is my little pet, Eudora? I have not seen her since the terrible +wreck."</p> + +<p>"I sent her down to Mrs. Gwynne after dinner," was the reply, given +somewhat absently, as the restless grey eyes wandered away across +the wide expanse of sea with a hungry yearning in them. Then, as if +recalling her thoughts, she added resolutely—</p> + +<p>"The child mopes, and I do not know what to do with her. I have no +book-learning to give her, and if I had my hands are too full to attend +to it, and she idles about getting her head full of Molly's nonsense. +I am anxious to do my duty by her, though she is as scared and timid +as any hare whenever I come near her, as if she thought I was going to +hurt her. I don't know what ails the child."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Llewellyn was silent for some minutes, as her thoughts roamed +away to the grim old Rectory wrapped in its sadness, and to the little +life growing up within its grey walls stunted and sickly, for lack of +sunlight, moral and physical. Then she said quietly, "Will you let her +come to me for two or three hours every day? I have been longing to ask +you, but feared to take her from her grandfather."</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said Silexa proudly; "thank you all the same, but I did not +mean to ask favours. A child is always a plague and worry, especially +in sickness. I would teach her myself, only what learning I had has +grown rusty; and my mother considered my education complete when I had +finished a sampler and done a piece of worsted-work for her chair."</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt you could do a great deal for the dear child if you +had the time to bestow on her," replied Mrs. Llewellyn, smiling at her +friend's self-depreciating remark; "but do let me help you!"</p> + +<p>"It would not be at all fair," continued Silexa; "you have enough to do +to bear your suffering without any additional worries."</p> + +<p>"She will not trouble me," pleaded the quiet voice; "it will be only +a pleasure to have her. And when I am in pain, she will find her own +amusement. Do not deny me my request; it will be a real kindness to let +me have her. Please allow her to come to-morrow, and we will try the +experiment."</p> + +<p>"You are very kind," said Silexa at last, gratefully, seeing that Mrs. +Llewellyn really wished it. "I will speak to my father about it, but +will you promise to send her home when she is troublesome?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will," was the ready response.</p> + +<p>And the bargain was concluded, as Silexa closed the discussion by +producing a basket of new-laid eggs carefully arranged in fragrant hay.</p> + +<p>"I will put them here in a safe corner," she said, cutting short the +flow of grateful thanks. "I am so glad you can take them, for we have +plenty. Now tell me about Mary."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I had such a bright letter from her this morning; she is working +very hard now, and has taken the place of pupil teacher that she may +save us expense, and still have the advantages of the school. Maurice +is a great expense to us now, and will be more so every year."</p> + +<p>"How old is he now?"</p> + +<p>"Eleven, and Mary is sixteen; you hardly know her at all, only having +seen her in the holidays. And I was so ill the last time she was at +home, she was able to go out very little."</p> + +<p>"No, but I liked her bright, sensible face, and thought she was made of +the right stuff for getting through the world well."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Llewellyn smiled and was silent, but in her heart there echoed her +Saviour's words,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'I pray not that Thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that +Thou shouldest keep them from the evil.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Then she said, "Our little Dora will soon learn to love her. And when +Mary comes home next summer, she will be able to go about with her +and see some of the lovely spots on this strangely wild and beautiful +coast."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eudora is like a wild goat among those places; she does not know +what fear is in climbing about."</p> + +<p>Silexa paused in the middle of her speech, and a strange shadow crept +over her face as she added, "I feel as if she were my own; I have had +her ever since she was born."</p> + +<p>"Have you indeed? Then I don't wonder you are so fond of her. She was +born in the old home, then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, just six years ago; her father was drowned a few days before."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Llewellyn looked away towards the sunset when she saw the deathly +pallor that overspread the face of the narrator at these words, and +connected it in her mind with something she had heard long ago. In that +moment, her woman's heart had read the secret of Silexa's life, though +her intuitive delicacy guarded the betrayal of the discovery.</p> + +<p>And when Miss Pryse heard the quiet comment, "Poor orphan babe!" she +little guessed the truth was no longer bolted and barred from human +ken. And a short sigh of relief escaped her on finding the conversation +had turned into another channel.</p> + +<p>The tender hand had found the wound; the healing must be given silently +and unconsciously.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"What a pleasure it will be for Eudora to go down and see the baby! You +must ask Lettice to bring it up to show me very soon."</p> + +<p>"She told me she intended to come," said Silexa; "it is a fine healthy +child. I suppose you have heard about the christening?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes; and my husband has been making endless inquiries about the +wreck, but can hear nothing that throws any light upon the parentage of +the child. I wonder who the infant belongs to."</p> + +<p>"I don't think Lettice wants it claimed now," replied Silexa; "though I +tell her she is a fool to burden herself with it."</p> + +<p>"She will have her reward," Mrs. Llewellyn said gravely; "and I trust +the little one may prove a joy and blessing to her both now and in +after years. How is your father, Miss Pryse?"</p> + +<p>"Very feeble, thank you; he has been upset to-day by news from a +distance."</p> + +<p>"Indeed," was the quiet response; "I am sorry for that; he is too weak +to bear any agitation."</p> + +<p>Silexa inwardly chafed at this calm comment, though she scarcely knew +why. There was a tempest in her heart, and though sore tossed, she was +too proud to ask for succour.</p> + +<p>The family trouble could not be a secret, for every one in the village +knew about it. Silexa had been often conscious of a silent sympathy on +this subject from the doctor's wife; therefore she half hoped for a +question from her to-day which would give her an opportunity to speak +of what had caused hope to shine anew like a beacon light.</p> + +<p>Oh for a voice to tell her it was no phantom! But pride again stepped +in; she would not solicit sympathy, and turned away from the look of +questioning love in her friend's eyes to say, bitterly, "One is doomed +to disappointment in this life, and hope is but a shadow to those who +pursue it."</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Hope that is seen is not hope,—'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>said the gentle voice;</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for? But if we hope for +that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Faith and patience are our wings in trouble. Have these failed?"</p> + +<p>"I 'have' waited for twelve long years," was the bitter answer.</p> + +<p>"Ah yes, I know you have; and waiting years are always long ones."</p> + +<p>Silexa was silent.</p> + +<p>"But our Heavenly Father is so loving; He never lays a burden upon +us that we are not able to bear, because He giveth more and more of +His all-sufficient grace to support and cheer. I remember during my +journey to St. Elvis, the train had to pass through a long, dark +tunnel, and as my eyes sought to pierce the gloom, I noticed at +intervals bright lights had been placed, whose rays lighted up the +bare dripping stones. And every here and there, a shaft from above +let in the light of heaven, as if to give promise of sunshine beyond. +This, thought I, is a picture of our troubles. We shrink and fear as +we plunge into the darkness, but every now and then we see the lamps +of the promises shining so brightly that we cannot help thanking God +and taking courage. And the light of heaven is let in upon our path, +telling us that though 'weeping may endure for a night, joy cometh in +the morning.' If I mistake not, a light has been shining down into the +tunnel to-day in the shape of that letter."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is nothing to cling to," said Silexa sadly. "No name given, or +any clue by which we can trace it."</p> + +<p>"And is there nothing to be thankful for?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, 'one' thing," replied Silexa sternly; "the disgrace of our family +has been wiped away—the money has been restored."</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" said Mrs. Llewellyn. "He will devise means for the +banished one. Only trust Him. It is such a comfort to think He knows +the end from the beginning, and that nothing happens by chance."</p> + +<p>This was a new creed for Silexa, and she was but dimly conscious of its +comfort, though a glimmering ray had stolen into the poor, dark heart, +in spite of closed windows and drawn-down blinds. Yet she felt, as she +went out from that gentle presence, she was no longer a lonely woman, +for a friendly hand had pointed out the error of her life.</p> + +<p>"Hitherto she had subdued her calamities, not by the power of a faith +which sustains, not by the effort of a patience which has learned to +wait, but by a careless, practical stoicism; by a secret defiance of +the decrees of Providence." ¹ Strength in weakness, life in death, +wealth in poverty, joy in sorrow; these paradoxes she had never +reconciled, therefore the words, "'Not my will, but Thine be done,'" +yet lacked their interpretation. It is a mysterious handwriting to all +who stand not on the heavenward side of the cross of Christ.</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<br> +¹ Madame de Gasparin.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>From this time, bright days dawned for the little Dora. And all through +that winter, in storm or shine, she ran off to spend happy, busy +mornings with her kind friend at the top of the hill.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Llewellyn found an apt pupil in the child, and from her couch +she would watch with silent admiration the steady perseverance and +application that in time accomplished the neatly written copy or +rightly proved sum.</p> + +<p>She soon discerned that Eudora was one of those children whose clever +brain would, if allowed full scope, soon wear out the delicate body, +and therefore she very wisely made recreation preponderate over study. +The eager little gatherer would bring in treasures from wood and +shore—bits of lichened sticks, ferns and fungi, leaves and mosses, +shells and stones.</p> + +<p>They were always called dirt and rubbish in the Rectory, and Eudora +never ventured to carry them farther than the secluded corner of the +garden, where the weeping willow received and guarded them. It was +indeed a strange new joy to have them welcomed and admired. And this +gave fresh interest to her walks, as she was ever seeking for another's +pleasure as well as her own.</p> + +<p>But best of all, she loved her lesson from the Bible; for to the child +this had always been a dry, sealed book. Now her world was peopled with +Scripture characters. How she loved to hear those grand Old Testament +stories of the beautiful garden of Eden, the building of Noah's ark, +the call of Abraham, the meeting of the faithful Eliezer with Rebekah +by the well, the story of Joseph, and the wanderings of the children of +Israel. With what breathless anxiety did she listen to the history of +Daniel's fearless integrity, and his night with the lions, and how she +trembled with the wicked king Belshazzar at the mystic handwriting on +the wall.</p> + +<p>And the sweet story of Bethlehem, though oftenest told, was never +tiring; for her little heart had opened to let the love of the Saviour +in; and He welcomed her to Him to be His child for ever. She sang about +Him in the beautiful hymns she learned. And when her kind teacher was +unable to attend to her, which often happened during her bad attacks of +pain, she would creep behind the curtain in the window, and her soft, +sweet voice was like David's harp to the sufferer, seeming to lessen +the great agony.</p> + +<p>In this quiet retreat, seeds were sown in little Dora's heart,—seeds +of gentleness and patient meekness under suffering, which would bring +forth fruit in after years. By being a ministering child, she was +unconsciously fulfilling her Saviour's command, "'Take My yoke upon +you, and learn of Me'"; for our share in the burdens of others must be +part of the learning that will make us like Jesus. This early training +taught her to be a sympathising and tender nurse, and, by watchfulness +and obedience, to become the ready helper and comfort of her invalid +friend.</p> + +<p>Kind Deborah, the old servant, was spared much thought and anxiety when +the child was with her mistress, for she would remember the hour for +the medicine, and her young feet would trot about on errands, and fetch +the daintily prepared tray from the kitchen, where her sweet face and +pretty ways always ensured a welcome.</p> + +<p>Even this little child had the unspeakable pleasure of feeling she was +of use in the world. And though Mrs. Llewellyn would often secretly +regret that so fair a flower should be blooming more among the shadows +than the sunshine of life, she hoped and prayed that Eudora might be +all the holier and purer for it, and grow up like the spotless lily of +the valley, whose retreat is often only to be traced by the fragrant +odour it diffuses around.</p> + +<p>And thus the little life was circled by love and varied interests, +and in the latter, Baby Ermyn held no small share, for scarcely a day +passed without a happy run down the valley to the cottage to play with +the toddling creature, who always welcomed her with a cry of delight.</p> + +<p>The unselfish, motherly heart of Lettice marked with joy the change +that had transformed the delicate, sickly blossom into a bright, +healthy flower that could now rejoice in the sunshine of God's +beautiful world.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_7">CHAPTER VII</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>A PARABLE FROM NATURE</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>THE winter was a long and dreary one for the cottagers in St. Elvis and +Porthmynwr. A scarcity of provisions, owing to high prices and lack of +labour, pinched the poor, and was the cause of much want and suffering. +There was sorrow also; for stormy seas and hurricanes had greatly +swelled the ordinary roll of casualties along the coast.</p> + +<p>The Rectory kitchen was besieged by hungry people; and Silexa and +Lettice worked away, as only brave hearts can, striving to do all in +their power for the needy and helpless. Yet there was this difference +in the work of the two women. Silexa, careful and cumbered, worked +with her eyes fixed only on the task in hand. Lettice laboured all the +lighter, because in her toil she found leisure to sit at the Master's +feet and hear His words.</p> + +<p>Both had their reward; but in the empty void of one heart these words +ever echoed and made themselves heard, in spite of toiling hands and +busy brain, "One thing is needful." The other heart was so filled and +satisfied with Christ Himself, that it could only take up and repeat +the glad assurance, "Your joy no man taketh from you."</p> + +<p>The winter snows heaped themselves up across the undulating plains, +thereby shutting away this quiet little Welsh corner from the rest of +the great world. Few cared to traverse the dreary high road at this +inclement season; so the story of its joys and sorrows never went far +beyond the village, as in their quiet round the months moved slowly +onwards towards the spring.</p> + +<p>It came at last, and "primrose stars in the shadowy grass" shone in +the Rectory garden and the green hollows of the valley. The stream in +its gay gladness hurried sparkling along through daisy-tipped meadows, +inviting little children to come and play beside it, while the aged and +infirm crept to their cottage doors to warm their stiff limbs in the +reviving sunshine.</p> + +<p>It happened on a bright May morning, while the dew yet rested on the +grass, that Lettice was seen wending her way towards the breezy cliffs, +carrying the child Ermyn in her arms. She sang a snatch of pleasant +song, for her heart was in tune with the May gladness, and the little +one laughed back at her in merry glee, clasping a dimpled arm still +tighter round her neck.</p> + +<p>They were going towards the "sainted well" which stood in a thymy field +amid broad sunny slopes that stretch down to the edges of the red and +purple sandstone cliffs, whose feet are washed by the fickle waves. The +well was sunk in a hollow in the side of a hill which rose abruptly +behind it; sprays of ivy and tufts of fern formed its canopy, and waved +pleasantly to the winds as they came up from the sea. But no sunbeam +could ever pierce the grot within, where lay the icy, sparkling waters, +which ebbed and flowed with the tide, yet were always fresh and sweet. +Rude steps cut in the sandstone led down to the bottom of the well, the +depth of the water at fullest being about three feet.</p> + +<p>The villagers had ever regarded it with the greatest veneration, for +tradition said its waters sprang up miraculously for the baptism of a +holy saint, and that it was endowed with healing properties for persons +suffering from rheumatism and other ills; also a special blessing was +supposed to rest on the babe whose limbs were often dipped within the +fern-fringed fountain.</p> + +<p>Lettice could hardly help being tinged with the superstitious reverence +that surrounded this sacred spot, for she had been taught from her +earliest childhood to venerate and love it. No water seemed so fresh +and pure as this, and she would often come with her pitcher to fetch +a draught of it for some poor sick one, who fancied a drink from its +cool recess more than anything else. Lettice firmly believed with many +others that there was a special virtue in these waters; and therefore, +now that the warm days had come, she determined her little Ermyn should +share in the benefit, and accordingly brought her every day for a dip +in the sacred spring. The fearless, hardy child certainly throve under +the treatment, returning rosy and joyous from these morning rambles.</p> + +<p>Lettice watched with motherly pride the development of health and +beauty in her cherished nurseling, who daily grew dearer to her heart. +She loved to see the dark brown eyes raised to hers with each childish +appeal, and to hear the innocent prattle at her knee; for the little +one seemed always happiest when beside her.</p> + +<p>Baby fingers would waken her in the morning with their soft touch, +and tiny feet trotted after her through the rich meadow grass in the +pastures hard by, or climbed the sunny uplands if the cows had strayed +higher in search of the herbage they loved. The dumb creatures knew +the little child as well as their gentle mistress; for while Lettice +filled her pails with sweet, warm milk, Ermyn would stand fearlessly +at her side, and put out her small fingers to be licked by the great +rough tongues, or run off delighted for handfuls of grass and flowers +to feed them with. Sometimes she would tumble over and roll down a +gentle slope, for her bare, rosy feet were not very steady yet; still +she never seemed to mind, but was up again in an instant. Shoes and +stockings were as yet an unknown luxury to the little maid, for Lettice +never cared to hamper babies with them until they were old enough to +run upon the roads, as she had a notion that it was much more healthy +to let the little feet have the benefit of fresh air and sunshine.</p> + +<p>Strangers often came to St. Elvis in the bright summer time, and in +course of their ramblings about Porthmynwr would not unfrequently stop +and speak to the uncommon-looking child, so strangely unlike her pale, +hard-working mother.</p> + +<p>Whenever this happened, jealous pangs would assail the heart of +Lettice, for fear her treasure might be claimed and taken from her. She +was always curt and reticent in replying to remarks or inquiries made +about the child, and the locket never saw the light of day. Yet Mrs. +Gwynne was pleased when people noticed her beauty, and Ermyn became the +possessor of many a penny and bright threepenny piece, which the mother +put by in a little box as a future store for her darling.</p> + +<p>David mounted guard over his pet whenever he was not at school, and +was her most devoted servant. She would stand and watch for him on +the little bridge where the brooklet slipped away to join the sea, +and directly she caught sight of him would run off through the soft +grass to meet him, and like a mischievous elf, could never resist the +pleasure of turning to chase the ducks. It was the rarest fun to her +to see them launch upon the heaving waters of the creek with flying +splashes, but she did not mean to be unkind, for she loved all birds +and animals, and neither David nor Lettice had ever chidden her for it.</p> + +<p>The boy was constantly devising new schemes for her amusement, and she +soon discovered that with him she had only to ask and have. He would +cut little wooden boats for her to sail in the brook; they would then +launch them among reeds and grasses, and running down to the head of +the creek, watch them appear from under the bridge, when the fairy +craft would be welcomed by shouts of laughter and clapping of hands. +Then he would take her to all his favourite haunts and hollows up the +valley, and climb its cragged sides to get the flowers she fancied. +They would have long plays among the planks of timber on the jetty. And +sometimes on a holiday, Old Roger would take them round in his boat to +a lovely white-beached cove, and call for them again when he had done +his fishing, unless they got tired, and went home by St. Elvis.</p> + +<p>There was not a sailor in the hamlet who did not love the child; and +she always accepted their rough endearments and kindly words with +the dignity of a little duchess. And when there arose quarrelsome +discussion as to who should carry her down the steps to the boat, she +would patronisingly single out the one she wished to do it, and so +settle the matter, soothing the disappointed ones with a bright smile.</p> + +<p>She was thoroughly the child of the hamlet, and there was not a man +who would not have risked his life for Ermyn, so that Lettice had no +fears for her safety, when she allowed her to find her way to the jetty +alone, which she was soon able to do.</p> + +<p>Old Roger loved to see her about, and she often trotted towards him as +he sat mending his nets, or arranging his tackle below the causeway. +And many an idle moment did she beguile him into, while answering her +questions and doing her bidding.</p> + +<p>Ermyn did not go to St. Elvis very often, for Lettice generally went by +the high road, and had enough to carry with her baskets and marketings +without the weight of the child. But she had been taken more than once +to see Mrs. Llewellyn, who was always interested in her, and helped +Lettice, by making garments and giving advice about the little one.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Miss Silexa rarely went down to Porthmynwr, for she had enough to +attend to at St. Elvis. So it happened that she saw very little of her +godchild until she was five years old, when one day, having occasion to +go in that direction, she visited the cottage.</p> + +<p>Lettice was busy ironing, so Miss Pryse, who hated sitting with her +hands before her, took up an iron and helped her.</p> + +<p>Ermyn was playing and talking to herself beside the old chest, keeping +school with a row of stones she had arranged, in lieu of pupils. The +two women talked, and Silexa furtively watched the child. Presently she +said, "Ermyn is old enough to go to school now; when are you going to +send her?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, not yet," pleaded Lettice. "I could not let her go to St. Elvis +alone; and Davie teaches her every evening. She knows all her letters +now, and is beginning little words."</p> + +<p>"Oh well, then, there is no hurry. Come here, Ermyn; I want you."</p> + +<p>But Ermyn did not want Miss Silexa, and turned away with a wilful +little shrug of her small shoulders, to resume her play.</p> + +<p>Lettice spoke, and a word or look from her was sufficient. The little +rebel crept shyly towards Miss Pryse, as she sat down, and beckoned her +over. Ermyn raised her large brown eyes with a far-away wondering look +in them, as the lady lifted her upon her knee.</p> + +<p>Silexa never could make children talk; a timid shrinking and a silent +awe was invariably the reception she met with at their hands, and it +troubled her, though she did not betray her disappointment.</p> + +<p>There was silence in the room while Silexa earnestly contemplated the +baby features; then setting her down on the floor again, she said +abruptly to Lettice—</p> + +<p>"Do you ever see a likeness to any one there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Lettice, "but I thought it was only my fancy."</p> + +<p>"Fancies are more troublesome than facts sometimes," muttered Silexa. +"I wish this one had never come into my head."</p> + +<p>And the strong woman rose, and walked towards the cottage door, where +she could see nothing for the mist that had suddenly dimmed her eyes.</p> + +<p>"The child will alter," said Lettice quietly, going on with her ironing.</p> + +<p>"She will never lose those beautiful eyes, Lettice. I never saw any +like them except—"</p> + +<p>No need to mention the name both knew so well. It had not passed +Silexa's lips for years, and those about her forbore to utter it in her +presence. Yet "many waters cannot quench love; neither can the floods +drown it"; her lost and dead ones were still vividly before her. How +she longed to snatch that little unconscious child, and press her to +her aching heart. It could not be, and she felt sorry she had spoken.</p> + +<p>Lettice watched her sadly, and silently prayed that "the Holy Ghost the +Comforter" might enter that stricken heart, and bring peace and joy +from a loving Father, through "the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour +Jesus Christ."</p> + +<p>Silexa little guessed that this request was going up, for as she bade +her humble friend farewell, she only thought the burden was too heavy +for her, and that she was bearing it alone. Yet she was dimly seeking +after the God of her life. She was unwittingly a learner in His school, +though she quarrelled with the lessons.</p> + +<p>"We see God's decrees when they bring forth their fruits, all actions, +good and ill, sweet and sour, in their time; but we see not presently +His blessed end, and the good that He bringeth out of His holy and +spotless counsel. We see His working and sorrow; the end of His counsel +and working lieth hidden and underneath the ground, and therefore we +cannot believe. We see red earths, unbroken clods, furrows and stones; +but we see not summer lilies, roses, and the beauty of a garden." ¹</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<br> +¹ S. Rutherford.<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Silexa left the cottage, and stood on the causeway for a moment, as +if hesitating whither to go next, then slowly turned in the direction +of the jetty, picking her way among loose stones and slippery seaweed +below the wall where Roger moored his boats. She finally climbed up to +a bare boulder of rock above the tide-mark, where she sat down, and set +her face seawards.</p> + +<p>It was low tide; and the curving Roman jetty stood high and bare from +its foundations, and the creek looked nothing better than a slush-lined +way. The rocks, fringed with seaweed, made a picturesque and irregular +coast-line, while from them, here and there, hung chains yellow with +rust, by which boats were fastened. The waters outside the jetty heaved +and swelled, as if impatient to hasten their meeting with the fresh +stream that had been flowing down steadily from the hills to meet the +sea. But the brook had lost all its joyous ripple as it neared the +shore, and was oozing sleepily through slimy green seaweed and forsaken +rocks.</p> + +<p>"A picture of my desolate heart," thought Silexa; "every joy dried up, +and empty spaces left that nothing can fill."</p> + +<p>And the tears she had restrained in Mrs. Gwynne's presence fell in +warm drops upon her hand, which was instantly raised to dash them +impatiently away. But they cleared her vision, for when she looked +again, she saw the stream, though but a slender thread, struggling +towards the sea.</p> + +<p>"It will reach it at last," she thought. "O my God! That I might reach +Thee! Is it true that we may lose ourselves in the ocean of Thy love? +Oh, to get away from this miserable self for ever! But it cannot be. +With such a past as mine, which will haunt me till the day of my death, +how can I forget?"</p> + +<p>Poor Silexa, she read but half the parable nature was spreading out +before her. The mill-stream crept but a short way down the creek, when +the returning tide approached to welcome it. The boats heaved gently, +and began to rock against the advancing undulations, while the ocean +lay calm and broad beyond. Deeper and deeper it swelled towards the +shore, until the unsightly mud was covered and all the rocky hollows +filled up, and a blue band of bright sparkling water girdled the rocks. +The mountain stream had found its home; its wanderings had not been in +vain. So is it when we set out to find our God and Father. When we are +yet a great way off, He comes to meet us, and we lose ourselves in Him.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>While Silexa mused by the shore, Mary Llewellyn seated herself in the +westerly window overlooking the bay, beside her mother's couch. And +a smile of glad pleasure overspread the face of the invalid as she +saw that the loveliness without caused the active fingers to drop the +half-stitched wristbands, while the bright eyes took a long look down +the valley.</p> + +<p>"Mother," she said, at length, turning from the window towards her, +"you don't know what good it does me, when I am in London, teaching, to +think you have this to look at."</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling; there should not be a repining thought in the midst of +such beauty. I often think of the 23rd Psalm when I look down on those +pleasant slopes and follow the winding of the green ribbon that marks +the course of the stream. My Lord has indeed made me 'to lie down in +green pastures, and led me beside the still waters.' 'My cup runneth +over,' and it is such a joy to know that He is filling it."</p> + +<p>"Mother, how can you be so patient in such a suffering life as yours? +I don't think I could bear it as you do, for little things make me +impatient."</p> + +<p>"I have had my lesson to learn, Mary dear, and failed as long as I +tried to do it by myself. At last I just gave up struggling to master +it in my own strength, and then God Himself was my Teacher. My own will +was broken, and His perfect will was put in its place, and the yoke +became easy and the burden light."</p> + +<p>"But you pray that you may be made well, mother, don't you? I ask that +for you every day."</p> + +<p>"And your prayer is being answered, my child. It 'is' well, and it +'shall' be well. To be made a vessel meet for the Master's use, even +though tried and purified by the fire of suffering, is not this to be +well? To know that He is sitting as the Refiner, until He sees His own +image reflected in the tried silver, is not this rest and peace?"</p> + +<p>"But, mother, God is our Father, and full of mercy and love. It cannot +be His pleasure that His loved ones should suffer."</p> + +<p>"No, and that is why we are told, 'Though He cause grief, yet will He +have compassion according to the multitude of His mercies. For He doth +not afflict willingly nor grieve the children of men.'" (Lam. iii. 32, +33).</p> + +<p>Mary was silent for a few minutes. Then, as she watched a group of +clouds slowly closing over a bit of blue sky, she said, "Yet the clouds +must be very heavy sometimes, and days of pain must be dark ones."</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'No chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous,—'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>repeated her mother.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruits of +righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.'<br> +<br> + "'Wherefore let them that suffer according to the will of God commit +the keeping of their souls to Him as unto a faithful Creator.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"I 'have' committed all to Him, and the care of it I leave entirely +with Him, for He hath said,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'I the Lord do keep it: lest any hurt it, I will keep it night and +day,' and 'He that keep thee will not slumber.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Mary was about to reply, when a knock at the door interrupted the +conversation.</p> + +<p>"If you please, miss," said Deborah, "Widow Gwynne's son has come up to +see you and Miss Eudora would like to go out in his grandfather's boat +to-morrow morning, because he can take you round to Clythwr Cove, while +he goes a-fishing, and call for you again; if you will please to say +what time you will be on the jetty."</p> + +<p>"How delightful!" cried Mary. "And we will take dear little Ermyn, too. +But no, I cannot go," she added, looking at her mother; "we should be +away for hours."</p> + +<p>"Do not be uneasy on my account, darling. I am so accustomed to +solitude that I have grown to enjoy it, and it will be a greater +pleasure to me to know the sea breezes are brightening your pale London +cheeks with roses, than to have you beside me all day. I want you to +make the most of your holidays, dear, for the time so quickly slips +away."</p> + +<p>Mary had stepped back to her mother's couch while listening to her +answer, and she now stooped down and kissed the delicate features, +saying as she did so, "I hope the time is not very far off, mother +dearest, when I shall come back never to leave you again. It is this +thought that makes me brave and patient for work now. Very well, +Deborah, we will go. Stay, I will run down and speak to David myself; I +want to tell him Maurice is coming next week."</p> + +<p>And closing the door gently, Mary sped away, to find David watching +with eager interest the busy occupants of the six beehives that stood +in a row against a sunny wall surrounded by sweet flowers.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The following day was one of bright summer splendour, and the little +party met at the appointed time on the Roman jetty, where Old Roger had +his boat ready. At length they were all seated, and the little barque +rode out on the sunny tide as the white surge seethed and rushed in +foamy frets round the groups of purple rocks whose sides and top were +gay with orange lichen creeping over them.</p> + +<p>Old Roger steered carefully while two of his mates plied the oars +steadily, for the contending currents and sunken rocks made navigation +difficult and dangerous along this coast. Free and fearlessly the boat +rose above the waves—the children shouting for joy as they watched the +buoyant water.</p> + +<p>At length the last point of rock was rounded, and they glided +tranquilly along the broad blue bay. In about half an hour the smooth +sands of Clythwr appeared, and the boat was run ashore. David stepped +out first with Ermyn in his arms, followed by Mary and Eudora.</p> + +<p>Then the fun began in good earnest, and David, proud to lead the way, +did the honours of the cove thoroughly. There were deep fringed pools +to be looked into, where lay the wondrous sea-flowers or anemones +waving and unfolding their feathery and brilliant petals, while +seaweeds—crimson, golden, green, bright with varying hues—spread +themselves out in delicate tracery beneath the clear water. The +children climbed the rocky and wave-worn staircases to hide themselves +in the caves, and make them echo with merry laughter.</p> + +<p>When they were tired and wanted to rest, David called out,—</p> + +<p>"Come here, Ermyn, and show Miss Llewellyn how you do lessons by the +sea."</p> + +<p>David hunted about and found a stick with which he began to trace +letters on the sand.</p> + +<p>"Here comes a wave, Ermyn, to wash it away!" cried he. "Be quick and +say the word. Right! Now for another. Ah, little sister, you have lost +it," he said gently, as the excited child stretched out her eager +hands, as if to stay the advancing water.</p> + +<p>"Ermyn," said Eudora at last, "I think we don't want any more lessons. +Let us go and have a good long play in the caves. We may, mayn't we, +Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling; and you may take the basket and unpack it, and spread +out our dinner. And when it is ready, come and call us. Be careful not +to fall on the sharp rocks."</p> + +<p>Off set the delighted children, full of the importance of their trust, +leaving David to enjoy one of his greatest pleasures—a quiet talk with +Miss Mary. How eagerly he looked forward to her holidays, for she +had been a truly kind friend to him, always ready to help him out of +difficulties and give wise counsel.</p> + +<p>Mary quickly perceived the boy possessed talents and a capacity for +learning far above the average of his class. And it had been a great +interest to her from time to time, during her visits home, to guide his +aspirations into the right channel.</p> + +<p>"There is the making of a scholar in that boy," she had said to her +father, "if only the right stepping-stones can be found for him; he has +a mind far beyond boats and fishing-nets. What is to be done?"</p> + +<p>Dr. Llewellyn had thought over the matter. But beyond lending him +books, and encouraging his son Maurice to make a companion of him +during his holidays, he could do nothing.</p> + +<p>There was no help to be counted upon from the Rectory; for Miss +Silexa, who was the ruling spirit there, highly disapproved of too +much book-learning for the poor. "It makes them discontented with the +station in which God has put them," she said; "and those who are not +born gentlemen should be content with an honest calling, and live and +die as their fathers before them."</p> + +<p>So Mary never mentioned the subject to her; and to speak to poor, +feeble, old Dr. Pryse would, she knew, be quite useless. Therefore, the +matter had rested until now.</p> + +<p>However, help was presenting itself from an unlooked-for quarter. The +Calvinistic Methodist minister, who was a great friend of Old Roger +Rudd, had often taken notice of David. And seeing that he was a shrewd +lad, able to talk well, ardent and sincere in his piety, and with his +heart set on being some day able to preach to his fellow-villagers, +he promised to use his interest to gain admission for him into an +English college, established for the free training of young men for +the ministry, without any formal stipulation as to the particular +body of evangelical Christians with which they would eventually ally +themselves. David had therefore now a hope that at the expiration of +his time at the grammar school of St. Elvis, he might pass on to higher +studies; while the freedom which the college permitted was especially +congenial to David, who had not as yet made up his mind as to his +special place in the flock of the "One Shepherd."</p> + +<p>This was the piece of news that he had been keeping to tell Mary. And +she listened with untiring interest to the story of his high hopes and +longings, believing that David had chosen the Lord as his portion, and +that now he desired to live the life that would best glorify Him; so +she could wish him "God-speed" in this new path which seemed opening +before him.</p> + +<p>David never forgot the talk on the beach that sunny day. It came back +to him again and again when he stood on that white-pebbled shore, and +Mary was far-away from him in the heart of busy London, learning in the +path of lowly meekness how "to labour and to wait."</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_8">CHAPTER VIII</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>A SHADOW ON THE THRESHOLD</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>SEVEN years rolled away, but so quietly that no perceptible change +appeared in the old village of St. Elvis. The hand of time seemed to +have paused in its progressive work, for though it had led some of the +children out of childhood into youth, and a few dear ones had here and +there been laid to sleep in the mossy churchyard, it had apparently +left all else untouched.</p> + +<p>The crazy coach still "dragged its slow length along" every week to the +market town, and the grim old granite cross held its knot of gossips as +of yore.</p> + +<p>The fast-growing ivy had somewhat changed the appearance of the +Rectory, having covered walls to the very roof, and the latticed +windows looked out like shining eyes from a mass of green. The +monthly roses, in spite of the keen February wind, had opened their +bright blossoms, and hundreds of tightly folded buds gave promise of +succession as they tapped against Eudora's easement above the porch.</p> + +<p>But she could not open to them; her hand did not steal out to pluck +them as usual. Instead of the sweet young face that so often peeped +out, Miss Silexa's grey eyes peered forward, as if anxiously watching +for some one. We must look beyond her into the dimness of that +ivy-shaded chamber to know why her face wore that troubled look.</p> + +<p>There, on a small old-fashioned bed with faded, washed-out chintz +hangings, lay Eudora Meredith, still called the child of the Rectory, +though seven years have increased her stature, and led her onwards to +"where the brook and river meet." The flush of fever was on her cheek +and an unnatural brightness in her blue eyes, as she turned wearily +from side to side on her pillow, panting for breath. She was very ill, +and Silexa knew it, as she stood waiting and watching for Dr. Llewellyn.</p> + +<p>"Oh, why does not he come?" she thought. "He must have been detained, +or perhaps off on one of his ten-mile rides."</p> + +<p>She walked to and fro impatiently, and with each creak of her stout +village-made shoes, a fresh dart of pain ran through Eudora's head. But +her aunt divined not the cause of those low moans.</p> + +<p>It may be easily seen from this that good, worthy Miss Silexa was not +exactly the person for a sick-room. She could bind up the most terrible +wounds without flinching, and obey the commands of a doctor promptly +and well. But there was no rest in her composition, and the energy of +her active mind seemed as if it must find vent in noise and bustle. And +yet her anguish would have been keen if she had really known what agony +she was causing, for no one loved Eudora with a deeper love than she +did.</p> + +<p>There was still a barrier between aunt and niece, for Eudora's timidity +and sensitiveness had grown with her growth, and she shrunk more than +ever from her aunt's touch. Silexa's eyes had not yet been opened to +see the cause, though she was painfully aware of the fact, and mourned +over it. She reasoned to herself about it with all her earthly wisdom, +but could not find the clue; the threads of life were still a tangled +skein, which at last grew so hopeless in their confusion, that again +and again the thought would come over her, that it was better not to +care at all about anything. And yet the glimmerings of light that ever +and anon shot athwart her path would not allow this.</p> + +<p>She really wanted the God of her life, and was not aware how near He +was to her. It was a God afar off she sought. Like Hagar in the desert, +she only saw the burning sand and spent bottle; the springing fountain, +clear and sweet, flowing close at hand, was invisible. Its ripple had +long sounded in her ears, but she did not heed it, nor stoop to drink.</p> + +<p>"You are shivering, child," said Silexa suddenly, as she touched the +little hot hand; "I will see about a fire at once."</p> + +<p>And delighted at the idea of having something to do during these weary +moments of suspense, and vexed with herself for not thinking of it +before, she went off briskly to get sticks and fuel.</p> + +<p>How the worm-eaten timbers shook under her tread, as she returned with +apron and hands filled! The chintz hangings trembled as she brushed +past the bed and knelt down in front of the grate to snap the sticks +one by one. The north-east wind was determined to baffle her if it +could, and, as soon as the red flame began to warm the cold chimney, +down came a gust which filled the room with smoke.</p> + +<p>Poor Eudora coughed, and flung herself restlessly over to the opposite +side of the bed, longing for a quiet corner away from it all, but she +dared not speak. She tried not to hear that fearful rattle of coals and +fire-irons, and for some moments battled bravely in her pain against +the impatience that was fast gaining the mastery.</p> + +<p>"There! It will burn now," said Silexa, at last, as with a triumphant +flourish of the blacklead brush, she gave another rub across the bars +of the grate, through which little jets of flame leaped and played. +"Here, Molly, take these things and bring me a duster."</p> + +<p>Eudora burst into tears. "I cannot bear the noise, auntie; my head +aches so!" she added penitently, in answer to her aunt's astonished +look of inquiry.</p> + +<p>There was no time for an answer. The doctor had arrived below, so +Eudora did not know what a pang of regret shot through Silexa's heart +as she went downstairs to meet him, reproaching herself at every step.</p> + +<p>"Why, what is the matter with Dame Trot?" said the doctor cheerily, as +he entered. He looked upon Eudora almost as his own child, and having +invented this name for her long ago, she still kept it with him.</p> + +<p>A glance at the flushed face showed him this was no slight ailment, +such as he had often relieved before.</p> + +<p>Silexa stood beside the pillow and watched every movement as he laid +his finger on the rapid pulse, and a great agony filled her heart as +she looked and listened, for she read the anxiety on his face that he +could not conceal.</p> + +<p>But he spoke so tenderly and cheerfully to his patient, that instead +of arousing any fear, he filled her young heart with rest and comfort, +and even called up a smile on her face as she promised to be good and +patient and do as she was told. He bade her good-bye, and followed Miss +Pryse into another room.</p> + +<p>There the talk was grave and earnest, and Silexa listened with the +shadow of a great fear darkening her heart.</p> + +<p>"We must get hold of Mrs. Gwynne at once," he said decisively. "I think +she may be able to come, and there is no one like her for a case of +this kind. The child must not be left until, please God, we can see a +decided change for the better."</p> + +<p>For a moment a wave of jealousy rose up in Silexa's heart. "Who so +fit to nurse her darling as herself? Why should Lettice interfere?" +Then she recollected, sadly, how many calls she would have which must +prevent her giving exclusive personal attendance in the sick-room; so +she conquered the bad feeling and acquiesced.</p> + +<p>"How shall I let her know?" she said. "We are so short of hands to-day. +I have no one who can go."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I will send Ermyn off at once," replied the doctor; "she is with +my wife every morning, you know, so I shall find her there now."</p> + +<p>And hastily mounting his horse, he rode away.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Ermyn's swift feet were soon traversing the meadow through the valley +to the cottage, and as she ran, many were the thoughts that crowded +in upon her now sorely troubled little heart. Eudora, her friend and +companion, the one she loved with all the passionateness of her strong +nature, her sister playmate, what had happened to her?</p> + +<p>"Very, very ill," were the words she had heard, and kept repeating to +herself, while her imagination was busy filling up the details there +had not been time to learn.</p> + +<p>A sob came swelling up from the warm young breast, and fast-falling +tears hindered her from seeing clearly where she stepped, but she must +not rest a moment until she had delivered her message. Rapidly her +thoughts reviewed the happy past, which rose distinctly before her like +a fair bright vision; Eudora's frequent visits to the cottage, the +fleet play hours spent together on the smooth, glittering sands in the +shadow of the purple rocks; the long rambles over moor and fell and +tangled copse, and the busy mornings in Mrs. Llewellyn's quiet room.</p> + +<p>For when Ermyn was old enough to go to school, Eudora had pleaded that +she might share her lessons; so the studies had gone on together, it +being the great delight of the elder to impart all she knew to her +little playfellow and friend. Ermyn's bright intelligence soon repaid +the labour, and being by far the quicker of the two in learning, she +gained upon Eudora until they were pretty nearly equal. And this was +the retrospect of happy years.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Llewellyn used secretly to cherish the hope that Ermyn would +one day be claimed and given her right position. But the years were +speeding away, and the circumstances of the wreck had faded from +memory. No one asserted a prior claim to the ocean waif. She would +always be the child of St. Elvis now, and all rejoiced with Lettice +that her treasure was not taken from her.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gwynne was standing busy at her wash-tub when Ermyn neared the +cottage. But seeing the child was running at full speed, she stopped +and began stroking off the soapsuds from her arms and wiping her hands +in her apron, as she went out to meet her.</p> + +<p>Ermyn, panting and quite out of breath, ran forward and clasped her +arms tightly round her foster-mother's neck, and hid her face in her +bosom. Lettice did not hurry her with questionings. She always waited +with a quiet trustfulness that made her a rock of strength to lean on +in trouble. She led the child within the doorway, and sitting down, put +one arm round her and drew her to her knee. The gentle touch soothed +Ermyn, and in that motherly clasp she gave her message, while the calm, +patient eyes looked down upon her with a soft light in them.</p> + +<p>"My little girl," said Lettice, kissing her tenderly; "we must not +murmur against God. This sorrow is of His sending, and, if it be His +will, He can turn it into a blessing.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'When He giveth quietness, who then can make trouble?'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Mother's lassie will be brave and helpful, I know, and do all she can +for me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother; what shall I do?"</p> + +<p>"You will have to get granddad his meals, and feed the chicks, and +mind the house, and do all you can to keep things straight while I am +away. Thank God, I have kind neighbours, who are all willing to do me a +hand's turn when I am extra busy. You may begin now, dear. Put on your +pinafore and pare these potatoes for dinner, but run first to the well +and fill the saucepan and kettle."</p> + +<p>Ermyn obeyed quickly, proud and happy at the thought of being put into +a position of trust, while Lettice set quietly to work to leave her +house in order and prepare for being away from it for several days.</p> + +<p>One neighbour and another came dropping in while she was thus occupied, +and she did not appeal to them in vain for help. Lettice had moved +among them as a ministering angel for many years, nursing the sick +and comforting the sorrowful, and no one had ever heard her speak an +ill-natured word behind any one's back. Mrs. Gwynne rarely needed +help, being such a thrifty housewife and manager; and for this reason, +there were many now who were only too glad to have an opportunity of +returning in kind some of her loving service. So one promised to finish +the washing, another to milk the two cows daily, and another to make +the butter.</p> + +<p>"And I'll come and clean up the cottage as often as I can," added a +fourth; "for the child is not fit to do rough work."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Lettice; "I can trust you all to see she comes to no +harm while I am away."</p> + +<p>"Who would harm a hair of her head, I'd like to know?" replied Jem +Lewis, who had run up the causeway to fetch some tackle for the old +man. "She shan't be hurt, missus, as long as there's a man in St. Elvis +or Porthmynwr to fight for her. Bless her heart!"</p> + +<p>So amidst all these assurances Lettice departed.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>It was several weeks before she saw her home again, for a stern battle +was fought with disease and death, while she watched and prayed by the +sick-bed; and the strain grew heavier day by day.</p> + +<p>Eudora became rapidly delirious, and the weakened and excited brain +broke through the restraints that love and obedience had exercised +before. The very presence of her aunt in the room seemed to irritate +her, and she kept crying out for "Lettice, dear Lettice!" not knowing +she was beside her. "Oh, don't let auntie come to me; she is so unkind, +and makes such a dreadful noise! Go away, go away!"</p> + +<p>Silexa's heart was well-nigh broken; this seemed the crowning sorrow +that would at last make the weight of all that had gone before more +than she could bear. If she had been a weaker woman, she would have +wept passionately. But she could not shed a tear now, only her face +wore a look of stony, abject grief as she moved about softly, obeying +orders in silence.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gwynne's eyes often filled with tears to see her look of gratitude +when she called for help, or asked Miss Pryse to take her place while +she lay down for a short sleep.</p> + +<p>"God is teaching her," thought Lettice; "but it is a sharp lesson this +time."</p> + +<p>The still, silent house seemed deserted by its inmates, and the +villagers would creep stealthily round to the back door to ask Molly in +whispers how the young lady fared. And Molly and Old Dinah could only +cry when they answered, for the doctor shook his head and looked more +grave and sad each time he came.</p> + +<p>Downstairs, in the dingy study, sat the aged pastor day after day in +his chair, waiting for tidings from the sick-room. But what a change +had passed across that wrinkled face! God's own calm was resting on it, +almost giving it the reflection of an unseen glory. Ten years ago he +had found his way into the green pastures as a little child. The burden +no longer pressed sore upon him, for Christ bore the weight of it, and +now the yoke was easy. The once proud man, who had for so many years +fought against God in fretful complainings and hard, bitter thoughts, +was now the meek and lowly disciple, saying, hour by hour,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Not my will, O Lord, but Thine be done."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>And now as he sat there with a great silence all about him, his heart +could rest in peace. "The waves and the billows are rolling over me," +he said one day; "but they break first upon the Rock of Ages on which I +stand."</p> + +<p>He could do nothing for his "little love," as he still called her, but +pray, and that he did without ceasing, wrestling and pleading with +submission for the precious life that appeared to be ebbing away so +fast. He was giving the best possible help; for these prayers sustained +and succoured the brave women above who were doing the outward work, +and using every means in their power for the youthful sufferer. Hope +flickered and waned, yet "his heart was fixed, trusting in the Lord."</p> + +<p>He went bravely through the public services on Sunday. But when he came +to the words, "Your prayers are earnestly desired for Eudora Meredith, +now lying dangerously ill," sobs were audible from minister and people, +so dearly was she beloved.</p> + +<p>One night the crisis drew on, and a few hours must decide either for +life or death. Lettice begged that no one should come near the room, +but promised to summon Miss Pryse immediately in case of need.</p> + +<p>Silexa turned away to her own room, and fastening the door softly, fell +on her knees, and prayed as she had never prayed before.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "O Thou Lord of life and death, hear my cry! My God, come not as the +Judge, to bring my sins to remembrance, and slay my child."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>The conflict grew too agonised for words. She was reviewing her life of +self-will and rebellion, and her head bowed lower and lower in bitter +contrition.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "My Father!"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>How softly those two words were uttered!</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "My Father, I am Thy child. Do with me what Thou wilt. Thy will be +done. My Saviour, Christ, I hide me in Thy side. Grant me Thy peace."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>She rose, and silence filled the room. A soul was launched that night +upon the great ocean of God's love, and angels sang over it. Did +her spirit catch their music, as a faint smile overspread her worn +features, and she looked up towards heaven?</p> + +<p>She was afraid to stir or break the silence by a movement. Her ear was +strained to hear the slightest sound in the next room, but it was all +as still as the grave, only the great silver watch on the mantelpiece +ticked on. She drew aside the window curtain to look out at the shadowy +darkness, and saw by the light of a pale waning moon the headstones in +the churchyard. A shudder passed through her frame, but she did not +move. A black, heavy cloud came across the sky hiding the faint gleam, +and all was dark.</p> + +<p>She sat on and on, until the last star died out, when suddenly a gentle +tap was heard at the door, which made her start and turn pale. She +opened softly. There stood Lettice, white and calm. She laid her hand +on Silexa's arm, saying, "Your darling is safe; the present danger is +over; she has passed into a sweet, natural sleep. Thank God!"</p> + +<p>It was too much. Miss Pryse tried to speak, but no words would come. +Lettice held up a warning finger, and stole back to the sick-room.</p> + +<p>Silexa turned away and wept, but in tears of joy, for a glad +thanksgiving filled her heart. And for the first time, she felt a great +gift was hers, and that it had come down from "the Father of lights, +with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning." "For God, +who commanded the light to shine out of darkness," had shined in her +heart "to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the +face of Jesus Christ." Silexa had risen from among the dead, and her +resurrection life was begun.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>During these weeks of anxiety and suspense, Ermyn had led a busy life; +and constant activity was the best remedy for her sad heart. Her mind +could not be always dwelling on the Rectory sorrow, for she had to +puzzle out many little duties, which she found she must perform alone. +Hitherto she had had her mother to run to, and ask how this or that was +to be done. Now she had to find out for herself, and it was first-rate +training, for no telling or teaching is attended with real and lasting +benefit until the learner puts rules into practice by personal effort.</p> + +<p>Her neighbours were very kind, and helped as much as they could, +but they had their own work to attend to, so Ermyn was often thrown +entirely upon her own resources. The thought of planning and helping +mother was a great stimulus, and she used to fancy how she would look, +on her return home, to see how well she had acted the part of little +house-mother.</p> + +<p>When her grandfather had finished his dinner, and gone off again to +his boats, she would wash up the plates and dishes, and put everything +neatly away, change her coarse working dress for a clean print one, and +brush out the pretty dark hair which fell about her shoulders. She used +to fasten it up while she worked to keep it out of her way, and would +sometimes delude herself into the idea that, although she was only +twelve years old, people might then think she was a grown-up woman. As +soon as everything was completed to her satisfaction, she would put +on her bonnet, and set out for St. Elvis. There was no need to lock +the cottage door, for Old Roger would be in and out. He was always +uncertain as to time, and the neighbours would give an eye to see if +any stranger came.</p> + +<p>Ermyn would go first to the Rectory, and steal in softly with hushed +breath, to turn the handle of the study door, and slip in. When not +among his people in the village, the aged rector was generally to be +found in his great mahogany chair, and he would look up with a quiet +smile of welcome. These were like angel visits to the dear old man, and +broke in like sunlight on the dreariness of his days. She used to creep +gently to a stool at his feet, and hold his hand, while he whispered +the latest tidings from the sick-room. Then she did her best to comfort +him, though it was hard work sometimes, for words would not always +come, and they both wept together.</p> + +<p>After bidding him good-bye, she would often find her way to the weeping +willow in the corner of the garden, the scene of many a happy play +hour. The shells and stones were all there, eloquent in their muteness, +and the branches looked mournful, as if they had no heart to spread +their leafy tent again. On the day when hope was at its lowest ebb, +Ermyn went slowly out of the garden gate, and having occasion to go up +to the centre of the village to buy a few necessaries at the general +shop, she determined to diverge from her ordinary direct route to the +doctor's house.</p> + +<p>Having made her purchases, she packed them neatly into the basket on +her arm. But as she quitted the shop, a woman beckoned to her from one, +of the cottage doors beyond.</p> + +<p>"Here, my dear," she said; "come over and tell us how Miss Eudora is +to-day."</p> + +<p>And as Ermyn answered sadly that there was no change for the better, +one old woman lifted up the stick on which she had leant as she hobbled +towards the group, and said solemnly:</p> + +<p>"Ah, we shall see her beautiful blue eyes no more; indeed, and it's +true. She will be laid in her coffin soon. I saw the corpse-candle last +night."</p> + +<p>"What was it like?" asked Ermyn faintly, her heart beating in terror.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it was there and no mistake. You know I live just where I can see +the Rectory, and after I got into bed last night, and had put out the +candle, all at once a bright light streamed in, and filled the room +with a beautiful rose-colour, which grew deeper and deeper as I lay +shaking and watching it. Thinks I to myself, I'll get up and see which +house it is. So I looked out, and there from Miss Eudora window it +shone like a bright star, and then gradually faded away. 'Tis a sure +and certain sign, whatever any one may say, for I've seen it scores of +times when the neighbours died, though Miss Pryse would think me a fool +for saying it. Why, what is the matter with you, child? Don't look like +that!"</p> + +<p>Ermyn had turned from red to ashy white, as the heedless old woman ran +on; then her eyes filled with tears, and she said, "It is very unkind +of you to talk like that to me. Mother says we ought not to believe in +these tales. Do you really think it is true?" she added wistfully, as +her susceptible nature yielded to the superstitious suggestion.</p> + +<p>"There, now, don't scare the poor lamb any more," said another woman, +who had joined the idlers. "She'll know about it soon enough, I'll +warrant."</p> + +<p>The end of the sentence was lost upon Ermyn, for she had turned and +fled, and was now hastening towards Mrs. Llewellyn's house, where she +knew soothing and comfort awaited her.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_9">CHAPTER IX</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>A SUNNY GLEAM</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>A FLICKER of ivy leaves dancing up and down the wall and ceiling; cloud +shadows passing, the hum of bees outside the open window; voices of +children shouting at their play, and the murmur of the distant sea; +this was what Eudora saw and heard as she lay dreamy and quiet, slowly +coming back to life on the bright May morning.</p> + +<p>Her eyes were fixed on the faded chintz. What a queer pattern it had! +So weird and fantastic, suggesting endless pictures to the imagination. +Faces grinned from the curves and lines; gnomes and sprites upside +down, and sprawling, seemed chasing each other round and round, while +here and there a butterfly reposed upon a huge flower.</p> + +<p>Eudora had never studied it so intently before, and it was pleasant +to lie there so perfectly still, and go on inventing stories. It was +all such a confused jumble, and so intricate that it was impossible to +follow out any regular pattern. And at last, she broke into a little +laugh.</p> + +<p>Lettice, who was sitting at work in the window, heard it, and bent +forward with a sweet, glad smile to look at her. "Have you been awake +long, my pet?"</p> + +<p>"No, not so very long. I was laughing at the funny figures on my +curtains. How long have I been here, Lettice? Somehow it seems as if +all sorts of things had happened to me, and nothing would ever come +right. When I try to think about it, I cannot remember clearly. I +wanted to go down into the orchard where I found those pretty purple +crocuses the other day. Oh, they looked so cool, and I thought it would +be delicious to lie down among them, but I couldn't, and then I found +out I was buried. You did not hear me calling to you as you walked +above my head, and the earth was so heavy, and pressed me down. That +was a dreadful dream, Lettice. Have I been very ill?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dearie, you have. But you are getting better every day now, we +hope."</p> + +<p>"Where is Ermyn? I want her."</p> + +<p>"She will come some day to see you, but not yet. You must try to get a +little stronger before you receive visitors."</p> + +<p>Eudora moved on her pillow with a sigh, and wondered what it all meant, +and why she felt so very, very tired.</p> + +<p>At that moment, the door opened and her aunt entered, treading softly +in list shoes, carrying a tray covered with a snowy napkin.</p> + +<p>Eudora knew what this meant, and turned resolutely away, though she +heard Silexa say in a low tone, "Try and get her to take a little; it +is such good, strong beef tea. I made it myself, and the doctor says +she must eat."</p> + +<p>Lettice rose, and came close to the side of the bed where Eudora was +lying, and said gently, "Auntie has brought something so nice for you. +Shall I lift you up, dear, while you take it?"</p> + +<p>"No, Lettice, I cannot; I am not hungry. I will ask for some by and by. +Let me go to sleep again."</p> + +<p>Lettice and Silexa exchanged hopeless glances. What was to be done? The +doctor had given such positive orders, and he little knew the battle +that was fought every day to get them carried out. Silexa racked her +brain and the cookery-book to find suitable recipes, consulted Mrs. +Llewellyn, and had even gone to market town herself to try and find +something to tempt the delicate appetite, but she was seldom rewarded +for her pains.</p> + +<p>"Set it down, please, Miss Pryse," said Lettice, at last. "She will try +presently."</p> + +<p>Silexa stole away again, with a sad look on her face.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gwynne bent down closer to the pale cheek, and whispered something.</p> + +<p>The blue eyes looked up into hers, and tears gathered in them, a +look of pleading and of reproach that Lettice felt she must be proof +against, as with a tender strength she raised the wasted form, and +gently arranged the supporting pillows.</p> + +<p>"One more spoonful," she said coaxingly; "and then I will not tease you +any more."</p> + +<p>These stages towards convalescence brought harder work to the good +woman than those hours when the spirit seemed to hover so closely on +the borders of the unseen world. They needed even more wisdom and +patience, as only those know who have had much to do with illness. +Eudora was, however, progressing as favourably as could be expected. +But Lettice saw the time had not yet come to leave Miss Pryse +single-handed, so she stayed on.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Poor little Ermyn missed her mother sadly. All the poetry and romance +of her situation seemed to die out after she had worked hard for three +or four weeks. The danger being over, she had now leisure to pity +herself a little, and longings and regrets would steal into her heart +as she contrasted these matter-of-fact duties with her delightful +studies in Mrs. Llewellyn's quiet, pretty room. She was not yet allowed +to see Eudora, so her sympathy was less keen than it would have been if +she could have taken one peep at her thin, wistful face.</p> + +<p>So she allowed all kinds of evil, selfish thoughts to creep into her +heart, and make her unhappy. She wished she had been born a lady, with +nothing to do all day but read nice books or do pretty work. Her coarse +working dress was very ugly, she thought; she would rather be dressed +in silk and satin, and live in a grand house with many rooms. Oh, she +was much to be pitied, she was quite sure of that, and a big tear +rolled down and fell upon her idle hands.</p> + +<p>Something whispered in her heart, "Mother has to work hard all day +long, and she never complains."</p> + +<p>Ermyn listened to the voice, and thought how that dear mother would +grieve, if she only knew what her little girl had been thinking about. +She would work away with a will, and go up to the Rectory as soon as +she could. If she could see her mother, it would help her to be good.</p> + +<p>Happy thoughts flowed into her heart as soon as she began to be +industrious again, and she actually found herself singing as she neared +the Rectory gate. Ermyn was gifted with a singularly rich and beautiful +voice, and she sang as naturally as a bird on its spray.</p> + +<p>Eudora caught the familiar sound, as she sat propped up in a great +arm-chair near the window, and Lettice, yielding to her entreaty, went +down and fetched Ermyn in. The child, full of bright health, presented +a strange contrast to her companion now, and warm tears of love and +sympathy started into Ermyn's eyes as she looked. She tenderly kissed +the white hand, as she knelt beside the chair, and felt no sacrifice +could be too great if it only brought her darling back.</p> + +<p>Ermyn would never forget the happy smile of pleasure that greeted her, +as she laid some fresh hawthorn buds in the thin fingers. She had meant +to ask when mother was coming home, now she could not. The chord of +sympathy had been struck, and her heart was in time again.</p> + +<p>Lettice wished she could see a more rapid improvement in the dear +invalid as the days went on, but the progress was slow and weary. And +she marked with sorrow that Eudora herself made little or no effort to +get better; for if she did not fancy her food, she would not take it. +And how could she recover if she did not eat?</p> + +<p>On one occasion, when Silexa had turned away more disappointed than +ever, after finding her dainties rejected, Lettice spoke.</p> + +<p>"I think, dear," she said quietly, "you are very unkind to your dear, +good auntie."</p> + +<p>"Unkind, Lettice? Why unkind?" replied Eudora, flushing.</p> + +<p>"Yes, unkind," repeated Lettice; "you don't know how hardly she toils +for you, up early and late, getting all these nice things for you, and +you never try to please her by taking them cheerfully and gratefully."</p> + +<p>"I cannot make myself hungry," said Eudora pettishly.</p> + +<p>But Lettice knew the shaft had gone home, and saw with pleasure from +that time her words had not been spoken in vain.</p> + +<p>Silexa's trial was by no means over, though she had strength given her +now to take up her cross, and bear it meekly day by day.</p> + +<p>Eudora did not know of the soul-conflict that had taken place. She was +still painfully reserved with her aunt, and made it pretty evident +sometimes that she preferred having Mrs. Gwynne beside her. Lettice +used to soothe her patient by singing or repeating hymns and verses of +Scripture. Silexa knew she would never be asked to do this by Eudora. +She saw now with bitterness what a mistake she had been making through +those long years of the past, in fencing round her warm, human heart +with thorns, which pricked the childish hands that once upon a time had +tried to enter.</p> + +<p>"It is too late now; it will never be different." Thus she sat and +mused one day, when Lettice had gone home for a few hours, and left her +place to Silexa.</p> + +<p>Eudora was lying on the bed asleep, and her aunt believed herself +hidden by one of the curtains. After a while, the girl opened her eyes +without stirring, expecting to see Lettice as usual at work. She was +not there, and Eudora gazed as if spellbound.</p> + +<p>Silexa's eyes were closed, and her lips moved, and on her knee lay an +open Bible. Tear-drops stole out from under the lashes, and Eudora +heard her own name murmured in endearing terms.</p> + +<p>She could not bear it another moment. "Auntie! Dear auntie! Come to me. +I have been so naughty and ungrateful to you, and I love you so dearly."</p> + +<p>The wall of ice had melted for ever. And Silexa trembled for very joy +as she pressed her darling closer and yet closer to her heart, whose +once lonely beatings now throbbed in unison with the one great family +in heaven and earth.</p> + +<p>Lettice saw the happy light on both faces when she returned, and did +not then hesitate to say what she had been fearing would distress the +invalid.</p> + +<p>"I must go home to-morrow, Miss Pryse; I find there are too many things +to be attended to for me to stay away longer."</p> + +<p>One repining murmur rose to Eudora's lips, for she loved her +passionately, but this was instantly checked as she remembered the hint +about selfishness, and the words that Lettice was so fond of repeating:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Even Christ pleased not Himself.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Auntie is so good to me," she whispered, when her kind nurse bade her +good-bye the following day.</p> + +<p>And when Lettice felt the clasp of her arms about her neck, as Eudora +kissed her and poured out her grateful thanks, it was a more precious +reward than any other payment.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Ermyn was in a wild state of delight when she looked out and saw her +mother coming across the meadows. Lettice had not told her for certain +that she would return, lest anything might detain her. It was indeed a +festive homecoming, for kind neighbours gathered round to tell her how +glad they were to see her back again.</p> + +<p>And Ermyn, proudly and shyly, drew from the cupboard a cake of her own +making and baking, which was duly partaken of and praised.</p> + +<p>"And, mother," cried the child, with a shout of delight; "Dick Rees has +just brought this letter, and I am sure it must be from David! Come +close to granddad, and read it now. Please do, there's a good mother!"</p> + +<p>David's glad mother needed no second bidding, and the letter was +accordingly read over and over again; for it contained the joyful news +that her son would arrive the last week in June to spend his six weeks' +holiday at home in the dear old cottage. It had been a long time since +he had allowed himself to have this treat, for the journey was an +expensive one, and he had thought it his duty, in these leisure times, +to accept invitations to assist ministers in the Connexion who needed +help, being thus enabled to save up a nice little sum towards his next +homecoming.</p> + +<p>He had done well and honourably in his college life, and his tutors +spoke in the highest terms of his conduct. His mind had developed +freely under the great advantages and careful training he had received. +He felt that God had called him to the high and noble work of the +ministry, and looked forward with intense pleasure to the fulfilment of +his hopes.</p> + +<p>St. Elvis felt not a little proud of his success, after his education +at the town grammar school, and intended to give him a hearty welcome +when he should appear in his native place again. But when one day +the crazy old coach stopped at "The Jolly Sailors," and amongst the +passengers a tall gentlemanly young man in black stepped down, no one +recognised him.</p> + +<p>Lettice and Ermyn had been watching together for him at the inn door, +and thought he had not come, when suddenly the good woman became aware +that the stranger who had run towards her and was now giving her a +hearty hug was none other than her own son David.</p> + +<p>"And where is my little sister?" he said, drawing the blushing Ermyn +closer to him, and looking with surprise and delight at her lovely +face. "I am still a little taller than she is," he added, laughing, as, +giving an arm to each, the joyful trio set out towards home.</p> + +<p>Those were indeed happy holidays, for not a cloud appeared to dim any +one's enjoyment. More homes than one rejoiced together, for there was +gladness also in the doctor's household. Mary had come home at last, +not to say good-bye again; and Mrs. Llewellyn was full of motherly +pride to welcome her handsome son Maurice, now a hard-working medical +student, who hoped some day to return and share his father's practice.</p> + +<p>The old Rectory smiled also, for Eudora, though still looking like a +fragile flower, grew strong enough to come out and enjoy the summer +sunshine and fresh sea breezes. A quiet donkey was found for her, and +the good old times seemed to come back again, as David walked beside +her, leading it carefully, while Ermyn skipped and sang for joy. There +was no caste in that simple village town, for those who loved each +other had the strongest ties to bind them together.</p> + +<p>Ermyn, the fisher-maiden, still called Eudora her sister-friend, and +Mary loved them both. Maurice hailed his old companion more heartily +than ever, and the two would walk together for miles along the lonely +coast, or climb the serrated ranges of rock to lofty heights, whence +they could view the whole peninsula of Dewisland, that terminates in +the bold headlands and jagged rocks so often fatal to unfortunate +mariners. Their geological and botanical studies were pursued with +interest, and they would sit and discuss their treasures among +Druidical circles and great boulders.</p> + +<p>It was such pleasant companionship that neither liked to think how soon +they must part again. Both young men felt, as they trod the streets of +David's native town, that good soldiers of Jesus Christ were sorely +needed there; soldiers brave and strong to fight against the sin and +ignorance around; and they earnestly prayed that this great work might +some day be theirs to do. But they did not need to wait till the +future to begin it. David found leisure during his holiday to read and +pray with the sick and dying, and Maurice gave his help and sympathy +wherever he found it needed. Thus they called down upon themselves the +blessings of the poor.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>It sometimes happens that a season of unusual brightness is given us +as a preparation for cloudy days. The cup running over, and the table +ready spread, may be in the presence of unseen enemies and trials, +against which we must be strengthened to go forward and fight. Those +happy summer days came to a close all too quickly, and autumn winds and +falling leaves were heralding the reign of winter, which was expected +to begin early this year.</p> + +<p>Eudora seldom went outside the Rectory now, for her severe illness had +left her painfully susceptible to cold. And a short dry cough smote +sadly on the ears of all who heard it. Yet Dora had never been so happy +in her home-life before, for there was nothing in its atmosphere to +chill or distress her now, though her aunt was as full of life and +generous activity as ever. Mrs. Llewellyn and Lettice rejoiced together +to see all that capability and energy, like a glad stream, flowing in +the sunshine, instead of in the shadows.</p> + +<p>Silexa had brought her talents to the Master, as the disciples did of +old with the few loaves and fishes, and He had blessed them. Now she +could feed a multitude, and yet have enough and to spare. But her Lord +must test and try her still further. And as the burden pressed more +heavily, so by His grace did she grow stronger to bear it, and face +what to her was a terrible trial. They must leave the Rectory for a +year. The doctor had said that, humanly speaking, this was the only +chance for saving Eudora's life.</p> + +<p>Thorough change to a dryer and more sheltered climate might revive the +flickering flame, which seemed gradually but surely dying out. The +sacrifice must be made, and that at once. Silexa would not send away +her child amongst strangers, and she could not leave her father in his +infirm state. There was no time to be lost.</p> + +<p>A substitute for the rector was found in a young clergyman with private +means and temporarily without a charge. Mary Llewellyn promised to go +daily to the Rectory to look after Molly and Dinah, give out the parish +stores, and to help in every way, so far as her duties to her mother +would permit.</p> + +<p>Some travelling trunks of a very ancient date were routed out from +their repose of years in one of the Rectory garrets, where they had +been well-nigh buried among the lumber stored there. But the packing +was weary work, and a sore puzzle to Miss Silexa, whose little world +of interests had all been shut in by St. Elvis and its belongings for +so many, many years. She rummaged among the old stores, and while she +did so, hidden things were brought to light, which caused a flood of +associations to rush in upon her memory.</p> + +<p>"I was so happy in that old dress," she said, half aloud, taking up a +scrap of faded plaid. "I cannot bear to throw it away."</p> + +<p>She looked tenderly at it for a moment, debating whether it should +be flung into the heap of rubbish at her feet. But it was silently +restored to the place whence she had taken it. A palette and a box of +colours, all caked and dried, and a bundle of paint-brushes next caught +her eye. She took them up one by one, and kissed them with a face +expressive of the deepest agony.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Edward, my darling!" she murmured. "Why did you do it? I shall +never see you now again, on this side the grave. But God has you in His +keeping somewhere," she added, calming herself. "His love is infinite."</p> + +<p>The packing was finished in time. And on the last evening, when the +boxes were all corded and sent away to the inn overnight to be ready +for the early start on the coach, Miss Silexa unhung her cotton bonnet +from its peg in the hall, and went softly out alone, as the evening +shadows were lengthening.</p> + +<p>It had been blowing a hurricane all day, but the storm had passed, and +there was a bright, evening glow. The sun was setting in stormy gold, +circled by black, and the sky was of a pale, green colour, with flaming +amber and copper clouds rushing across it. The hilltops were still +capped with white mist that lifted and floated, and crept down the +sides of the green valley.</p> + +<p>Silexa walked far on into the twilight, and then turned towards home. +The rent clouds appeared white near the moon, whose crescent sickle +seemed to cut a path through the surrounding blackness. The wind rushed +and roared through the Rectory trees, making them sway and toss in an +agony of unrest, while every casement in the old house rattled and +shook, as the clinging ivy was made here and there to loosen its clasp +of the dear old walls it sought to shield.</p> + +<p>Silexa heeded not the rude gusts; she was looking at the brightness +above her.</p> + +<p>"'They shall see His face,'" she murmured; "that is where the path is +leading."</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'There shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light +of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light: and they shall reign +for ever and ever.'<br> +<br> + "'O send out Thy light and Thy truth: let them lead me; let them bring +me unto Thy holy hill...'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"This night of sorrow is breaking towards eternal day. And though the +shadows increase, a dawn is coming when they shall flee away for ever.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for the Lord hath dealt bountifully +with thee.'"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>There was quite a crowd round the dilapidated old coach the following +morning, when the little party from the Rectory set out to walk towards +it. Miss Pryse supported her aged, white-haired father, who leant +heavily on her strong arm. Eudora followed, with Mary and Ermyn on +either side of her, and Lettice behind, carrying wraps and parcels.</p> + +<p>Hands were stretched out for hearty shakes of farewell; blessings were +uttered and voices trembled with emotion as countless good-byes were +said.</p> + +<p>Silexa gave one long look at her old home as the coach lumbered off, +and felt she had been torn up by the roots.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_10">CHAPTER X</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE GOLDEN SHORE</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>A FLAKE of snow! How slowly it fell through the hushed air! Feathery +light and soft, it came all silently to greet a little daisy, that +looked upward and received it with a smile. It was the herald of a +winter storm, and Lettice from her cottage door looked up into the +darkened sky to watch "the whitening shower fall broad and wide and +fast, dimming the day."</p> + +<p>"I wish the child had not gone to St. Elvis this morning," she said to +Old Roger. "She will be storm-stayed now."</p> + +<p>"Never trouble, lass," he replied cheerily; "she is in good safe +quarters up at the grey house, though really me!" he added, stepping +outside. "This 'is' snow, and no mistake! We haven't had such a fall +this side Christmas for many a long year. I'm thankful our poor sick +lambie at the Rectory is taken away to a warmer fold. This cold would +have killed her, but I miss her sweet face."</p> + +<p>"Ay, indeed, and so do I," said Lettice, with a sigh, as she watched +her father walk towards the jetty.</p> + +<p>She felt unusually depressed that morning, but she could not tell +exactly why. A sense of loneliness and desolation had descended on +her with the departure of the family from the Rectory, for she had +leaned more than she was aware on Miss Silexa's firm strength and sober +judgment. Mrs. Gwynne's disposition was naturally timid and shrinking, +though God had made her calm and patient. And now He had some hard +lessons for her, which she must learn "alone" with Him.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Ermyn had gone up early into town to learn tidings of the travellers, +and with dismay she looked out from Mrs. Llewellyn's windows to see +the storm come sweeping up in white masses through the valley. There +was a bright, cheery letter from Miss Silexa, telling of a quiet, easy +journey to Southsands, where they were established in comfortable +lodgings in a terrace looking out upon the quay and shipping.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "It seems strange," she wrote, "to be in this large, fashionable +watering-place, where we do not know a soul. Mr. Lyndwood has asked +some friends to call on us; and Eudora is already better for the change +of air. Her appetite is considerably improved, and quite a new world +has opened to her wondering eyes."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Ermyn read the letter again and again, dwelling on Dora's message to +herself and Lettice, and wishing she could be with her.</p> + +<p>"If you like to write a note, I will put it into mine," said Mrs. +Llewellyn.</p> + +<p>So Ermyn wrote one in her clear, pretty hand, folded it, and laid it on +Mrs. Llewellyn's little table, and went again to look out. The weather +was more hopeless than ever. And seeing there was no prospect at +present of fulfilling her promise to return quickly, she took off her +bonnet, and settled down quietly to her work.</p> + +<p>Three days passed before she was able to go home. The snow had +continued to fall so heavily, that the road between St. Elvis and +Porthmynwr was completely blocked; and as for the meadow path through +the valley, there was no indication of such a thing. Deep snowdrifts +had filled up the hollows, and it would have been most perilous to +attempt to find a way through them. And when the snow melted, there +would be a swampy waste of waters, abounding in dangerous bogs and +marshes.</p> + +<p>On the fourth day, however, a cart track had been cleared along the +high road. And Ermyn was soon running full speed on it, clapping her +hands together that she might feel her numbed fingers, while her warm +breath floated before her like a wreath of smoke.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Lettice came out on the causeway to meet her. And Ermyn saw at once by +the expression on her face that something was the matter.</p> + +<p>"Hush, dearie!" she said, raising a warning finger. "Step softly, and +come in as gently as you can. Poor granddad is very ill; he had a bad +fall on the rocks last night. The fog was so thick, and the snow so +slippery with the thaw that he missed his footing, and fell over the +jetty at low tide. It would not have been half so bad if he had fallen +into the water. But, oh, those sharp, cruel rocks! They have hurt his +poor back and head, and I don't think he will ever be able to stand +again. I thought he was dead when they carried him into the house."</p> + +<p>The tears had sprung into Ermyn's eyes as she listened, and she flung +her arms round her mother's neck, sobbing.</p> + +<p>"Hush, darling!" whispered Lettice. "Don't let him see you crying. A +kind neighbour is beside him now. It was such a pitch-dark night, I +could not send for the doctor. But this morning I saw him riding across +the hill to that cottage, so Jem Lewis has gone after him. I know he +will come as quickly as he can."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother, mother!" said Ermyn in a low tone, following her over the +threshold. "What shall we do? Dear, dear granddad! I wish I had not +gone away."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The good doctor soon obeyed the summons, and gave, as he always did, +words of cheer with his valuable surgical skill.</p> + +<p>But Lettice knew by the kind pressure of his hand and sympathising look +as he passed out, that he thought the case a very, very bad one.</p> + +<p>"Keep him as quiet as possible," he said; "and you, my little maid, be +a good girl to your mother."</p> + +<p>Old Roger was seldom conscious for weeks, and he would moan +distressingly when moved or touched. Yet he prayed, though +incoherently,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Good Master, Dear Lord! I can bear it if Thou art with me in the fire. +Jesus, Lover of my soul."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>He never seemed to lose his hold of Christ, and would repeat fragments +of texts, and a line here and there from hymns that he had learned and +loved during his time of health.</p> + +<p>"Where are the lads?" he said one night. "They haven't 'all' come to +Jesus yet; no, not 'all.' But the door of mercy is open wide, and 'I +will in no wise cast out,' says Christ."</p> + +<p>Neighbours and fishermen would come crowding in with inquiries and +offers of help. And Lettice feared they must think her very unkind as +she entreated them not to stand in the doorway, keeping the pure air +from the sick man. But she could not prevent one and another stealing +in now and then, on tiptoe, for a look at the dear old patriarch. +And his mates would beg her to let them take it in turn to share the +night-watch with her. This was an offer she gladly accepted, for the +strain was daily growing heavier. There is much real sympathy and true +kindness often to be met with among the poor, and none knew this better +than Lettice during her long, bitter trial.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"You must write to Davie," she said one day to Ermyn, as Christmas drew +near, "and tell him to come home, if possible, for these holidays. I +fear if he is prevented, he will not see dear granddad again."</p> + +<p>This was the first intimation of danger Ermyn had comprehended and hot +tears fell on the paper as she wrote. But it did her good to pour her +heart out to David.</p> + +<p>He came as quickly as possible, and with his coming, hope lightened +the heavy heart of his stricken mother. His grandfather knew him as +he entered and sat down by the bedside, and the wrinkled hand was +stretched out to take David's within its feeble grasp.</p> + +<p>"My boy," he said, looking at him, "thy old granddad is brought very +low, but the Lord is my light and my salvation. I will trust, and not +be afraid."</p> + +<p>The cottage was not so dreary after that, for David was the support and +comforter of all, during his month's sojourn at home. It seemed to give +Roger a lift, for he was certainly better, and able to be propped up in +bed, and even got as far as to sit out sometimes in his great chair by +the fire within shelter of the settle.</p> + +<p>Mr. Williams, the clergyman in charge, was most kind and unwearied +in his visits. He would come to read and pray beside Roger, and talk +cheerfully to him about what was going on at St. Elvis, encouraging him +in return to tell him some of his sailor yarns to help to pass those +long winter days.</p> + +<p>David conceived an enthusiastic admiration for Mr. Williams, and +whenever he could be spared would find his way to the lodgings over +the post-office, where the two young men would enter into long and +interesting discussions on all kinds of subjects, which David found +most refreshing in the midst of his anxiety.</p> + +<p>"I find my inability to speak the Welsh tongue such a drawback," Mr. +Williams said to him one day. "I did not study it until I was grown-up, +and although I know it well enough to get through the service pretty +well, and read some sermons Dr. Pryse lent me, I find I cannot get at +the people in their homes, for when they begin to talk it fast, I am +obliged to tell them I cannot understand. I suppose you speak it well?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," laughed David; "but no merit to me, for I have been +accustomed to it from my cradle. We never speak anything else at home +unless strangers come in. Grandfather likes it best, and I love the +sound of the Welsh tongue."</p> + +<p>"How I wish you were in our Church," rejoined the other; "it stands in +great need of Welsh-speaking clergymen."</p> + +<p>In reply, David confided to Mr. Williams his final resolution to seek +ordination to the Episcopalian ministry, adding that his fondest wishes +would be attained could he but be found worthy to aid the venerable +pastor of St. Elvis in tending there the flock of Christ.</p> + +<p>"But what," said Mr. Williams, "will the friends say by whom your +education has been provided?"</p> + +<p>"Some of them will be disappointed, no doubt. But from the first they +left me free to decide on my future course."</p> + +<p>"Then you can return to college under these altered circumstances?"</p> + +<p>"Assuredly; and should I ever be able to do so, I shall in any case +repay the cost of my education, or provide, in time, for some other +poor student, without asking to what church he belongs."</p> + +<p>On this, the friends parted; Mr. Williams, who had considerable +influence, silently resolving to forward David's purpose to the +uttermost.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>But the cloud that had opened to show its silver lining while David +remained at home closed over again dark and drear soon after his +departure. There was no prospect of Old Roger being ever able to ply +his fishing trade again. He had to sit idle in the chimney-corner, and +his carefully saved earnings were dwindling down until very little was +left.</p> + +<p>His loving daughter told him not to trouble about it; she would work +hard enough to support him. But he knew she was already toiling far +beyond her strength, and this thought would creep in sometimes to dim +his bright faith.</p> + +<p>Lettice strove hard to hide their fast-increasing poverty from Ermyn. +And it was not until one of the cows had fallen sick and died, and the +other had to be sold to a neighbouring farmer, that the good woman was +fairly overcome, and Ermyn found her sitting inside the doorway weeping +bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Mother, darling mother!" said Ermyn, kneeling down beside her and +crying too. "Tell me what it is. Oh, let me help you if I can!"</p> + +<p>So Lettice told her all, and hid none of the sad truth.</p> + +<p>"Mother," cried the girl joyfully, "there is the box upstairs that you +have been putting all my little presents of money and savings into ever +since I was a little child. It is heavy now. We must open it and use +what is there. Oh, I am so glad you would not let me spend it before. +Davie put five shillings in last summer, and I will work and earn such +a lot more. I know I can. I will go up this afternoon and speak to Mrs. +Llewellyn about it."</p> + +<p>"No," said Lettice, as a proud pang shot into her heart; "let us keep +our trouble to ourselves as long as we can."</p> + +<p>Yet she felt she was wrong as the words fell from her lips.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother dear, why?" pleaded Ermyn. "She is so good and kind; do let +me go to her! I want her to tell me how I can best help you."</p> + +<p>And the child begged so hard that at length she obtained a reluctant +consent.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Llewellyn's heart opened in sympathy at once, and she reproached +herself for not having sooner thought of the scheme that now presented +itself to her mind. Ermyn was an exquisite fancy-worker, and under her +tuition had learned to do some very beautiful embroidery in coloured +silks. Mary had made many friends in London during her residence there, +and to some of these her mother proposed she should write, and try to +get orders for this work.</p> + +<p>The appeal was responded to in a few days, and demands for the lovely +work flowed in faster than Ermyn's fingers could supply them. When the +first liberal payment in gold arrived, how proud and happy she felt +to take it home and refill the scanty purse, thus lifting some of the +pressure from the dear ones there.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Meantime, Lettice was learning her lesson. She had not been made aware +before how much pride lurked in her heart, and perhaps it was for +this reason God sent her a trial that laid it bare. She, the thrifty +housewife, who had always managed so well to make both ends meet, and +keep want far from her dwelling; she, who with Miss Silexa had so +often dispensed the alms from the Church funds, rejoicing that she +never stood in need of them herself; "she" to be poor and needy, and +obliged to put in her claim also at the Rectory for the dole of bread +and other necessaries that were given away at stated times to destitute +parishioners!</p> + +<p>The flesh rebelled, but the spirit prevailed. It had been a subtle +snare, for she actually discovered she had been proud of her pride, +and it was not without a sore struggle in a strength not her own that +she conquered. Yet the chastened look on her sweet, patient face told +to those around that poverty had come as one of God's good angels, to +reveal unto her more fully the mysteries of His grace. Her cup was +still filled, because she held it under the Fountain of living water, +whose source can never fail, though earthly springs may run dry.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "The barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail, +according to the word of the Lord."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>One morning she was reading to her father the daily portion from her +precious Bible, and she came to the words,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in +necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when +I am weak, then am I strong.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"I thought," said Lettice humbly, "that we were good if we bore these +troubles patiently, and tried not to murmur; but these words go beyond +that, father. I have not taken pleasure in distresses for Christ's +sake; I have only striven to bear them in silence."</p> + +<p>"Don't be afraid, my lass; our good Lord knows all about it—the +fightings without and the fears within; and He says,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'My grace is sufficient for thee.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"That means, it will meet every need and so fully satisfy us that we +shall be even joyful in tribulation. See what His grace did in the +prophet's heart when he could say,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in +the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall +yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there +shall be no herd in the stalls: yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will +joy in the God of my salvation. The Lord God is my strength.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Now, my lass, we are not so badly off as that—praise be the Lord; +though He has seen fit to take away both the cows, there is yet meat in +the fields, for we never had a finer crop of potatoes than this year. +Things are never so bad but what they might be worse. There is an old +saying and a true one, 'God writes straight on crooked lines.'</p> + +<p>"When I lie here upon my bed and count up all the Lord's mercies, why, +I can't number them, for—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'They are new every morning: and great is His faithfulness.'<br> +<br> + "'Bless the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless His holy +name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits: +who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; +who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with +loving-kindness and tender mercies; who satisfieth thy mouth with good +things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's.'<br> +<br> + "'Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, +or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or +sword? . . . Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors +through Him that loved us.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>The aged man clasped his hands together and looked upwards, lost in the +contemplation those holy words had awakened, and Lettice went to her +work, and there was music in her heart all the day long.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>It was a grief to Ermyn that she could not be more at the cottage, but +she needed Mrs. Llewellyn's counsel and advice about her delicate work, +and the light was better for it in larger rooms. So she used to set out +as early as possible and not return until dusk, when she would bring +back with her a merry brightness that was like sunshine in the old home.</p> + +<p>Lettice fondly hoped her father would struggle through the winter and +revive in the warm spring time. But as the days lengthened, she saw +with grief that his "strength was but labour and sorrow."</p> + +<p>He sat less frequently in his chair, though sometimes she could +persuade him to have it placed just outside the door in the sunshine, +where he could feel the fresh breezes come up from the sea, and watch +the sailors among their boats. He seemed to enjoy it at the time, but +gradually this was too much for him, and he would lie down again on his +bed dreamy and quiet for hours, and soon grew too weak to leave it at +all.</p> + +<p>One afternoon Lettice watched a tear slowly course down his +weather-beaten cheek, and she rose softly to smooth back the long white +locks from his noble forehead, saying tenderly, "What is it, father? +Are you in pain?"</p> + +<p>"No, my lass, no," he answered, as a sweet smile broke over his face +like a glory; "the pain is all gone now, but the boat is ready, very +nearly ready, Lettie, my girl."</p> + +<p>Lettice thought he was wandering, and said, "Do you want to go out in +your boat, father?"</p> + +<p>"I am sailing away in it, my child, and my Lord the Pilot is going to +slip the cable soon. My face is set towards glory's shore. It won't be +long now before I am there, and I was crying to think of leaving you +behind."</p> + +<p>Lettice took one long look into the dear, dim eyes, then laid her head +down on the pillow beside him, and sobbed her heart out there.</p> + +<p>"Lettie! My Lettie! Listen to what He says,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.'<br> +<br> + "'A Father of the fatherless and Judge of the widows is God in His holy +habitation.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Lettie, I leave you in His keeping,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'and underneath are the everlasting arms.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>The sacred words fell like balm upon her troubled spirit, and she heard +the voice saying once more within her soul,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Peace, peace, be still!'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>And there was a great calm.</p> + +<p>A sound of footsteps in the outer room made her rise to see who had +entered. It was Mr. Williams, who stepped softly in, and holding out +his hand, asked kindly for her father.</p> + +<p>The old man recognised his voice, and cried out:</p> + +<p>"Come in, come in, sir. I'm so pleased to see you. Reach him a chair, +Lettice, and pull back the window curtain a bit farther, that he may +see what I have to look out upon. There!" he said, as his daughter +obeyed him. "There's the sea, rolling so grand and beautiful! God's +sea, sir," he added reverently, and with poetical fervour. "I love +to lie and watch it. The tide is fast coming in now: its ebbings and +flowings are sweet music in my ears. It makes me think of the voice of +many waters, and the harpers harping with their harps before the throne +of God on the crystal sea. I know the words of the new song they sing, +and I shall be joining with them soon."</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied the young man, in a voice tremulous with emotion. "You +will soon see 'His face; and in His presence there is fulness of joy.'"</p> + +<p>"Amen!" responded Roger fervently, as Mr. Williams noted in silence +what a change had come over the furrowed face since he had last seen +it. He had grown to love the old man dearly, as all did who came in +contact with him.</p> + +<p>"Shall I send for David?" he asked huskily.</p> + +<p>"No, sir, no; it will be too late, poor lad, now; for with to-morrow's +dawning, and perhaps before, I expect to—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'see the King in His beauty, and to behold the land that is very far +off.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"I shall see none of them again now until the glorious resurrection +morning. Kind Miss Pryse, and the dear old parson, and that sweet +dove, Miss Eudora—they will all come back to find another grave in the +churchyard, but I shall be above."</p> + +<p>Mr. Williams drew his Bible from his pocket, and read:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in +Me. In My Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so I would +have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare +a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto Myself that +where I am, there ye may be also.'<br> +<br> + "'Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast given Me, be with Me +where I am; that they may behold my glory, which Thou hast given Me: +for Thou lovedst Me before the foundation of the world.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Lettice was watching her father as he drank in the words, when she +suddenly saw him sink back on the pillow in a death-like swoon, and +both knew the end was even nearer than they thought.</p> + +<p>"I have sent for Ermyn," whispered Lettice, as she applied +restoratives. "See, he is coming to himself again now."</p> + +<p>"Where am I, Lettie?" said the old man faintly. "It was all so dark, +but I can see you again now."</p> + +<p>"Yes, father dear, it is all right now, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, my lass—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will +fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort +me.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'When thou passes through the waters, I will be with thee; and through +the rivers, they shall not overflow thee,—'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +whispered Mr. Williams. + +<p>Again there was a stir in the outer room, and Mary Llewellyn entered +with Ermyn at her side.</p> + +<p>Roger knew Mary, and beckoned her nearer. Then, after the courteous +custom of the Welsh, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. +Ermyn drew near softly, and knelt down beside her mother close to the +bed, and many of Old Roger's sea-mates and neighbours came dropping in +one by one, until the cottage was nearly full.</p> + +<p>"There stood by me this night the angel of God, whose I am, and whom I +serve," said the dying voice.</p> + +<p>And all held their breath to listen.</p> + +<p>"As He was with Saint Paul, so He will be with me.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'They sounded and found it twenty fathoms; and when they had gone a +little farther, they sounded again, and found it fifteen fathoms.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"The water is getting shallower and shallower; there is land ahead!</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'They feared lest they should have fallen upon rocks.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Ah! But I have no fear, for the Anchor of the soul both sure and +steadfast is mine, and it is fixed within the veil.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'They cast out the tackling of the ship'—<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"That is, I take it, all my worldly affairs and cares. They are all +thrown overboard, and Christ alone is with me in the vessel. I see the +red harbour lights gleaming! They who sleep in Jesus rest well."</p> + +<p>"Let us pray," said Mr. Williams, as the aged pilgrim ceased, exhausted +with the unnatural effort.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Unto God's gracious mercy and protection we commit thee; the Lord +bless thee and keep thee. The Lord make His face to shine upon thee, +and be gracious unto thee. The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, +and give thee peace, both now and evermore. Amen."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>There was no time for further words, for as the sunbeams streamed in +rosy and golden, and the waves washed up in a long farewell against the +boundary wall, a sigh, gentle as an infant's, loosed the silver cord, +and the golden bowl was broken. Old Roger had gone home to God.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_11">CHAPTER XI</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE SAINTED WELL</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>THE sweet spring days had unfolded themselves into "the honeyed +heart of June," and "brakes with golden flowers were crowned." The +breath of morning rose in a purple haze, filled with the fragrance of +mountain-thyme and clover, and through the grass silver drops filtered +down to the thirsty roots below. The bright little beck hurried along +in tones of summer gladness, restless and eager to meet the tide as it +bounded in from the broad blue sea, and "there was a sparkling glee +where waves and sunshine met."</p> + +<p>Ermyn stood on the bridge listening to the merry tinkle, then stepped +into the meadow beside the clear running water. Her pitcher was on the +bank, and after playing for some minutes with the pebbles in the bed +of the stream, she snatched it up and ran off in the direction of the +Sainted Well. The glory of earth and sky made her pause and linger; now +two brown butterflies flitted on before her; then she plucked a flower +here and grasses there; and now she followed with fascinated gaze the +white wings of the sea-gull circling above her head, until she found +they had lured her from the path, and she was still a considerable +distance from the Well. To make up for lost time, she climbed a loose +stone wall, and ran across some fields till she was on the right track +again, and the well was in sight.</p> + +<p>She was breathless with the extra speed, and a rosy flush mounted to +her cheeks as she saw that some one was there before her. This was no +uncommon sight, it being such a favourite spot. But Ermyn was demure +in a moment, and steadying the pitcher on her shoulder, walked slowly +towards the spot.</p> + +<p>St. Elvis was the resort of numerous visitors and tourists, especially +of artists, who might be seen almost every day through the summer with +canvas and easel, perched about on the hillsides or along the rocky +shore, trying to represent in glowing colours some of their uncommon +beauties.</p> + +<p>The stranger looked up as he heard the light footsteps through the +rustling grass, and Ermyn saw before her a gentleman, who, from his +whitening hair and bent look, seemed past middle age. He had a long +beard and moustache, and the girl thought she had never beheld such a +thin, haggard face before, nor one so expressive of hopeless misery.</p> + +<p>A sudden tremor filled her young heart, as the dark and piercing eyes +met hers, for, to her surprise, the artist turned pale and dropped his +palette. But she felt reassured when after stooping to pick it up, a +tender, mournful look came into his face, and he accosted her gently,—</p> + +<p>"Good-morning; you are come to fetch some of this delicious water?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," replied Ermyn, curtseying as she spoke. "Would you please +that I should dip you up a little to drink?"</p> + +<p>And, suiting the action to the word, she descended the red steps and +lowered her pitcher.</p> + +<p>"You are ill, sir," she added, as the gentleman, having thanked her, +trembled visibly as he took the proffered water. "Our cottage is not +very far off, sir; and I am sure mother would get you a cup of tea if +you would come there and rest."</p> + +<p>Ermyn had been trained from her childhood to offer the courteous +hospitality for which the Welsh are so famous.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he answered; "I will come, for I feel rather faint. I did +not take anything before I set out; but first let me beg you to stay a +few minutes. I should like to put you into this picture."</p> + +<p>Ermyn looked down with a blush on her shabby dark blue print, which was +tucked up over an old red petticoat, and tossing back her hair from her +lace, she said simply, "My Sunday gown is better than this, sir."</p> + +<p>"I would rather have this one, please," he rejoined, with a mournful +smile. "Can you hold your pitcher on your shoulder? So—I will not keep +you long."</p> + +<p>Ermyn assented with a shy laugh, and stood perfectly still, wondering +much, as she looked towards the cliffs, why this sad-looking man should +care to paint her; for our maiden of the valley had not yet been +spoiled by being told she had a lovely face.</p> + +<p>While the artist sketched, he drew her into conversation. "Have you +always lived in St. Elvis?"</p> + +<p>"We do not live in St. Elvis, sir, but at Porthmynwr, though it is +reckoned all one, I believe. We live at the cottage that stands close +at the head of the creek. There is only mother and me now, for Davie is +away, and dear old granddad died in the early spring."</p> + +<p>"Who is Davie?"</p> + +<p>"He is my brother, sir, and we had a baby sister long ago who died; she +was called little Ruth. Mother has only me now."</p> + +<p>"And what is 'your' name?"</p> + +<p>"Ermyn Silexa Gwynne," replied the girl promptly.</p> + +<p>"I cannot paint any more this morning," said the stranger abruptly, as, +rising, he gathered up his materials and prepared to follow his guide.</p> + +<p>During their walk the conversation was resumed.</p> + +<p>"Do you know why you were given that name?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose, sir, because Miss Pryse is my godmother."</p> + +<p>And Ermyn then proceeded to inform him who lived at the Rectory, and +told him, in fact, all she knew in connection with her own history.</p> + +<p>The artist paused every now and then to rest his burden, and Ermyn +wondered why he questioned her so closely.</p> + +<p>He was silently connecting this morning's scene with one of the +previous evening, when he had arrived by the coach at St. Elvis.</p> + +<p>No one knew who the stranger was; and the villagers eagerly scanned +both him and his luggage, which, however, had no name on it. This fact +was observed as it was carried up to the room he had engaged at "The +Jolly Sailors." Many pairs of eyes from the stone cross steps followed +him inquisitively as he sauntered down towards the Rectory gate and +leaned over its palings. But he was only a stranger among strangers, as +he watched Molly walk across the grass with a basket of clothes on her +arm, which she had been gathering in from the common close by. A young +clergyman was talking to a lady at the wild porch, but he did not know +any of them.</p> + +<p>"I suppose they are all dead," he thought.</p> + +<p>And after a long wistful look at the casements buried in their mass of +green, he walked slowly away, carrying the sore burden of a heart heavy +as lead. Why did the conversation with this simple village maid cause +his heart to bound madly, as the colour mounted into his sunken cheek?</p> + +<p>"It is impossible!" he thought. "Why will such fancies come? The letter +said the child died too. But oh, why is this girl so like my lovely +Ethel? My morbid brain conjures up nothing but phantoms. But my father +lives! I must see his face once more before I die. And Silexa! How she +loved me! And yet she was forbidden ever to write or speak to me again. +My punishment has been greater than I could bear. God is not a God of +love, but a stern avenger, and the greatest boon I crave now from His +hand is to die."</p> + +<p>"There is mother!" cried Ermyn, as they neared the cottage.</p> + +<p>And Lettice came forward to question her child anxiously on the reason +of her delay.</p> + +<p>"I must bear the blame," said the stranger quickly. "I have been trying +to take a sketch of your daughter at the Sainted Well."</p> + +<p>"Yes; and, mother, will you please give the gentleman a cup of tea? He +is ill. I must run away and make myself tidy, for Mrs. Llewellyn will +be waiting for me. Good-morning, sir."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," said the visitor; "will you let me go on with the picture +to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, sir, if you like."</p> + +<p>And the girl ran off.</p> + +<p>"Will you please to come inside, sir, while I get you something?" said +the wondering Lettice. "May I ask if you have travelled far to-day?"</p> + +<p>"No; I have only come from St. Elvis, where I slept last night. +Will you allow me to rest under the shadow of this hawthorn? What a +beautiful child your daughter is!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she is well enough," answered Lettice stiffly; for she was always +dubious whither such remarks might tend.</p> + +<p>"She is so like some one who was very dear to me, and who died; that is +why I wanted to take her likeness."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, sir!"</p> + +<p>"Is she your own child?" asked the stranger, in a low tone.</p> + +<p>But he was not prepared to see Lettice start and turn very pale as she +answered.</p> + +<p>"No, she is not, but she does not know it. All the neighbours and +townsfolk have been kind enough to keep my secret, and I shall never +tell her. She is just the same as if she were my own, for I have had +her ever since she was a little baby."</p> + +<p>"How did you get her?" pursued her questioner, with difficulty +concealing his agitation.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, 'tis a sad tale. Rather more than twelve years ago a fine +ship, called the 'Ocean Queen,' foundered on yonder reef of rocks, +and all hands were drowned. None were saved except this poor little +helpless babe, who was found lashed to a spar and brought home by my +father. The mother of the infant was cold in death, but one arm was +round her baby when they found her. The sailors carried her into the +cottage, where she lay until after the inquest. And on the following +Sunday, we buried her in the old churchyard at St. Elvis."</p> + +<p>"Does the child bear any resemblance to the mother?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I sometimes fancy she does; but features change after +death, so I can scarcely tell. Do you know anything about the wreck, +sir?"</p> + +<p>"No, nothing; I never even heard of it before."</p> + +<p>Lettice felt relieved.</p> + +<p>"Then this stranger can surely have no claim on her," she thought, "but +I must be careful what I say. I will not tell him about the locket, and +I will never give her up to any one who cannot describe it accurately +before seeing it."</p> + +<p>Poor gentleman! She felt very sorry for him; he looked so forlorn and +ill. He evidently had a sad history attached to him. And as the artist +raised his dark eyes to hers, a remembrance of long ago flashed into +her mind, but faded away before it could take a definite form.</p> + +<p>"Do you make a long stay here, sir?" she asked presently.</p> + +<p>"No; I go the next time the coach leaves St. Elvis. I suppose there is +no other means of communication with the market town?"</p> + +<p>"Not unless you order a carriage from there to fetch you, sir, but that +is expensive," she added thoughtfully, looking at his shabby clothes. +"The coach does not run again this week, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then I must hire," he replied; "for there is no time to be lost. There +is foul play somewhere."</p> + +<p>Lettice wondered why he said this, but she did not remark on it.</p> + +<p>"I will come again to-morrow, if you will allow me," he said earnestly. +"I should like to finish my picture of the child."</p> + +<p>"Oh, surely, sir, you are very welcome; I will tell her about it."</p> + +<p>A pause, and then the stranger asked abruptly, "Where was she buried?"</p> + +<p>"The poor lady, sir? For she 'was' a lady, I'm sure. Oh, it was up in +the corner of the churchyard, by the sycamore trees, sir. If you would +please wait here a few minutes, I could come with you and show you, and +perhaps you would like to see the church also?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I should; I will wait here until you are ready."</p> + +<p>They were soon walking along the meadows, white and golden with +daisies and buttercups, towards the old town. And as they went, the +conversation turned upon the Rectory.</p> + +<p>"I knew Dr. Pryse long ago," said the stranger, "and consider myself an +old friend of the family."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, sir; then of course you know about their trouble? Our dear +pastor was aged before his time; he had a sorrow, sir, that well-nigh +killed him."</p> + +<p>"What was it?" said her listener.</p> + +<p>Lettice paused before answering. It was unlike her to talk much of the +affairs of others. Yet this gentleman was a friend of the family, and +there was something about him which told her his question sprang not +from impertinent curiosity.</p> + +<p>"There could surely," she thought, "be no harm in telling what all the +village knew."</p> + +<p>"His only son, sir," she said at length, "such a fine, noble youth, +his father's joy and pride; there were few that could show beside him +for beauty, sir. He went away to London to his father's friend, Mr. +Lyndwood, who, having no children of his own, offered to take him into +his office and provide for him. Well, sir, I suppose he fell in with +bad companions. I don't know, but I always will say I don't believe he +meant to steal the money, and Miss Silexa has always said the same. +We suppose he got into debt, and was afraid to tell his father, who +was a terribly stern man at that time, over strict, sir, with all his +children. But I think he learned his lesson when it was too late.</p> + +<p>"Well, the news came one morning that his son had stolen bank notes to +the value of two hundred pounds, and had disappeared. I shall never +forget the father's rage. I was up at the Rectory at the time. He said +he would never see his face again, and forbade Miss Pryse to have any +communication with her brother. Soon after a letter came from Master +Edward, but giving no address, begging his father to pay the money, +and promising in the future to try and amend the past. A reply by +advertisement was requested.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Pryse took no notice of the letter, expecting if he waited long +enough, the lad would come meekly back, and ask his forgiveness. But +Miss Silexa knew it was not like Master Edward to do that—he had such a +terribly high spirit; and she used to come down to our cottage and weep +her heart out about it. Poor lady! She has had a troubled life of it +since in many ways."</p> + +<p>"And did the son write again?" asked the artist.</p> + +<p>But Lettice did not perceive how he trembled.</p> + +<p>"No, sir, at least not then; and as the years went on, his poor father +seemed to bend lower and lower under the grief. He would have given all +he had to bring him back. But though he and his friend Mr. Lyndwood +made every inquiry, no tidings could be heard that would give the +shadow of a hope. Why, it must be five-and-twenty years ago since he +went away. How time flies!"</p> + +<p>"Do you think the old man has ever forgiven his son?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, sir. I am sure he has; he has learned too much of God's love +himself to deny forgiveness to his son. I am certain, if he had come +back, he would have fallen on his neck and kissed him, and killed for +him the fatted calf. He can never read that chapter in church about +David's lament over Absalom without breaking down."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he has given up all hope now?" rejoined her auditor, in a +questioning tone.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, sir; they all think, now, Master Edward must have died +somewhere abroad, though, they began to hope again after they got the +letter."</p> + +<p>"I thought you said there was no letter."</p> + +<p>"Not from him, sir. But twelve years after he went away, Mr. Lyndwood +received the money again, with no name or address. He has been doing +all he can ever since to find out where it came from."</p> + +<p>"How very strange!" replied her questioner. "And so they are all gone +away now?" he added. "Who is the young lady your daughter was telling +me about?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Eudora Meredith, sir, the child of Miss Silexa's sister, +beautiful Miss Minnie Pryse, the pride of St. Elvis. She died within a +year of her marriage. There is a sad story about that, sir. You must +surely have heard it, if you are a friend of the family."</p> + +<p>The stranger started, fearing he had betrayed himself. But the movement +was unperceived by the innocent, simple-hearted woman, who waited for +the answer.</p> + +<p>"No, I have heard nothing. My home has been out of England for many +years. Do tell me all you know, as I shall not see any of them myself +now."</p> + +<p>"True, sir; they will not be back until the fall of the year. I am +sorry you will miss them. Well, I will tell you about Mrs. Meredith. +She had more schooling than her elder sister, Miss Pryse; for there +was always so much to be done at home that somehow she could not be +spared, and their poor mother was an invalid for years before she died. +Miss Minnie was one of the wildest, merriest-hearted girls I ever saw; +a regular little mischievous one, always up to pranks. She was named +after Dame Ermyn Brande, who was an ancestor of the Pryse family. You +will see her monument directly over the Rectory pew, telling of her +bequest to St. Elvis, but the child was never called anything but +Minnie. After the death of Mrs. Pryse, she was sent away to school for, +I think, five or six years. It was a long way off, so she seldom came +home until she finished.</p> + +<p>"And while she was absent, Captain Edward Meredith came to visit at the +Rectory. His ship, the 'Eudora,' was anchored in the bay. Oh, but he +'was' a fine gentleman! I always say I never saw one as handsome except +our Master Edward of the Rectory. Captain Meredith was, I believe, a +year or two younger than Miss Pryse, but no one would have guessed it. +They looked such a fine handsome couple as they walked about together; +and everybody in St. Elvis and Porthmynwr thought it was going to be a +match between them.</p> + +<p>"I have seen Miss Silexa, when he used to be absent, most days walk +along the cliff and shore, as if eagerly watching for his ship; and +whenever his name was mentioned, she would look up to listen. If ever +a man might have won a noble heart, it was he, sir, but perhaps he +didn't know. Miss Silexa was a proud young woman, and never betrayed +her feelings, but I had not seen such a glad look on her face since the +day our Master Edward went away. I hoped she was going to find comfort +in her affliction by becoming a happy wife."</p> + +<p>"And how did it end?" said the stranger, pausing to take breath.</p> + +<p>"It ended, sir, one summer when the 'Eudora' was lying out there in the +bay at anchor. Miss Minnie had just returned from school, and every one +was talking of her great beauty. I shall never forget the first Sunday +I saw her come into church, with her blue eyes and golden hair, smiling +like an angel. Captain Meredith went into the Rectory pew, and, I +suppose, soon fell in love, for he was always with her after that, and +in a little while, we heard they were engaged. They were married in the +following spring, quite early in the year. They went away together for +a trip somewhere, and then he had to bring her home here and leave her, +as his ship was ordered away suddenly to foreign parts. His poor little +wife drooped for him, and by degrees the rosy colour faded out of her +cheeks.</p> + +<p>"One November morning, I was sent for in haste to the Rectory. And my +heart ached as I went over the threshold and heard the sound of bitter +weeping. Miss Silexa met me with the newspaper in her hand, looking as +pale as ashes. The 'Eudora' had gone down, and all in her had perished, +except two sailors, who escaped to bring the news to land.</p> + +<p>"Our beautiful Miss Minnie never looked up again. I stayed there all +day, and in the evening, she gave birth to her little daughter. When +she heard the baby's cry, she whispered to her sister,—</p> + +<p>"'Call her Eudora, and take care of her for Edward's sake. I am going +to him.'</p> + +<p>"We tried by every means to rouse her, but she just sank away like a +tired child going to sleep. I thought the double sorrow would have +killed poor Dr. Pryse. We could not get him to leave the body; he sat +moaning over it, holding the waxen hand in his, and crying out,—</p> + +<p>"'My little Minnie! Look at me once more! Wake up, my darling!'"</p> + +<p>"Miss Silexa did not shed a tear, but seemed turned into stone, as she +sat rocking the poor baby on her knees. And she has been a mother to +her ever since."</p> + +<p>"It is indeed a sad story," said the gentleman, turning his back to +Lettice, and stooping to gather a flower, by which action he managed to +hide the tears that had filled his eyes. "The child must be a precious +treasure," he added.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, the old man dotes on her, and so does Miss Silexa; please +God she may be spared to them! They nearly lost her last year when +she was ill. She is very like her mother, only without her beautiful +colour. I wish they were all home again. I think that is all I have +to tell you, sir. And I see old John Jenkins coming. He will show you +over the church. Step this way first, sir; here is the grave, and Mrs. +Meredith's is next to it. I will wish you good-morning. Oh no, sir; I +did not expect payment," she added hastily, as the stranger slipped a +sovereign into her hand.</p> + +<p>"Please accept it with my best thanks," he urged, in reply to her +remonstrances, as an earnest look came into his dark eyes; "I will be +at your cottage to-morrow."</p> + +<p>There was no headstone to mark the resting-place of the drowned one; +only the long grasses waved pleasantly over it, and there was a hushing +sound in the sycamore branches above. He knelt beside it to pluck a few +green blades, which he put into his pocket-book. He then passed on to +look at the headstone next to it.</p> + +<p>"So young to die!" he murmured, on reading the inscription.</p> + +<p>"Would you please to go into the church, sir?" asked John Jenkins, who +had come close to where he was standing. "'Tis a fine old church, folks +say, sir," he added, as the gentleman turned to accompany him. "This +doorway is Norman, and the tower is hundreds of years old, and I can +show you some very ancient monuments."</p> + +<p>The old pew-opener was proceeding to descant on these, when, to his +surprise, he found the stranger had left him, and was now far ahead of +him up the church aisle, and just turning into the Rectory pew, where +he sat down, and was lost to view.</p> + +<p>Old Jenkins did not follow him there, or he would have been still more +astonished to find him sitting in one corner among the fusty cushions, +with his head bowed low upon his hands, shedding, silently, bitter +tears.</p> + +<p>"A curious sort of a chap that!" thought the verger, as ten minutes +later the gentleman reappeared, and putting some money in his hand +abruptly left the church.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The artist kept his appointment the following morning, and finished the +picture.</p> + +<p>"Look, mother, what the gentleman gave me!" cried Ermyn, as she ran +into the cottage. "A whole sovereign! Is it enough to buy a cow? You +must take it and use it. Oh, we shall be rich some day," she added, +kissing her. "I am doing such a beautiful piece of work now. A wreath +of wild roses on white silk. Mrs. Llewellyn says it is the prettiest I +ever did."</p> + +<p>"It is far too much money, my child; I am sorry he gave it, for he +seems poor himself, and I grieve from my heart for him. He looks as if +life had pressed sore upon him with its burden."</p> + +<p>St. Elvis opened its eyes in considerable astonishment the following +morning, when a carriage and pair arrived from the market town, and the +stranger stepped into it and drove off.</p> + +<p>"I thought he was one of your poor travelling artists," remarked the +ostler, who had shouldered the well-worn portmanteau.</p> + +<p>"He paid his reckoning like a gentleman, anyhow," rejoined the +landlady, "but I never saw a shabbier kit."</p> + +<p>"He looked as if he hadn't a sixpence in the world to call his own," +added a bystander; "and 'what' a hat!"</p> + +<p>Molly was welcomed eagerly at the stone cross that morning, for she had +something else to tell about the nameless and mysterious stranger.</p> + +<p>"He was up late last night," she said, "prowling round the Rectory +like a thief, peeping into all the windows and under the willow tree +and all. And he picked the flowers, and actually went into the kitchen +garden opposite, as if he had a right there. I didn't like to tell him +he mustn't go there."</p> + +<p>"Well, I never!" nodded the gossips, with upraised hands. "It was as +well Miss Pryse wasn't at home. She would have ordered him off sharp. +She don't like strangers about."</p> + +<p>But none of these remarks reached the ear of our traveller, who was +speeding on his way as fast as a pair of fleet horses could carry him +to the nearest railway station, whence he was soon flying along in the +express train towards Scotland.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_12">CHAPTER XII</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE LAIRD OF MUIRSTANE</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>THE long Scotch twilight was rapidly fading, and lights glimmered here +and there from the windows of the town, towards which four tired horses +were dragging the public conveyance after a hard day's journey. There +was but one inn of any size in the place, and this was homely both +in style and appearance, notwithstanding the fierce attitude of the +so-called "Golden Lion" swinging on the signboard above the entrance.</p> + +<p>As the coach crossed the last bridge, and rattled over the ill-paved +streets, a crowd of barefooted urchins set up a series of yells, and +commenced running after it in a body, clamouring and squabbling for +the halfpence a traveller threw down for their benefit. At the sound +of these noisy heralds, two ostlers ran out from the inn-yard, who +were speedily joined by other hangers-on. The stout landlady appeared +resplendent in plaid ribbons, sinning benignly; and many heads bobbed +up and down behind her, all eager to see what the tired tourists were +like.</p> + +<p>The poor artist whom St. Elvis had in turn looked down upon and +wondered at, was among them; though this fact might have been doubted, +as he had exchanged his shabby attire for a respectable suit, and +certainly looked much more like a gentleman as he descended the +step-ladder and accosted Mrs. Macgregor:</p> + +<p>"Can I have a fresh pair of horses to take me to Muirstane to-night?"</p> + +<p>"'Deed no, sir; ye can ha'e no horses the nicht, ye maun e'en wait till +the morn. We ha'e been ower busy here this week past, and the Duke had +the last pair this afternoon to gang to the castle. I'm sorry, sir, but +ye maun put up wi' us, and tak' the best oor hoose can gi'e ye."</p> + +<p>Our traveller remonstrated, but finding it was useless, he gave orders +for his luggage to be carried in, and was glad to escape from the +noise and confusion outside to the parlour within. A smell of beer and +whisky, mingled with the fumes of stale tobacco, made him feel sick and +giddy, after all his fatigue. It was not much better upstairs, for the +inn being unusually crowded, he had to be content with a small attic, +whose window could only be opened a few inches by a desperate effort, +after which a wedge of wood had to be inserted to keep the sash from +falling again.</p> + +<p>He inquired how soon his supper could be ready; and being told "in +about half an hour," he went out into the cool night air while it was +preparing. Fresh breezes came up from the river as he leant over the +stone bridge, and watched the reflection of stars in the clear water +beneath. The hills were faintly outlined in the distance, and there was +a soughing in the belt of Scotch pines that skirted the bend of the +stream.</p> + +<p>But the soft whispers brought no rest nor peace to the weary one who +stood there, absently gazing at the dim landscape. He could only review +the sad past, to which was now added his strange visit to St. Elvis, +and what he had seen and heard there. Since then, rapid journeys by +day and night had finally brought him to this place, where he was now +forcibly detained by circumstances.</p> + +<p>"I wish I had never seen that child," he muttered, as he retraced his +footsteps to the house.</p> + +<p>And with a wilful inconsistency, climbed the stairs again to unlock +his portmanteau and take out Ermyn's picture. He looked at the face he +saw smiling there, comparing it with a miniature he always wore, and +carried it downstairs with him.</p> + +<p>Two dismal tallow-candles were spluttering away on a table in the fusty +little room where he found his supper awaiting him. The meal consisted +of fried eggs and ham, some excellent coffee, with plenty of good bread +and butter. And in spite of his sorrow and disappointment, the tired +wayfarer enjoyed it.</p> + +<p>After the remains of the feast had been duly cleared away by a +red-handed and red-haired serving-maid, he produced the pictures again, +and laying them carefully on the table before him, took another long +look, murmuring to himself, "They 'are' alike."</p> + +<p>Waking from his reverie, he proceeded to investigate the room. The +bookcase contained a Scotch psalm-book, the "Shorter Catechism," +Bunyan's "Holy War" and "Pilgrim's Progress," a stray novel or two +left by passing visitors, some "Chambers's Journals," well-thumbed and +dog-eared, and a collection of old "Illustrated London News," bound in +a cloth cover and considerably the worse for wear. The last-mentioned +volume had evidently been a favourite study of previous guests, as was +only too apparent from the tattered condition of its leaves, and the +dirty marks visible upon them.</p> + +<p>Edward Pryse (for our readers will have guessed ere this that it was +he) turned over the pages mechanically, thinking of far different +subjects, when suddenly his eye was attracted by the picture of a +ship. He started, and his heart thumped against his breast as he read +the words underneath it—"The Ocean Queen." With trembling fingers, he +turned to the paragraph to which it belonged, and pursued the following +communication:—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Loss of the ship 'Ocean Queen,' paddle-steamer, bound from Liverpool +to Cork. She broke her paddle-shaft in a gale of wind in St. George's +Channel, and drifted on to St. Dewis Head, on October 7, and became a +total wreck. Crew and passengers all lost.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"What a strange coincidence! How this shipwreck haunts me!" he cried, +as the letters swam before his eyes, and he gasped for breath.</p> + +<p>It was all a dream! But no, there it was, staring him in the face. +True, quite true! He rose and paced the room until he grew calmer. +Then, sitting down again, he drew a penknife from his pocket and slowly +and deliberately cut out the page, folded it carefully, and laid it +with the picture. He then restored the book to its dusty quarters on +the shelf, rang for his bedroom candle, and went upstairs.</p> + +<p>The landlady passed him on his way, and he felt quite guilty. But she +only smiled as she wished him "Gude-nicht," adding, "ye'll no' mind if +ye hear a hubbub aboot the hoose; it'll be just oorsels."</p> + +<p>Edward paced long up and down the little room, too excited to seek +repose.</p> + +<p>At last he said, half aloud, "I must write to Liverpool and inquire if +any lady of the name of Pryse sailed in that vessel."</p> + +<p>After this was done, being completely worn-out by his previous +journeys, he flung himself on his bed and slept soundly.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>While waiting to start on his journey the following morning, two lines +that he had read somewhere long ago came into his mind, and haunted it +all through that day:</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"There's a Divinity that shapes our ends,<br> + Rough-hew them how we will."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>His destination was many miles off, and the road lay through some of +the most beautiful scenery Scotland can produce. His artistic eye did +not fail to note the glories of the landscape on either hand. When +they stopped at a small village to rest and bait the horses, he made +his way down to a rocky dell, attracted thither by the brawling of a +brown sunlit river. The waters fell sheer down with a thundering sound, +and on the large mossy boulder above, whence they took the final leap, +they were gathered up in a shining mass, which, on reaching the lower +stones, sprang off in silver threads of spray, while fairy fountains +were made rainbow-coloured and brilliant by the sunlight that glinted +through the over-arching branches above.</p> + +<p>But he could not stay long in this enchanted spot. He must hurry on +to his journey's end, and it was the thought of what he should meet +with there that weighted his heart with lead. His last pilgrimage +to Muirstane had been a fruitless one, and in all probability this +would be the same. He was fully prepared for it, as in the light of +a glorious setting sun, he saw the roofs of the Highland village +appearing in view.</p> + +<p>"I 'will' gain admittance this time," he muttered, with a bitter smile, +as, having left the carriage at the inn, he walked slowly up a steep +hill towards a large house, visible for many miles round in its utter +loneliness and isolation.</p> + +<p>The huge iron gates looked as if they had not swung on their hinges for +a century, for they were coated with thick rust, and clustering weeds +and ivy clung about them. Edward Pryse touched the chain that hung from +the padlock. It clanked drearily as he let it drop again, and went +round to the dingy back entrance, through a court where grass grew rank +among the paving-stones. Here he pulled a wooden handle, which set a +bell ringing somewhere far-away in a distant passage.</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>After waiting some minutes in impatient suspense, he tried the door. It +yielded to his vigorous push, and Edward found himself at the end of +a long dark corridor. On this side of the house there was no sign of +life, and the unexpected visitor made his way in the direction of the +inhabited end.</p> + +<p>He reached the foot of a stair leading, as he well remembered, to +a little sitting-room, which had been Ethel's favourite retreat. +Ascending the steps, he knocked loudly at the door of the room, but +again without reply. Led by irresistible impulse, he entered.</p> + +<p>How familiar, yet strange, the place appeared, in the thronging +memories of happy hours spent in that room by her side! The room +seemed exactly as it used to be, only all things wore a deathly look, +because the spirit that had given them life had fled. A harp stood +in one corner, but the strings hung broken and useless, and all the +gilding was worn away. A picture of his own painting hung above it, and +underneath the frame these words were illuminated,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'God is our refuge and strength: a very present help in trouble.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>A large old-fashioned rosewood workbox stood on a dusty round table in +the window. Edward opened it, and some dried rose-leaves gave forth +their peculiar odour as he lifted the lid and took out the tray. Oh, +what did he see beneath? A tiny half-finished infant's shirt of finest +cambric. The needle was still in it, but so rusty, it had imprinted an +orange stain on the fabric, now yellow with age. Tears filled his eyes; +he handled and kissed it reverently, then folding it together put it +into his breast-pocket, and closed the lid again.</p> + +<p>Were there any other precious mementoes of his lost one? Yes, some of +her books were there, with a thick coating of dust resting on them. One +lay apart from the others; he opened it first, and some verbena and ivy +leaves fluttered down to his feet. It was Baxter's "Saints' Everlasting +Rest." The words his eye fell on were these, and they were underlined +with pencil:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "When should we take our cordials, but in times of fainting? When is it +more seasonable to walk to heaven, than when we know not in what corner +of the earth to live with comfort? or when should our thoughts converse +more above, than when they have nothing but grief below? Where should +Noah's dove be but in the ark, when the waters cover all the earth, and +she cannot find rest for the sole of her foot? What should we think on, +but our Father's house, when we have not even the husks of the world to +feed upon? Surely God sends thy affliction for this very purpose."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>He turned the pages and read again:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Hast thou seen the utter insufficiency of every creature, either to +be itself thy happiness or the means of removing this thy misery? +Hast thou been convinced, that thy happiness is only in God as the +end, and in Christ as the way to Him? and that thou must be brought +to God through Christ or perish eternally? Hast thou seen an absolute +necessity of thy enjoying Christ and a full sufficiency in Him to +do for thee whatever thy case requires? Hast thou discovered the +excellence of this pearl to be worth thy selling all to buy it?"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Edward Pryse could read no further for the dimming tears.</p> + +<p>"No, my God," he groaned, "I have not! I found an earthly pearl, +beautiful and rare, and she was my idol; and Thou hast taken her from +me. Is it that I may find Thee, the Pearl of greatest price? Oh, my +sweet dove, that flitted 'twixt earth and sky o'er stormy seas! God put +forth His hand and drew thee in to rest with Him for evermore. Thou art +safe sheltered on His breast; and the world outside is cold without +thee. I shall go to thee, but thou canst not return to me."</p> + +<p>A sound of footsteps in the corridor outside made him start.</p> + +<p>And in another moment, an old woman, of forbidding appearance, +presented herself, and demanded his business.</p> + +<p>"My name is Mr. Edward Pryse, and I am here to see your master."</p> + +<p>"You know he will not see you; besides, he is very ill, and must not be +disturbed. How dared you enter? Here, John! John!"</p> + +<p>At the call, a man came swiftly along the passage, leaving at the other +end a door ajar.</p> + +<p>"Come, be off!" he said menacingly, but shrunk back in fear as Edward +advanced towards him.</p> + +<p>"Will you show me your master's room?" sternly demanded the unwelcome +guest.</p> + +<p>Before the housekeeper and her husband could frame a stubborn negative, +Edward thought he heard a faint sound, as of an old man in pain, +proceed from the room they had quitted. Did his ears deceive him? Or +was there a faint cry of "Edward! Edward!"</p> + +<p>He rushed past the ill-favoured pair, and passed through the anteroom, +whence they had issued, into the bedchamber beyond. What a sight met +his view! In a tattered shirt, and lying on the bare mattress, with a +ragged blanket to cover him, lay the pitiable old man, his limbs and +features shrunk and attenuated to the last degree, and shaking from +head to foot.</p> + +<p>"You have only come just in time to see me die! Why didn't you come +sooner?"</p> + +<p>"I have been here at two different times, but could not gain +admittance. And judging from your last letter to me, I thought you +never wished to see my face again. It was a cruel letter."</p> + +<p>"God forgive me!" murmured the old man. "I have deeply sinned. He 'may' +forgive me, but you never, when you know all!"</p> + +<p>"I 'will' forgive, if you will only speak, and tell me 'all.'"</p> + +<p>"I lied to you," said the helpless victim of cunning and avarice; "I +hated you for gaining Ethel's affections, when I had destined her to be +the wife of a rich neighbour. And when you went away, I swore I would +be revenged."</p> + +<p>Edward grew pale as death, but was silent.</p> + +<p>"She ran away," continued the narrator, "and I don't know where she +went. I suppose she was driven to it, and hoped to find you somewhere +in the wide world. I forced her, by keeping her short of money, to +leave the cottage you took for her in the village, and to return here. +I made her life in this house a hard and bitter bondage."</p> + +<p>"But why did she not write to me? I sent her letters and remittances +regularly, but they were never acknowledged."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Edward, forgive me, the hand of death is on me! I intercepted both +her letters and yours. I bribed the postmistress to let me have all +communications addressed to Ethel from America, and all hers to you. +They are all tied together in my desk, and you shall have them now. Ah! +Curse me not, I entreat you," added the unhappy man, as Edward uttered +a hasty exclamation. "God's curse has rested upon me so heavily that it +cannot be worse. Hear me to the end, and then help me to make my peace +with the Almighty, against whom I have sinned so deeply. The letter +I sent to you announcing her death and that of the child was false. +I never heard of her from the day she disappeared. I did it that you +should not expect my money."</p> + +<p>"She 'did' not die, then!" said Edward, starting to his feet, not +heeding the last sentence. "Where is she, and what of her child?"</p> + +<p>"It was not born here," replied the wretched miser; "but she was +preparing for it when she fled from the house. Go and look for her, +Edward; she must be somewhere in the world. I must see her again, and +ask her forgiveness before I die, or how can I meet her father and +mother, who left the friendless orphan to me, her only relative?"</p> + +<p>"But had you no idea where she went?"</p> + +<p>"In my anger I did not care. I thought surely her want of money must +soon drive her back. And when later I sought to find her, all trace was +gone. When people inquired for her, I said she had gone to you. Since +she left me, these thieves have gradually robbed me of everything they +could lay their hands upon, and now that I am ill and helpless, you see +how they have treated me."</p> + +<p>"Why did you not send the wretches out of your house? How came you to +put your neck under their feet?"</p> + +<p>"They had my secret, Edward, and they used their power cruelly. I was +afraid to let you enter the house for fear they would betray me. They +extorted larger and larger bribes, and when I remonstrated, threatened +to tell you all. At last, in my misery, I decided to throw myself on +your mercy, but did not know where to send for you. The woman said she +knew, and promised to send, but I didn't believe she would."</p> + +<p>Edward was about to reply, when the old man laid his hand on his arm, +and said in a hollow whisper: "You must find Ethel; I have willed the +whole of my large property to her, and her child after her. See," he +added, gasping, "you will find the will in a secret drawer, just inside +the panel of—"</p> + +<p>Edward never heard the remainder of the sentence, for a paralytic +stroke had fallen on the aged sinner, and he lay helpless and +unconscious.</p> + +<p>To ring the bell and call loudly for assistance was Edward's first act, +but no one responded to his appeal.</p> + +<p>He ran through room after room, and found all empty and deserted. +The man and his wife had made off in the interval, terrified at the +consequences of their iniquitous behaviour. Edward opened doors, and +flew along corridors, and finally found himself in the paved court +below. Here he saw a man passing the gate, and recognising him as an +inhabitant of Muirstane, thrust some money into his hand, and bade +him fetch a doctor as quickly as possible, and send help up from the +village.</p> + +<p>The man was as good as his word, and soon summoned the needful +assistance. Everything that human skill or kindness could devise was +done to relieve the sufferer. Edward Pryse sat with him day and night. +And when a glimmering consciousness returned without the power of +speech, Ethel's uncle would lie looking wistfully at him, holding his +hand in his, and vainly moving his lips, as if trying to articulate +something that he had on his mind, but no sound ever came.</p> + +<p>Edward fancied the old man understood what he said to him. And one day +as he sat beside him, the thought would itself upon his mind, "Is his +guilty soul sheltered from the wrath of the avenging Judge?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Pryse was not a religious man himself, and he felt it, as death +knocked grimly at this chamber door. He had allowed the circumstances +of his life to harden him against God. But the words to which his dead +Ethel had so unconsciously pointed him, in her little red book, clung +to him, as if the good seed must find a resting-place even in "his" +stony heart.</p> + +<p>He went softly down to her bookcase again, and found a Bible. He did +not know where to read, but again the marked passages came to his aid, +as he sat down to find something to comfort her uncle with. Slowly +turning the pages to and fro, he read aloud wherever he saw the traces +of her pencil—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'When Jesus heard it, He saith unto them, They that are whole have no +need of the physician, but they that are sick: I came not to call the +righteous, but sinners to repentance.'<br> +<br> + "'Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your +sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red +like crimson, they shall be as wool.'<br> +<br> + "'God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet +sinners, Christ died for us. Much more then, being now justified by His +blood, we shall be saved from wrath through Him.'<br> +<br> + "'Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Edward fancied he saw a movement of the pale, shrivelled lips, as the +eyes looked up towards heaven with a supplicating glance, but that was +all. After a few more weary struggles, the soul that had sinned so +deeply went forth to appear before a higher tribunal than man's.</p> + +<p>"God help me," ejaculated Edward, "to forgive him from my heart! 'I' +forgive him for Ethel's sake."</p> + +<p>And he turned sadly away to give directions to the attendants who stood +by.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_13">CHAPTER XIII</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>BAFFLED HOPES</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>EDWARD PRYSE followed the remains of his wife's relative to the +grave as chief and only mourner. No one came forward then to claim +kinship with the lonely and unloved old man. But as nearly the whole +of Muirstane belonged to him, a goodly number of tenants joined the +funeral procession. Already they looked upon Edward as their new +master, and accordingly began to pay court to him, hoping they would +find in him a more indulgent landlord. Not a few were eager to inform +him of facts they would not have cared to make public during Mr. +Macdonald's lifetime, and willingly gave him all the assistance in +their power, while he made a careful and patient investigation of every +matter respecting his wife.</p> + +<p>The letter he wrote to Liverpool had only brought a curt reply that +no lady of the name of Pryse, or of the description he had given, had +sailed in the "Ocean Queen." But the belief that Ermyn must be Ethel's +child had taken too strong a hold of him to be entirely set aside even +by this. He must seek for some other clue. But in the meantime, it was +his duty to turn from this engrossing matter to the immediate necessity +of settling his uncle's affairs.</p> + +<p>Mr. Tod, the lawyer, who had drawn up the hidden document, was absent +from home at the time of Mr. Macdonald's decease, but returned with all +speed in answer to Edward's summons. Mr. Pryse informed him accurately +of all that had taken place since his arrival at Muirstane, to which +the lawyer listened in professional silence. When everything had been +stated, Mr. Tod asked the following question slowly and deliberately:</p> + +<p>"Then if this document is found—and there can be no doubt of its +existence, from all you tell me and from what I know myself—can you +throw any light as to the whereabouts of the unfortunate lady, his +niece, who is entitled to this property under her uncle's gift? Or, if +she is dead, whether she left a child to take it?"</p> + +<p>"I have reason to believe," replied Edward, "that my wife, the lady +you refer to, whom I married as Ethel Macdonald, was drowned in the +steamer 'Ocean Queen,' which was wrecked in the St. George's Channel in +the year 18—. But I have yet to prove that this was the case. If I am +right in my conjecture, I can produce her only child, a girl, whom I +accidentally discovered living under another name in South Wales. She +is supposed to be the daughter of a poor woman, who, however, confessed +to me that the girl was not her own child."</p> + +<p>The lawyer expressed much surprise at this piece of information, and +promised all the help he could give towards unravelling the interesting +mystery, and ways and means were accordingly discussed most earnestly. +However, the disquisition ended by their coming back to the point they +started from: the document must be found first, before any other steps +could be taken.</p> + +<p>Meantime, efforts were made to track the guilty fugitives, who had +departed immediately Edward had closed the doors upon them. Thanks +to the stupidity of the thieves, some valuable property was soon +recovered. But it needed a long and careful search before the man +and his wife were finally captured. Alas it was found that most of +the costly and massive family plate had been previously carried off; +and as it had been sold and melted down at once, none of it could +be recovered. Some of the jewels were discovered by their peculiar +setting, and were found in the possession of pawnbrokers and country +people, totally ignorant of their great value, but others could not be +traced.</p> + +<p>The search for the will continued with the aid of careful workmen, +under the supervision of Edward himself. But again and again he +was disappointed and baffled. The oak panels of each room had been +carefully removed, but no secret drawer could be discovered.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, rumours began to reach Edward of certain Macdonalds who +were about to dispute his right to act, and he was daily harassed by +letters from distant relatives of the late laird, each claiming to be +heir-at-law. He therefore fully expected the case would ere long be +brought before some court.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>One day, as he was seated buried in desponding cogitations, a +reminiscence of his childhood flashed into his mind. He recollected +his mother's curious ancient cabinet of inlaid wood and silver, and +how one day, as she was cleaning and putting it to rights, she by +accident saw what appeared to be merely a tiny worm-eaten hole. Into +this she inserted a fine knitting-needle, and started with surprise +when a small drawer shot out, containing some old family documents and +a few rare coins. This incident had faded from his mind until present +circumstances revived it.</p> + +<p>He rose, determined not to summon the workmen again; he would go alone +and recommence the search. Of course, as is generally the case, they +had hunted through all the likely places first, and Ethel's little +sanctum was the last to be invaded. This also was panelled in oak. +In several of the other rooms, two or three sliding panels had been +detected by the accidental touching of springs. But the secret drawer +which Mr. Macdonald had mentioned could not be found. Ethel's room, it +was argued, being in such a remote situation, would certainly contain +nothing valuable. The search there had consequently been less careful.</p> + +<p>"Here is a sliding panel!" cried Edward, with delight, as he stood in +a dark corner on one side of the bookcase, in the room which he had +entered on the night when he appeared as an unbidden guest.</p> + +<p>On examining it by the aid of a taper, he observed a little hole in the +back. But he had nothing at hand small enough to insert in it. Suddenly +he recollected Ethel's workbox, turned to it, and lifted the lid. There +lay a slender stiletto, covered with rust, in its silken band. Would it +serve his purpose? He drew it out, and inserted the point in the hole, +when out sprang a secret drawer, which contained the "Will of Alexander +Macdonald, of Muirstane, Esquire," giving the estate to his niece for +life, and after her death to her eldest surviving child.</p> + +<p>Who can describe Edward's feelings, as he fell on his knees to utter a +fervent "Thank God!"</p> + +<p>With this in his possession, he could hold the estate while he searched +for the wife and child to whom it belonged. But before he went out +into the world to find them, one task yet remained to him. He unlocked +the old man's desk, and took out the bundle of letters that had never +reached their destination. His passionate rage boiled up again as he +read his own letters from America, full of loving, tender words, which +had not even been seen by the dear eyes that had looked up so wistfully +into his, the day he had said "Farewell." Those words would have poured +balm into the wounded lonely heart, and filled it with patient waiting +for his return.</p> + +<p>"He murdered her!" said he bitterly.</p> + +<p>Then recollecting his words of forgiveness uttered beside the dying +bed, he checked the further outburst of wrath. There were only two +or three of Ethel's letters, and these were directed to the shipping +office in Liverpool whither he had told her to write first. They +wrung his heart as he read them, being full of tender longings for +his return, even ere he had left England. There were hopes and fears +concerning the future, and entreaties that he would, if possible, come +back before their child should be born. Then followed a heart-rending +account of her lonely life. But all this was before she had returned to +Muirstane House, so they told nothing of her miseries there.</p> + +<p>"I must go and look for Nannie, soon," she had written in a postscript +attached to the last letter.</p> + +<p>At first Edward could not think to whom she referred. But it gradually +dawned upon his recollection that this must be the faithful old nurse, +Nannie McEwen, who had come with her to Muirstane, and stayed until she +was grown-up. He had never seen her, because, owing to circumstances +in her own family, she had been obliged to leave her situation before +he came to Scotland. This woman was now the missing link in his chain +of evidence; he must set out to find her. But to obtain any news of +her was a difficult matter, as in the lapse of years there had been +considerable alterations at Muirstane. The post-office had changed +hands, and though several of the inhabitants could tell him about +Nannie's departure, no one could recollect whither she had gone.</p> + +<p>At last one old man said, "She used to tell o' her brither at Portree, +in Skye; didna she gang to him?"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>This dubious information, scanty as it was, was all Edward had to act +upon. But he lost no time in setting out on his journey to this distant +place. All necessary directions, together with the management of the +estate, were left in the hands of his factor, and a respectable man and +his wife were placed in charge of the house.</p> + +<p>The railway only took him a comparatively small part of the way, but he +was not sorry to exchange it for a seat on the top of a coach, which +started early one September morning. The country through which it took +him was wild and beautiful, and the autumnal tints on the foliage were +red and rare. On, on he went all day, over brown moorlands, past lonely +tarns, up and down steep braes, until the sun sank to rest behind +the purple mountains, and still a fresh set of horses was needed for +yet another stage. It was midnight when the coach finally stopped at +a ferry, where most of the travellers turned in thankfully to sleep +at the little wayside inn close at hand. Not so Edward Pryse; he had +neither time nor inclination to loiter on his way with such an end in +view.</p> + +<p>A boat was rocking on the water, and he, with some others, stepped into +it. It was scarcely discernible by the pale light of stars. The persons +who seated themselves formed a picturesque group. Two Highland lassies +were together, and Edward had helped a lame beggar in, he was followed +by the bearer of the mail-bags. One of the boatmen held a bull's-eye +lantern, whose red light flashed brightly on the figures as they rowed +through the mysterious and shadowy darkness. The girls began singing +Jacobite songs, much to the delight of the men, who cheered heartily, +and Edward enjoyed the plaintive sound of the voices, combined with +the gentle movement of the gliding boat. They were soon across, and +after the party had scrambled up the slimy, slippery landing-place, the +boatman came to demand his fares.</p> + +<p>"I canna pay ye," said the mendicant. "Ye'll surely tak' me for +naethin'; I'm ganging to the sacrament at Murthlie."</p> + +<p>Edward heard the whining tones of remonstrance, and thrust some coppers +into the outstretched hand, which were received with a burst of +grateful thanks.</p> + +<p>"How soon can I go on?" he asked at the inn, to which a few footsteps +brought him.</p> + +<p>"Ye maun either gang the nicht in her Majesty's mail-cart, or bide till +to-morrow nicht the same hour," replied the woman, who had come out to +greet him.</p> + +<p>Edward looked up at the twinkling stars. "It is a fine night," he +thought; "by this time to-morrow there may be pouring rain."</p> + +<p>"I will continue my journey now," he said aloud, as he followed the +woman.</p> + +<p>After hastily swallowing some slight refreshment which she quickly set +before him, he took his seat behind the driver of the primitive and +clumsy looking mail-cart, with one other passenger, a girl, and the +rough vehicle presently jolted off. The driver had a boon companion by +his side, and the two kept up a ceaseless guttural chatter in Gaelic, +not one word of which Edward could understand. The girl was inclined to +be friendly and communicative, but, finding her companion taciturn and +absent, she soon relapsed into silence.</p> + +<p>They travelled on in this way for about two hours, when they reached a +lonely bit of moorland with the lights of a village glimmering faintly +in the distance, and will-o'-the-wisps flitting over the fens, as if to +beguile the unwary traveller. The girl jumped down.</p> + +<p>"There is my home," she said to Edward, pointing in the direction of +the lights.</p> + +<p>The driver remarked something to her in Gaelic as she handed him his +fare, and laughing her reply, she ran fearlessly off into what seemed +to Edward a lonely, hopeless path.</p> + +<p>"She is certain to find what she seeks," thought he; "as for me, I may +be chasing a will-o'-the-wisp."</p> + +<p>Edward Pryse never forgot that journey; its silence and isolation +pressed upon his spirit, and everything that came into his mind took a +sombre tinge of melancholy. The long white roads seemed endless, and he +grew numb and chilled, waiting at the doors of wayside public-houses, +into which the driver and his friend disappeared to indulge in +potations which would have rendered driving a perilous risk if the +horses had not known their way.</p> + +<p>Edward was thankful to warm himself by trudging up the long hills, +pausing every now and then to listen to the impetuous rushing of +mountain streams he could not see. He watched through that mysterious +hour when night and dawn meet, when the transition from darkness to +light is so gradual that it is scarcely perceptible. By degrees the +faint green tinge in the sky melted into lemon, then red and purple +streaks were painted in bold dashes of colour, and all the glorious +pomp that ushers in the king of day came up in bright triumph, and +spread across the heavens. The great Cuchullin Mountains that in the +dim early twilight had loomed out in giant obscurity, were now bathed +in morning blue, and stood out grand and glowing in a shimmering haze. +An awe crept over Edward's spirit as he gazed.</p> + +<p>"How little," thought he, "appear the joys and sorrows of human life, +when looking at those eternal hills that stand enfolded with the +majesty of God."</p> + +<p>And then, almost unconsciously, his heart rose higher than the highest +of those mighty peaks, to God Himself. The grand old words of the +prayer of Moses came back to his remembrance:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations. Before +the mountains were brought forth, or ever Thou hadst formed the earth +and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, Thou art God.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>The earthly radiance represented, though but faintly, the spiritual +day-dawn, which with its everlasting light doth touch the awakened +soul, bidding it reflect the heavenly glory, and stand in God's eternal +sunshine for evermore.</p> + +<p>Edward's meditations were suddenly interrupted by the driver informing +him that Portree was in sight. And after a few more miles of level +road, the mail-cart rattled into the sleeping town, for it was still +early, and few of the inhabitants were astir.</p> + +<p>A good breakfast and comfortable bed were not unwelcome to our +exhausted traveller, who, after recruiting worn-out nature for a few +hours, rose in eager haste to seek Nannie McEwen.</p> + +<p>The place was certainly not an inviting one, for the huts of the very +poor people were little better than pigsties, full of peat-reek and +unpleasant odours. The women looked prematurely old, and sunken low in +the scale of civilisation, as they trudged past him, carrying on their +backs the stacks of peat they had been cutting from the bogs.</p> + +<p>Edward spoke to several of them, but a shake of the head, or an answer +in Gaelic, was all he received in return. There were many in the town +itself that spoke English, but they stared with surprise on hearing +Nannie McEwen inquired for. At last, after a fruitless wandering of +more than an hour, he returned to the hotel, and consulted with the +landlord.</p> + +<p>"Maybe Janet kens wha he means," quoth he.</p> + +<p>And a pleasant elderly woman was summoned.</p> + +<p>"Nannie McEwen!" she said thoughtfully, as if hunting through the +storehouse of her memory. "Ay, I ken fine wha ye're seeking. She cam' +frae Muirstane auchteen years syne, to nurse her sick brither. I mind +it weel, for it was sune after my Jeannie was born, and she cam' to +help me through my trouble when I had nane but hersel' to be wi' me."</p> + +<p>"And where is she now?" asked Edward, breathing shortly.</p> + +<p>"'Deed, that I dinna ken. Her brither dee'd a year after she cam' to +Portree, an' after the burial, she gaed South, but whaur tae, nane kens +but Him that's above. She lived in yon wee hoose," she added, pointing +with her hand; "but they're a' fremd fowk that bides there noo."</p> + +<p>Edward's heart sank to the depths; no more questions would come to his +lips, and he turned away a hopeless, desolate man. The feeble clue had +snapped, and he was as much in the dark as ever.</p> + +<p>He strode on fiercely, past the outskirts of the town, not caring +whither his footsteps led him, and wandered lonely for miles along +bare, brown tracts of moorland, feeling the sterile scenery was in +keeping with his dashed hopes. The light that had glimmered like a +guiding-star upon his dark, uncertain way had proved a false meteor, +luring him on but to mock him at last.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Nothing remained for him to do now, but to retrace his way to the drear +and desolate abode at Muirstane. Time was now no object to him, for +there was nought to be gained by extra speed; the wheels were off his +chariot, and he drave it heavily. His bitter disappointment destroyed +all the self-confidence and certainty of success with which he had +started. He could only go on living over and over again the sad, sad +past, from the very beginning to the bitter end.</p> + +<p>How bright and careless were the happy days of childhood! Those +butterfly chases across the dappled meadows, with his merry little +sister, the child Minnie of long ago; their schemes and plans laid +together; their mischievous pranks and the punishments that followed, +and Minnie's anguish when the sentence of chastisement fell on him. +He could see her now, standing in one corner of the study, with her +fingers in her ears and her pinafore over her fair curls, screaming +with all her might, so as not to hear the sounds attendant on the +whipping he was led off to receive. And since then, she had gone to +sleep, so early, oh, so early, under the hushing sycamore trees.</p> + +<p>The love of his sister Silexa too, how deep and true it was, shown so +often in pleadings and entreaties for the youthful culprits! Edward +recalled the countless times she had screened them at her own expense +from their father's anger. Indeed, he could never remember anything +but the most passionate devotedness to himself on the part of both his +sisters. He saw now how it had ministered to his selfishness. Silexa +would have sacrificed anything she possessed to this daring, handsome +brother, and thought nothing too good or costly, if only it would +gratify him. This was the one weak point in that strong woman's nature. +She would have given her life for Edward.</p> + +<p>He now recalled with sorrow that morning in his sunny youth when he +had bidden a joyful farewell to school life and his old home at the +Rectory, to begin what he believed would be a bright independent career +in the great city of London. Minnie's tears and caresses had made his +heart ache a little on saying good-bye, and so had Silexa's dry earnest +eyes, so full of yearning love and anxiety as she thrust a purse of +her own making into his hands, filled with some months' savings of her +scanty allowance. He never knew of what self-denial that little sum was +proof.</p> + +<p>He had chafed impatiently at the words of counsel and advice, given +somewhat sternly by his father at the gate, not being able to discern +the high sense of honour and the parental love from which they +sprung. He was free now to be his own master; and with that feeling +predominant, the bold, blithe boy had gone out into life, determined to +enjoy himself at any cost.</p> + +<p>For a year all went prosperously. Mr. Lyndwood, his father's oldest +friend, was prepared to love him as a son, and consequently allowed him +many indulgences which as a stranger he would not have had. Alas, for +Edward! He lacked the foundation of all prosperity—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'The fear of the Lord, which is the beginning of wisdom...'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>And therefore, when temptation presented itself, he turned aside and +fell in to the snares of the Evil One, who took him captive at his will.</p> + +<p>Bad companions first led him astray, and though Edward shrunk from +some of their ways, remembering his upright father and his pure-minded +sisters at home, he by degrees was drawn into a vortex, the slope +towards which begins with a little downhill which is very gradual. +Unknown to his friend and protector, he frequented gambling-houses, +and there betted heavily, his first winnings encouraging him to go on +recklessly.</p> + +<p>At last, the crash came; he owed two hundred pounds, which was to be +paid at once. He dared not write to his father, and he knew Silexa had +no money at her command. Mr. Lyndwood would probably turn him from +his office, and expose his disgrace to the whole world. There was +but one course open to him, so thought he in his blinded folly. This +was, to take the money from the office, where he had the handling of +considerable sums; he thought he could pay it back by instalments. +It was a secret impossible to keep long; he got an inkling that the +accounts were about to be looked into, so, having just received his +salary, he absconded suddenly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lyndwood, irrespective of the loss of the money, felt so keenly for +Dr. Pryse, that he positively refused to make the matter public either +by instituting a search for Edward or letting any one beyond his own +office know of it. He believed the wild youth knew him well enough to +be assured of his forgiveness for his father's sake, should he confess +his guilt bravely and honestly. Therefore, after writing to his old +friend at St. Elvis, he declined to move further in the matter.</p> + +<p>We are already cognizant of the effect this dire news had at the +Rectory, but only Edward knew of a visit to his home in disguise. After +having waited in vain for an answer to his advertisement, he came down +to St. Elvis, and under cover of darkness crept round to the study +window and peeped in. The window was open, and while standing under +shelter of the thick ivy, he heard Silexa pleading for the outcast, and +then what seemed to the youth his father's cruel, bitter words. He was +to be disowned as a son until he had shown his repentance by repaying +the money, and his sisters were forbidden to hold any communication +with the offender. Edward crept away again; rage, hatred, and pride +struggling in his heart.</p> + +<p>"Yet why should I care," he argued, "when he has treated me so +shamefully? I hope I may never see his face again."</p> + +<p>Ah, if Silexa had but known who was outside under the stars that night, +things might perhaps have turned out differently.</p> + +<p>As it was, Edward quitted the home of his childhood that same hour, +and after travelling day and night finally set foot on board a vessel +bound for America. On landing there, his way was prosperous, for he +had invented a most plausible story to satisfy the friends he had made +during the voyage, several of whom were most anxious to do their utmost +for the handsome young man. He had a marvellously winning address and +manner, which went far to gain him supporters, so that when he had +succeeded in quieting his conscience, he congratulated himself on his +so-called lucky hits.</p> + +<p>He obtained without much difficulty a lucrative post in a good office, +and ended by being employed by a large and well-known American firm. +After working steadily and honourably for some years, he was by degrees +advanced to a position of great trust, and received a high salary.</p> + +<p>To do Edward Pryse justice, he did not forget that some day he ought to +restore the two hundred pounds he had stolen. Indeed, his pride could +not brook the idea of being branded as a thief for life. But his dull +and blunted conscience could not show him his sin in its true light, as +a guilty offence towards God.</p> + +<p>"If once," he argued, "the amount were actually paid, no blame ought to +attach to me."</p> + +<p>But he did not think it necessary meantime to deny himself anything +that contributed towards his enjoyment of life. He must have everything +he wanted just the same, and some day, when he was a rich man, and +could do it without discomfort to himself, he would discharge the debt.</p> + +<p>One day, he was sent for by his employers, who informed him they +wished him to undertake a journey to Scotland on behalf of the firm. +He assented willingly, and was then told that his errand was to a +certain Alexander Macdonald, Esquire, of Muirstane, who had a large +sum of money invested in the business. There were some affairs to be +transacted with him which could only be entrusted to a confidential +person, able to undertake the commission.</p> + +<p>In fulfilment of this errand, a handsome stranger suddenly appeared +at Muirstane, to the no small astonishment and curiosity of its +inhabitants, who watched him making his way up to the big house, where +he was at once received as a guest.</p> + +<p>The remainder of Edward's story may be easily conjectured. He was +detained on this business several months, and during that period he +made the most of his time. He had not been many days a guest in the +spacious mansion before he discovered he had fallen hopelessly in love +with the old man's niece, Ethel Macdonald, the most beautiful girl he +had ever seen. The attachment was mutual, for Ethel, nothing loth, gave +her heart quickly away to this noble-looking and fascinating man.</p> + +<p>Mr. Macdonald never dreamt of such a possibility, though the young +people were necessarily much thrown together, for Ethel was in his mind +as much disposed of as if the marriage he wished for her had already +taken place. A wealthy suitor had come forward to win the hand of the +beautiful girl, and it mattered little to the hard old man that she had +openly expressed her great dislike to this proposal.</p> + +<p>Alexander Macdonald had an iron will, which few dared to dispute. He +was consequently both a tyrant and a coward. His anger was great, +therefore, when one morning, about a month after Edward's arrival, the +young man formally asked his consent to make Ethel his bride. A direct +refusal was of course the answer. And it was politely hinted to the +guest that it would be desirable for him to take up his quarters in the +village during the remainder of his stay—a request acceded to at once.</p> + +<p>But Edward's will was strong also. Like a spoiled child, he felt +that what he wanted he must have at any cost. And without pausing +to consider the consequences of his hasty and selfish purpose, he +persuaded Ethel, during her uncle's absence of a week from home, to +consent to their marriage before his return. They were accordingly +united in the presence of witnesses, who heard them solemnly pronounced +to be man and wife.</p> + +<p>Excuse must be made for the lonely orphan, who had been brought up +without a mother's care, and whose life had hitherto been so loveless +and forlorn. Whatever her uncle's feelings were towards her, he never +outwardly had manifested any fondness for her, and she naturally turned +from him to rest in one whom she deemed in every way worthy of her +heart's best affections. She had yet to learn by fierce and adverse +winds that her trust must be placed far higher than in mortal man. The +sharp storm drove her to seek refuge in the cleft of the Rock, and +"through much tribulation" to "enter into the kingdom of God."</p> + +<p>Edward's conduct was, on the contrary, most culpable and selfish, for +he knew that in four months he must depart again for America alone. It +did not suit his plans to take Ethel with him: she must therefore be +left behind to carry on the battle of life single-handed. His purpose +was to leave her at Muirstane, and return to America to wind up his +connection with the firm; this he thought would not take him long +to accomplish. He hoped then to return, and find some employment in +England which would enable him to settle down with his wife there.</p> + +<p>The terrible fear of losing Ethel before he could come back would not +allow him to defer the marriage, for she had told him of her uncle's +designs with regard to the rich and detested man he was bent on her +accepting. The thought of another winning his darling was too abhorrent +to be tolerated for an instant. It was this that silenced the voice of +his conscience. As soon as she was lawfully his own, he brought his +wife to the small cottage he had taken in Muirstane, where he intended +to leave her during his absence.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_14">CHAPTER XIV</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>NANNIE'S HOME</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>MR. MACDONALD'S anger was of a most dangerous kind, when on his return, +he learned from the servants what had taken place. He did not fly into +a furious passion, or grow livid with rage, but he swore secretly to +have his revenge to the very utmost. Ethel should rue the day she +married Edward Pryse, and her husband should be hers no longer from +the time he left the shores of Scotland. There in his miser's den, he +laid the deep schemes which were to be so fatally carried out. But at +present, he could not afford to be uncivil to Edward, because there +were matters still to be arranged, in which it would be as well to +propitiate this friend of the firm. So, though cold, he was outwardly +courteous to him when they had occasion to meet. But with quiet +malignity watched for the opportunity of crushing his victims.</p> + +<p>Ethel seldom went near the great house during the remainder of her +husband's stay. She was afraid to meet her uncle alone, and she felt +perfectly safe and happy with her heart's love. How peacefully those +summer days glided away, as by degrees she beguiled her husband into +telling her all his past history! As usual, Edward managed to throw a +fictitious gloss over the ugly circumstances of the office robbery, +calling it only borrowing. And though Ethel looked up somewhat +doubtfully with her innocent eyes of truth, he argued so plausibly, +that at last it appeared to her a far less dreadful crime than it +really was.</p> + +<p>"But you will send the money back when you get to America, won't you?" +she pleaded.</p> + +<p>Edward promised again and again.</p> + +<p>She then continued: "You will take me to your own home some day? For, +of course, when the debt is paid, your father will not be angry any +more. You will be forgiven, and he will receive us with open arms. I +should be frightened to go there all alone, but with you, it would be +different. Silexa and Minnie will love me as a sister, and we shall all +be so happy together."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Edward; "we will go to St. Elvis."</p> + +<p>For the lapse of years had softened his bitter feelings towards his +father, and he longed to see the old home once more. He described to +his young wife his boyish haunts, and all the fun he and Minnie used +to have with good Roger Rudd, the hale and hearty fisherman, who never +refused to take them out in his boat with his daughter Lettice, the +quiet, sober maiden, who was somewhat too demure for the mischievous +pair. Ethel liked hearing everything Edward could tell her about his +sisters, and already felt as if she belonged to them.</p> + +<p>"Our baby, if it is a girl, must be called after them," she said one +evening, just before he started. "You wish it, don't you? Ermyn is such +a lovely name; it must be first, I think, and then Silexa."</p> + +<p>"As you please, darling. Yes, it will make them love the little thing +all the more when they see it. My earliest recollections are associated +with the name of Ermyn."</p> + +<p>And then he told her of the dear old church, and the ancient monument +with the dirty little marble angels.</p> + +<p>But the parting was a sore and bitter one, as he clasped a beautiful +locket set in pearls round her neck, containing two curls of hair, and +the monogram of double E across it. How Ethel clung to him and wept, as +he held her to his breast, and comforted her with promises. He really +would come back as soon as he could, and it might be much sooner than +she thought.</p> + +<p>Edward, in his selfishness, little dreamed, as he was going forth +once more into the busy whirl of life, of the cruel weight of utter +loneliness and desolation that sunk upon the poor wife's heart, as she +watched him disappear from her wistful gaze.</p> + +<p>Edward went over these scenes again and again, as now, in an agony of +despair, he flung himself upon the ground, and shed bitter tears for +his lovely lost one. They were tears also of heartfelt contrition, for +he could now see that all these griefs were but the consequences of his +own sin.</p> + +<p>As he lay there on the dreary turf bog, with a white mist wrapping him +round, he cried aloud from the depths of his bursting heart:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'I have gone astray like a lost sheep.'<br> +<br> + "'Against Thee, Thee only have I sinned, and done this evil in Thy +sight.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>After a while, this was followed by the other cry:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'I will arise and go to my Father, and will say unto Him, Father, +I have sinned against heaven, and in Thy sight, and am no more worthy to +be called Thy son.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>How the long winter passed he could not tell. It seemed like untold +ages as he went about Muirstane, lonely and miserable, day by day, +trying in vain to catch at the faintest shadow that might indicate +the spot in the wide lonely world where he could begin to track the +footsteps of his beloved. If she were not in the fated ship, he might +yet possibly find her. But the remembrance of that beautiful child's +strong resemblance to Ethel forbade him to cling much to this hope. Yet +why would Ethel be in a ship bound for Ireland? There was the mystery!</p> + +<p>On the other hand, if it was Ethel who was drowned (and he had small +doubt of this in his own mind), what proof could he give to Mrs. Gwynne +that Ermyn was his child? He had no evidence of the fact to bring +forward, and he could not claim her without it. Night and day he prayed +for light in this darkness; but he had to wait God's time for it. He +dragged through the months of frost and snow somehow, doing his best +to beguile the time by relieving the wants of the tenantry around, who +blessed the day Mr. Pryse had come among them as their landlord. His +thoughtful kindness for them made him many friends, who were all on the +look-out to glean tidings that might help him in his search; for all +had loved and pitied his gentle wife.</p> + +<p>Spring had clothed the hills and trees with living verdure. But as the +green deepened and spread on every hand, there was no resurrection hope +and gladness in the heart of the lonely man. Summer was at hand, and +what then?</p> + +<p>He was seated, one sultry day some weeks later, in the little general +shop, talking to the mistress of it about some repairs she wanted done, +when a merry-looking Scotch lassie stepped across the threshold.</p> + +<p>"Ye'll no' ken me," she said, smiling to the shop-woman. "I'm a +stranger here; but maybe ye'll mind Nannie McEwen, wha bided here afore +I was born."</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay, my bonnie lassie, I mind her weel," said the woman.</p> + +<p>While Edward started to his feet, too much staggered at the name to +speak a word.</p> + +<p>"I'm on my road to my aunt's," continued the girl, "wha bides at +Castletoun, and my grandmother, Mistress McEwen, bade me come by +Muirstane, and see gin I could hear ony word o' her bonnie leddy, wha +lived here afore she was married."</p> + +<p>"Where does your grandmother live, my lassie?" said Edward, pale and +trembling.</p> + +<p>"Eh, sir, it's a lang, lang piece frae Muirstane; I've been three days +on the road."</p> + +<p>She then proceeded to detail her route by coach and ferry, from this +out of the world habitation among the hills.</p> + +<p>"It's a wee bit town," she added, "but when ye cross the ferry at +'Glenairg,' onybody 'll tell ye whaur Nannie McEwen bides."</p> + +<p>The girl stared with amazement at her interlocutor, wondering why he +questioned her so closely—he, a stranger she had never set eyes on +before. But she did not object to give him as much information as he +liked, especially when, on quitting the shop, he slipped a bright piece +of gold into her hand.</p> + +<p>"At last! At last!" he panted to himself, as he went up the hill to his +lonely dwelling. "O God, I thank Thee, Thou hast heard my cry!"</p> + +<p>To cram a few necessaries into a bag, and depart in joyful haste, was +his work that afternoon. What mattered difficulties and fatigues, +however great they might be? The wings of Hope had grown again, and +she was now soaring on before him as the dove of peace, with the +olive-branch in her mouth! He was on the right track at last!</p> + +<p>It was a tedious and difficult journey, but Edward never thought of +that, as, weary and thankful, he stepped into the ferry-boat that would +land him within sight of Nannie's home. The man who rowed him across +had never received such a lavish guerdon before. He invoked a blessing +on the head of the traveller, who sprang lightly out, and began +speeding away up the hill opposite, as if he were only setting out on +his journey.</p> + +<p>A little mountain lake lay cradled in the bosom of the hills, and on +its peaceful breast slept soft lights and purple shadows. The loftiest +peak blushed rosy red in the sunset glow, and was reflected in the +clear water, making the dark, green depths on the shady side seem +deeper still. A well-to-do looking farmhouse was situated on a bit +of rising ground just above the lake, and its numerous outbuildings +and byres sloping towards the shore gave it a prosperous look. Rude +flagstone steps inserted here and there among the heather led down +from the door to the water, and a girl in a gay kirtle was on her way +thither to fill the pail she was carrying. An aged woman stood knitting +at the door, every now and then looking up at the grey and pink clouds +above her head.</p> + +<p>As Edward drew nearer, he had time to observe her dress and appearance. +She wore a dark stuff gown, which showed a clear white handkerchief +folded across under the rather open bodice, and on her head a spotless +mutch trimmed with narrow lace, having a black ribbon bound above it. +Some grey locks strayed over the wrinkled forehead, and the soft brown +eyes had a kindly light in them. A sweet smile of welcome played about +her mouth as the stranger advanced. Edward could understand, when he +looked at her, why Ethel had fled to her motherly arms for refuge.</p> + +<p>"A braw nicht, sir," she said, dropping a curtsey.</p> + +<p>Edward courteously returned her greeting, and put the eager question: +"Does Nannie McEwen live here?"</p> + +<p>"'Deed, ay, sir, I am Nannie McEwen mysel', though I dinna ken wha I'm +speakin' till. Come ye ben the hoose, sir," she added, leading the way. +"It's by-ordinar' cauld the nicht."</p> + +<p>The old woman turned to look at her guest, and great was her surprise +to see he had sunk down on a seat by the door, deathly pale, and +gasping for breath.</p> + +<p>"The Lord preserve us a'! What's wrang wi' the gentleman? What ails ye, +sir?"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," he said, struggling back into self-possession; "the long +journey has wearied me. Thank God, I have found you at last. I am Ethel +Macdonald's husband, Edward Pryse."</p> + +<p>Nannie's knitting fell from her fingers, as with upraised hands she +said, "What! Him that crossed the seas, and left her lane. Ye dinna +mean to tell me ye are my bonnie leddy's ain gude man! Wae's me! Wae's +me!" And, sitting down, she rocked herself to and fro, and began to +weep bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Did she come to you from Muirstane?" asked Edward, white and trembling.</p> + +<p>"Ay, that did she, puir lammie! My mitherless bairn cam' to me ae mirk +nicht a' droukit wi' the rain, spent wi' the journey, and maist deed +wi' the cauld. Whaur is she, sir, the noo? Oh, gin I kent that!"</p> + +<p>"I believe she is with God," replied Edward, with a groan, "but tell me +all you know."</p> + +<p>Then, as he grew calmer, he gave the history of his arrival at +Muirstane, and all the awful facts his visit there brought to light, +the long fruitless search, the chance meeting with Nannie's grandchild, +and his subsequent journey hither.</p> + +<p>"Puir, puir lad! It's a sair heart ye'll carry aboot a' your days, +for I dinna think ye'll meet again till ye meet in oor Father's hoose +above. It's an ower true tale, as I ken fu' weel, though I didna think +to hae tauld it to her ain gude man. I'll tell ye a' aboot it, sir, and +ye'll just bide the nicht wi' us. The bairns and my son are awa', but +I'll do my best to mak' ye comfortable."</p> + +<p>Edward thanked her with a sad look of gratitude in his weary eyes, +entreating her to proceed.</p> + +<p>"It's fourteen years," continued Nannie, "since she cam' to my door. +Weel do I mind hoo she fell greetin' aboot my neck, an' I clappit her +an' made o' her same as she had been the bit wean I mind her in her ain +nursery lang, lang syne. Eh, for the sad tale she had to tell. It'll +be a lang reckonin' her uncle wull hae to gie to the Almighty; and +little did I think to live to see the day when my bonnie leddy wad walk +barefit an' hungry. We put her till her bed, an' twa days after that, +her bonnie bairn was upon her breast."</p> + +<p>"A girl?" eagerly interrupted Edward.</p> + +<p>"Ay, a fine bit lassie; I was the first that handled her, and her +mither's face was like a simmer's day when I laid the wean in her +arms. But the time gaed by, and nae word cam' till her frae across the +sea. Mony's the day my heart was wae for her! Ye may weel believe we +was prood to hae her under oor roof. But it was aye a sair thocht to +her that she an' the bairn were burdensome to us. My ain dochter, our +bairns' mither, was ta'en awa' before she cam' to us, but the bairnies +had a sair work wi' the wee leddy.</p> + +<p>"Mony a time my dear bairn wad say she maun gang to Liverpool, and +speir for news hersel' amang the shipowners, but that wasna wark for +the like o' her, an' ne'er a fute wad we let her gang near it. She wad +traik in an' oot wi' the bairn, for she was a' the pleasure she had. +But there came ae day, an' wae's me that I hae lived to tell it (it +was when the bairnie was aboot saxteen months auld); I had gane to the +town, an' when I cam' back, she was awa', nane could tell me whaur. +Mony a weary mile I followed her, and mony a ane I speired at gin they +had seen her, but frae that day till noo I've never looked on her sweet +face, nor heard tell o' her, or o the wean. Eh, man, it wad be a blithe +day for me gin ye had brocht me word frae my mitherless bairn."</p> + +<p>Edward's head sank lower and lower upon his breast as he listened, and +the kind-hearted old woman would fain have comforted him as her own son.</p> + +<p>"Whiles in the gloamin' I'll still gang doon to the burnside, and I'll +maist think I'll fin' them there, where mony and mony a day I've seen +them sitting amang the gowans, upon the grass, or heard her singing to +the bairn wi' a greet in her voice; or the bairnie crowin' over the +brave locket o' gowd and pearls she wad hing aboot its neck."</p> + +<p>"The locket!" cried Edward, starting up. "Where is it? Oh that I could +see it! I had forgotten about it."</p> + +<p>"She took it wi' her," said Nannie; "but I'll show ye the buik she +wrote in ilka day. I'm thinkin' she'd forgotten it when she gaed awa'. +I'm no scholard, sir, and canna read write; but nae doot ye'll mak' it +oot."</p> + +<p>Edward snatched the volume from her hand, and with trembling fingers +opened it to read on the first page:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'My Diary, since the sad day my beloved Edward left me.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Late, late into the night he sat up perusing those precious pages, +though Nannie entreated him to take his rest. A sorrowful memorial it +was, written from the depths of a breaking heart, but a heart that +was true and loyal to him to the very end. All through those dreary +months, when every outward evidence tended to make her believe she was +forgotten and forsaken by her husband, nothing had shaken her firm +belief in his love.</p> + +<p>These pages supplied all the missing links, so ruthlessly broken and +scattered by wicked malice. They told of her cruel and bitter bondage +in her uncle's house, of his sneers and taunts concerning her marriage, +of his villainous hints about desertion and forgetfulness, and of her +mad desperation, when at last, in spite of the watchful guard set over +her, she determined to fly from it all to find her faithful Nannie. She +recounted her long and difficult journey to the house of her old nurse, +and all the never-to-be-forgotten kindness showered upon her there from +first to last.</p> + +<p>The faint writing went on to record her baby's birth, and the untold +joy with which she first held her darling Edward's child in her arms; +the baptism of her precious infant by the aged Scotch minister in the +wee kirk on the hill, and all the little loving details that only a +mother's pen can indite.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "I have called her after our two dear sisters, as my Edward +wished—Ermyn Silexa," so ran words. "Some day they will hold her in +their arms and love her dearly. Oh, when Edward comes to take me to +them, all will be well."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>There was a break in the narrative; then came this despairing entry:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Oh, he must be dead! The letter telling him of my arrival here and +of our child's birth has come back to me. When will this night of +sorrow end? But my Lord and Saviour is with me to cheer its gloom. His +voice hath spoken to me. 'Himself hath done it.' I shall go softly all +my years in the bitterness of my soul. 'In the world ye shall have +tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.' My tired +head is pillowed on His breast; the storm cannot harm me there. Oh, my +Edward! My husband! My one and only love; we shall meet again!"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Here the manuscript broke off abruptly. There was no hint whatever +given as to her intended flight.</p> + +<p>Nannie believed she fully meant to return, as she left several things +behind her, and would never have taken her final departure without a +single good-bye.</p> + +<p>Edward could only guess whither his wife went by her mention of +Liverpool in her diary, as the place where she hoped to learn tidings +of him. To Liverpool therefore he must go next. And as he mentally +arranged his journey, he thought of the last time he was there, when he +had arrived from America a heart-broken and desolate widower.</p> + +<p>Strange faces had looked at him on the busy, bustling quay, some with +a glance of pity, others cynical and scornful. Now he seemed to have +passed through a hideous dream, only to awake to find the reality even +sadder. He recalled that last tender parting, and the pressure of those +soft arms about his neck. Oh, how his heart ached as the words of the +poet haunted him:</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"I know not what I said; what she replied<br> + Lives like eternal sunshine in my heart:<br> + And then I murmured, 'Oh! we never part<br> + My love, my life, my bride.'<br> + <br> +"Oft as I wake at morn, I seem to see<br> + A moment, the sweet shadow of that shade,<br> + Her blessed face, as it were loth to fade,<br> + Turned back to look on me."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_15">CHAPTER XV</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>DAVID AND EUDORA</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>THE summer sunshine was glowing fervently in the green Welsh valley, +its sleepy stillness being scarcely broken by a sound. The dusky +long-horned cattle strayed dreamily along to stand in a cool swamp near +the stream, or sought the shadow of bits of projecting rock, as they +whisked off swarms of persistent flies with their tails. The murmur of +bees was heard in one long hum through the flowers, and a cloudless +blue sky canopied over all. Even the sea had a slumbrous sound, as the +sparkling ripples ran up in succession over the shining sand, for there +was no wind to wake them into mirth.</p> + +<p>The ivy-grown Rectory was still and quiet, with every blind drawn-down +to keep the sunbeams from the shabby carpets and curtains. This was +one of Silexa's careful habits, and she often sighed to find that in +spite of her vigilance, both colour and pattern had somehow contrived +to escape. Voices and clatter were combined as usual at the back door, +where the daily business went on in the old accustomed round. But in +front, the flowers in the small circular beds on the lawn seemed to +have it all to themselves. But no, surely the thick branches of the +weeping willow stirred, as a sound of merry laughter came from beneath +its leaves.</p> + +<p>"It is much too hot in here," cried Eudora; "this close green keeps +away all the air from us."</p> + +<p>"I thought you would find it so," laughed Ermyn, "but we need not stay +here. Let us go across to the garden opposite. There are so many shady +corners there."</p> + +<p>"Yes, so we will," replied Eudora, "but let me run in first and fetch +my hat. The shadows will soon lengthen now, and when it gets cooler, we +will walk towards the sea."</p> + +<p>"How bright and strong she has grown!" thought Ermyn, as she watched +the lithe figure step across the grass. "Her hair looks as if sunbeams +were at play in it. Oh, how glad I am to have my darling back again!"</p> + +<p>The two girls formed a striking contrast, as, with their arms linked +together, they passed through the Rectory gate and crossed the +road—Ermyn's hair shining glossy and dark against Eudora's soft, golden +locks. The blue eyes and delicate complexion of one fair face setting +off the rich, rare beauty of the other.</p> + +<p>The enclosure they entered was a good specimen of a thoroughly +old-fashioned garden, or rather gardens, for there were four or five +of them leading out of one another by small doors. In the first were +mostly flowers—roses, sweet-peas, mignonette, hollyhocks, geraniums, +clove carnations, nasturtiums, and scabius. It was too hot to linger +here, so Eudora led the way down a step into the next division. It was +a well-stocked place, but instead of trim neatness there was luxuriant +confusion. A dear old rural garden, telling of plenty and contentment, +as one sat in its quiet nooks, far-away from the hurry and haste of +noisy, panting cities.</p> + +<p>"Let us climb up on this medlar bough," cried Ermyn, as, springing +lightly from the ground, a canopy of leaves spread green above her.</p> + +<p>"Is there room for two?" said Eudora. "Ah yes, there is a dear little +niche close to the trunk; that is delightful! Now, Ermyn, I am quite +sure you have a great deal more to tell me."</p> + +<p>For it seemed to Eudora that hitherto she had had all the talk. There +had been so much to relate, the friends having been separated for a +longer period than was at first anticipated when the flitting took +place from the Rectory.</p> + +<p>The year that had been such a long and sad one in the cottage by the +creek had brought back with its autumn tints the good old rector +and his daughter, but not Eudora. The change to Southsands had +done such wonders for the delicate girl, that the doctor whom Miss +Pryse consulted there thought it would be a foolish risk to expose +her to another winter in St. Elvis until her health was thoroughly +re-established. Silexa had therefore yielded to the kind entreaties +of Mr. Lyndwood's friends that she might stay with them until she was +quite strong.</p> + +<p>So, in the midst of a happy household of healthy, merry young people, +our quiet Eudora had found that good spirits and innocent recreations, +combined with numerous interesting and intellectual pursuits, were +among the good gifts showered down from the bounteous hand of our +loving Father, "who giveth us all things richly to enjoy."</p> + +<p>It was a bright page in her life; and she was delighted to go over it +all again with Ermyn, who had pined and longed for her friend, thinking +the spring would never pass. But it did at last, and in the summer +sunshine her darling had come back. They both felt the talks would +never end.</p> + +<p>"But, Ermyn, why did you not tell me about David?" whispered Eudora, +burying her head among the thick leaves to hide the blush that deepened +on her cheek.</p> + +<p>"We wanted it to be a surprise to you," replied Ermyn, without looking +round. "Davie made us all promise faithfully we would not tell; and you +don't know how very difficult it was to keep the secret in my letters."</p> + +<p>"But you did keep it," laughed Eudora, untying her hat and flinging +it on the ground. "I was sitting in the old high pew with auntie that +Sunday, when, just as service began, and I expected as usual to see +grandpapa's white head appear in the reading-desk, whom should I see +but David! I could not believe it at first, for I did not even know he +was at home. How I started when I heard his voice! Auntie gave a little +smile from her corner, and then made herself grave again; while I—oh, +Ermyn, how foolish I was!—I was obliged to bend my head quite low and +pretend to be looking for a book on the cushion, because the tears +would come into my eyes."</p> + +<p>"He is such a dear, good brother," said Ermyn; "I am so proud of him, +and I cannot tell you what it is to have him once more in the old home. +Our precious mother has not to work any more now, you know. Davie will +not let her, and she looks so sweet in the nice black silk gown he +brought her. No one has such a dear mother as we have, I am sure."</p> + +<p>Eudora sighed, and was silent for a moment before she answered; for her +memory was busy recalling the countless times that Lettice had taken +her on her knee when she was a little child, to stroke the fair head +that nestled to her bosom. "I wish she were my—Oh, Ermyn, look at that +greedy bee! He has got more honey than he can possibly carry."</p> + +<p>Ermyn, unsuspectingly, did as she was bid, and then turned to look at +her friend. "You never used to have such beautiful rosy cheeks, Dora. I +am so glad you went to Southsands. Are you tired of sitting here?" she +added, noticing that Eudora's eyes had a far-away look in them.</p> + +<p>At this moment David appeared, approaching from a distance. The girls +were silent until he came up to the garden gate.</p> + +<p>Mary Llewellyn at the same time approached from the opposite direction.</p> + +<p>"I came to look for you," she said to Ermyn. "Mother wants you about +something. Can you come home with me now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Ermyn; "I meant to come this morning at any rate. +Good-bye, Dora; I shall be with you again by and by."</p> + +<p>David and Eudora stood for a moment to watch the two figures as they +turned to climb the hill.</p> + +<p>"Are you going across now, Miss Eudora?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am," she answered, smiling, and waited for him to speak next.</p> + +<p>He was, however, silent.</p> + +<p>And she exclaimed, with a gaiety that seemed forced, "I must get that +lovely cluster of wild roses," suddenly springing towards the hedge, +where a long and beautiful spray waved high in air.</p> + +<p>As she did so, a piece of honeysuckle that was fastened in her dress +fell to the ground. David picked it up, and then helped her to gather +the wreath.</p> + +<p>Eudora took her hat off, and twisted it in gracefully with the ribbon.</p> + +<p>David watched her in silence. "You were very happy at Southsands, were +you not, Miss Eudora?" he said, lingering at the gate.</p> + +<p>A bright light came into Eudora's eyes as she answered, "Oh yes, so +happy! My friends were all most kind to me, and we used to do such +pleasant things there. But I often longed to come back to St. Elvis, in +spite of it all."</p> + +<p>"You are not tired of us yet, then?"</p> + +<p>"Davie! Mr. Gwynne," she added, blushing crimson, "how can you say +anything so unkind? I never want to live away from St. Elvis, never, +never."</p> + +<p>"Please do not call me Mr. Gwynne," he pleaded. "Have you forgotten our +games on the beach, and all we used to do together?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you don't seem a bit like the same; you are such a tall—" +"Gentleman," she was going to say, but checked herself, feeling he had +always deserved that name, for the chivalrous courtesy of his manner +was nothing new. "I could scarcely believe it was you," she stammered, +"when I saw you come into church, and yet I was so glad."</p> + +<p>A smile like a sunbeam broke over David's grave, earnest face, as he +heard these words. "You will come out again in the old boat soon, won't +you?" he said, holding the Rectory gate open for her to pass through.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will," she answered, with a half-sad look.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Miss Eudora."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, David."</p> + +<p>Eudora had not missed the bit of honeysuckle, and he did not remind her +of it as he held it in his hand.</p> + +<p>"How foolish I am!" he murmured, as, striking down through the meadow +path, he turned towards home. "How dare I ever dream of winning her? +My fair queen-lily, growing so far beyond my reach! I must bury my +love deep down in my heart, and let a crust of hard work grow over it. +She must never know it, for it is quite hopeless. How can I, a poor +curate, and not even of gentle birth, think for a moment of asking her +to share my labour? And yet she is not proud. No, simple and sweet as +a spotless flower. But I am poor," he added bitterly, "and so is she. +God has given me a mother and sister to care for; I must not ask Him +for another gift until He sees fit to bestow it upon me Himself. He has +granted me my heart's desire in placing me among my own people, and to +feed and nourish them faithfully and well shall be my life-work.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "O my God, grant that I may be one of Thy true under-shepherds, +following in Thy footsteps, to lead the flock beside green pastures and +still waters. My Saviour Christ, let me spend and be spent for Thee!"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>No one had known of the sharp struggle in David's heart, through those +weeks of suspense, when Eudora hovered between life and death in +that terrible illness. Ermyn's letters had grown sadder and sadder; +he hardly expected to see the sweet face again. He thought God was +going to call her home. Then had come the joyful tidings of hope. Her +bright springtime was not to end here; he would still see its lovely +blossoming.</p> + +<p>Oh, those happy weeks, when he had walked beside her, leading the +donkey so carefully, and fearing every breath of the strong sea-breeze +as it blew upon her in its freshness. David's heart knew then for +the first time in all its force what kind of love his was for Eudora +Meredith, but he had kept it hidden and still. It was too sacred to +show to any one. He would not pain her with what he believed to be a +hopeless affection. He must pray to be made brave and self-forgetful in +his work among the people.</p> + +<p>Poor Eudora! The love had come into her heart too, but she could not +speak of it to a human being. Her dear Lettice was David's mother. +She must be utterly silent on this point with her. Aunt Silexa never +seemed to suspect such a thing for a moment, or if she did, she had not +betrayed her thought by look or sign. As for Ermyn, it had not entered +into her mind for a moment that her brother could regard Eudora with +other feelings than she did herself, her friend now, and her playfellow +in past years. The trio would be always unbroken.</p> + +<p>"I don't think he cares for me!" sighed Eudora, as she ran quickly +upstairs to her room over the porch, and watched David calmly walking +away towards Porthmynwr.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>It was one evening soon after this little episode that Ermyn lured +Eudora away for a ramble along the cliff. For a while they rested at +the Sainted Well, drinking the clear water, and playing with the ferns +that fringed its margin. Ermyn had told Eudora about the visit of the +mysterious stranger to St. Elvis; and they now began to discuss the +matter again, wondering why he had painted the picture, and what his +name was. Their speculations ended in their weaving a most romantic +tale about him, and the innocent girls little guessed how near they +were to the truth as, rising, they continued their stroll.</p> + +<p>The coast path wound along most unevenly through the prickly gorse, +making long detours round volcanic-looking hollows, where the land +had gradually given way to the encroachments of the sea, leaving +precipitous sides down the rocky cliffs, from whence at a great height +one could look down and watch the waves break into the caverns below. +It was an unsafe route for strangers, but for Ermyn and Eudora, who +had been accustomed to run along it ever since they were quite little +children, there was no danger.</p> + +<p>"The sea will look lovely from Chanter's Seat to-night," said Eudora; +"we must wait and see the moon rise."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we can," replied Ermyn; "for Davie promised to come and fetch us."</p> + +<p>Eudora's heart felt very light after that, as she climbed down the +bit of sloping rock and gave her hand to her companion. One jump, and +they were both hidden from the public path by an angle in the cliff, +where was a ledge hollowed out in the stone overlooking the whole bay, +and known by the name of "Chanter's Seat." It was so-called from the +peculiarity of its echo, which had the charm of doubling and trebling +the power of the human voice, so that when any one sang there, it was +with a marvellously rich and beautiful effect.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a glorious sunset, Ermyn! Just look at those colours across +the water."</p> + +<p>The two friends sat together side by side, watching it in silence. The +blue bay stretched out calm and lovely before them, with rose-colour +and green lights playing across its surface, while beyond, over the +horizon, rose the shadowy cloud-land, whose pink and purple outlines +seemed to belong to an ethereal and glorified shore.</p> + +<p>"What a depth the sea is below us!" said Eudora, as they leaned over to +gaze down at the gorges, clefts, and chasms into which the water rose +and roared, ascending in fountains of snowy surf, and retiring again +with a low murmur, in a line of fretted foam along the sands.</p> + +<p>There was a fascination in watching it. They felt so safe in their +eyrie in the cliff, as they looked and listened, entranced and quiet.</p> + +<p>"I must gather some of that samphire for auntie," said Eudora, +scrambling towards the edge, where the spiky green of this sea-loving +and aromatic plant crept low on the ground in the greatest profusion.</p> + +<p>"Wait, Dora, I will come and help you. Oh, what a funny smell it has! I +don't think I like it at all."</p> + +<p>They were startled in their occupation by hearing footsteps above them.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Davie, there you are!" cried Ermyn, in glee. "Come down; we are +only waiting for you to begin our singing."</p> + +<p>"Miss Llewellyn will be here presently," he answered. "She would not +allow me to wait for her, as she was detained in the village, but I see +her now in the distance just crossing the stone wall."</p> + +<p>"I will run and meet her," shouted Ermyn, as, springing up, she bounded +off like a young fawn.</p> + +<p>Eudora looked wistfully after her, but it was too late to follow the +fleet runner, and she did not know whether she was pleased or not to +be left alone with David. She felt more shy of him every time they +met now, for a wall of ice seemed to have grown up between them which +puzzled them both. How they longed for the old days to come back again, +as they sat there exchanging commonplace remarks! It was a relief when +the others joined them.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Mary, seating herself, "I am going to have a treat. You +three are going to sing me, 'Lift thine eyes to the mountains.' Please +make haste and begin."</p> + +<p>The singers looked at each other and smiled, then the glorious melody +burst forth, rich and clear:</p> + +<p>"Thy Keeper shall never slumber," sang Eudora, in soft contralto; while +David and Ermyn took up the words, "Never, shall never slumber," until +the last faint notes of the anthem died away in a whispered hush of +melody.</p> + +<p>"Now, little sister," said David, when they had finished, "let us hear +you sing alone, 'Oh, rest in the Lord.'"</p> + +<p>Ermyn obeyed.</p> + +<p>Peace and rest sank down into each soul as the holy words fell softly +on the still evening air. Yea, hope and courage also, as more than one +heart prayed for the child-like spirit of perfect trust in a loving +Father who never slumbers, while He watches over the sons and daughters +of His care.</p> + +<p>They talked long of this rest and peace, then of "the golden homes +beyond the sunset," and, long after the glow had faded, wended their +way homeward in the moonlight, silently, side by side.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_16">CHAPTER XVI</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>LOST AND FOUND</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>EDWARD PRYSE had no time to linger among the exquisite beauties of +Nannie's mountain home, fraught though they were with the dearest and +most tender associations. Here he was treading in the very footsteps of +his Ethel; and where she had dwelt must henceforth be a sacred place +to him. He looked out upon the sunlit hills cradling the peaceful +lake, and thought how her dear eyes had rested on them, as in spirit +she travelled across the wide sea, yearning for one word to soothe her +aching heart. The silence and calm loveliness of nature would make her +feel yet more lonely; they could not fill the strange void, nor bear a +message to her beloved.</p> + +<p>Sadly and mournfully Edward turned away from this beautiful and +sequestered spot, to exchange it, after a weary journey, for the tumult +and busy stir of the great port of Liverpool. When he reached it, +gaslights were blazing in the shops and thoroughfares, and enormous +buildings, telling of wealth and luxury, rose on either hand. Edward +noted nothing as he drove on, through the din and crowd, to the hotel +where he passed the night.</p> + +<p>At an early hour the following morning, he was at the well-known +shipping agent's office. There seemed an unusual amount of business on +hand, and Edward found it no easy task to find the clerks who could be +of any assistance to him. But after patient and persistent waiting, +and being referred from one place to another, his search was not in +vain. The answers he received were gruff and unsatisfactory at first, +for the Company did not care to be reminded of one of the most serious +disasters they had ever experienced.</p> + +<p>But Edward was firm in his determination and polite in speech, and, +quietly persisting in his inquiries, he soon received a due amount +of attention. The sheet of the "Illustrated London News" secretly +abstracted from the country inn in Scotland, and containing a picture +of the ship "Ocean Queen," was of the greatest service, for with the +date, it gave exact information concerning the disaster.</p> + +<p>Books were referred to, and passenger lists consulted, but "Pryse" was +not among the names of the passengers who had sailed in the fatal ship. +This was what Edward had expected, as the thought had struck him on his +journey that for some reason Ethel might have assumed her maiden name. +Was there a passenger of the name of Macdonald? How his heart throbbed +in expectation of the answer! Yes, there was, in the steerage list: +"Ethel Macdonald, aged twenty-five, and infant."</p> + +<p>There was nothing further to be gained from the hard-looking clerks, +whose information had just crushed out the last spark of hope that +Ethel might after all be somewhere in the world. What did it concern +them that a lonely stranger had timidly moved among them fourteen +years ago? How had she looked? What did she say? Who knew, and who +cared? Edward felt hopeless tears rush into his eyes as he asked +himself these questions. He was just leaving the office, his confused +thoughts surging through his brain, when he caught sight of a +respectable-looking porter, whose face he fancied he had seen when in +Liverpool before.</p> + +<p>The man touched his cap to him, and something within him made Edward +stop and speak.</p> + +<p>"I think I can remember your face," he said; "you must have been in the +Company's service for many years."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," replied the man; "I pretty well know the look of this +place, for I have been about it twenty years."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" rejoined Mr. Pryse. "Then you must have seen a good deal of +the bustle of life in that time. I suppose, though, you never notice +who comes, or who goes in here?"</p> + +<p>"Tisn't very often, sir, I have much occasion to. There's so many faces +that I get confused among them all, and couldn't tell at the end of the +year whether I had seen them or no. But sometimes things happen that +a lifetime wouldn't make one forget. Did you ever hear of the 'Ocean +Queen,' sir, one of our fine paddle-steamers that was wrecked off the +Welsh coast?"</p> + +<p>Edward leaned against the wall he stood near, and a dizzy faintness +came over him, which greatly surprised his interlocutor. But he checked +himself sufficiently to answer in a hollow voice: "Yes. I have been +making inquiries concerning that very ship. Do you know anything about +her?"</p> + +<p>"Why, sir, 'tis this way. I think it must be fourteen or fifteen years +ago, when one day I noticed a pretty young woman standing here with a +baby in her arms. She asked me a few questions, and I found she was +quite a stranger to Liverpool. It seemed as if she hardly knew what she +was saying or doing. Her dress was not like a lady's, but she had the +face and speech of one, and a more modest-looking young woman I never +saw in my life. She had come to inquire about her husband, who, she +said, had gone to America."</p> + +<p>Edward grasped his arm. "For mercy's sake, tell me all you know about +her!"</p> + +<p>The man looked wonderingly, but continued: "Well, sir, while I was +talking to her, she suddenly fell forward in a fainting-fit, but I +caught her before any harm was done. There she lay looking like death, +and I couldn't tell what to do with her, nor where to take her. A crowd +soon gathered round, prying and wondering. But I was so sorry for the +poor young thing, and didn't like her to be made a public spectacle of, +so I hailed a cab and took her right off to my missus, who is always a +wonderful hand at doing people good. She soon got better in our little +parlour. I think it was the crying of the baby that roused her to +herself.</p> + +<p>"Our hearts ached when she told us her story. Ethel Macdonald was her +name; and oh, what a long journey she had taken to hear about her +husband. She wanted to go to America after him, but we told her that +would be no good, if she didn't know where he was. Then we asked her if +she had any relations, and she said, 'Yes, her husband's people lived +in South Wales; she would go to them.'</p> + +<p>"One of them, I think she said, was a clergyman of the name of Pryse, +but I cannot recollect the name of the place she said he lived in. I +only know it was a country town somewhere on the coast. Her husband +had promised to take her there some day, she said, but they were all +strangers to her, so she would not write to them. My wife and I looked +at each other, and we both made up our minds that she should not be +turned out into the street, helpless and forlorn, for she looked so ill +and tired out, poor thing."</p> + +<p>"God bless you," said Edward, when he could speak, "for your kindness; +you will have your reward. That lady was my wife."</p> + +<p>The man started, and looked incredulous, but one glance at Edward's +blanched and haggard face was enough.</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, sir; who would thought it? And that is why you have +come to Liverpool, I suppose. Things do happen queer in this world +sometimes! I am just going home, sir; if you will come with me, I will +tell you the rest of the sad tale."</p> + +<p>Edward obeyed mechanically, feeling as if in a dream.</p> + +<p>"'Twas our doing, I fear, sir, that your good lady was put into the +'Ocean Queen,' but we thought we were performing the greatest kindness. +My wife's sister was then staying with us, and she had arranged to go +back to her home in Cork in this very ship. Her husband traded in a +small vessel between Ireland and a Welsh port; and being a native of +South Wales, he knew about everything and everybody in that part of the +country.</p> + +<p>"After we had consulted together, we thought the best plan would be +for the poor lady to take her passage with my sister-in-law, who also +had a young baby. She took no end of a fancy to the lady's pretty +child. Eliza promised that as soon as they reached Cork, she would +put Mrs. Macdonald under her husband's care. He would be sure to know +whether there was a clergyman called Pryse living in the place the lady +mentioned; and he was such a good, kind man, he would not leave her +until he had discovered her friends, and seen her safely with them. My +wife will tell you the rest, sir," added the man, as he opened the door +of a quiet-looking dwelling in a back street.</p> + +<p>A pale, middle-aged woman was sitting at work in the little parlour +into which Edward was ushered. The man, in a few low words, +communicated to her who the stranger was. She put her hand to her brow, +and looked earnestly at him, then her face filled with a reverent pity.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir!" said she, as the tears gathered in her eyes. "That was a sad +year for you and for us. My dear sister and her young baby we never saw +again from that day to this. The news stunned us when it came, 'All +hands lost!'</p> + +<p>"I was so ill for weeks after, my husband thought that I should have +died. And the poor man in Ireland, who was looking out for his dear +wife, was in such a state I believe he lost his senses for a time. And +that lonely lady, with her sweet face and ways, and the darling little +child, all drowned! Oh, it was heart-rending!"</p> + +<p>"I grieve to recall these sad facts to your memory," said Edward +gently, "but you will be doing me the greatest service on earth if you +will only tell me all you can."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," continued the woman, "I am sure, then, for her dear sake I +will. It seems as though it only happened yesterday, it is all so fresh +in my mind. She was only with us two days, but though the time was so +short, I got to love her dearly; for oh, she was such a Christian, and +it was a great comfort to talk to one who followed the dear Saviour +so closely. I shall never forget the last morning when I watched her +dress her baby, and saw it playing with a beautiful locket that hung +from a chain round the mother's neck. It was a gold one set round with +pearls—very valuable, I should think. Baby thought it a fine toy, and +liked having it between her little fat hands better than anything else, +and the mother laughed and told her it should be her own some day."</p> + +<p>"I wonder," thought Edward, "if that locket was found by the fishermen! +If it was on the body, it must be in some one's possession. But, ah no, +the woman would surely have mentioned such a fact as that, for it would +be the chief clue to the child's identity. Besides, such a valuable +article as that would not be kept long by poor people; they would be +sure to turn it into money. Still if it had even been seen by some one, +there would be sufficient ground for claiming the child."</p> + +<p>Edward started from his reverie, to see the woman watching him intently +with her sad eyes.</p> + +<p>"God has directed my way to you," he said; "it must be so, for +otherwise I should never have found this last link in the wonderful +chain of evidence that has guided me so unerringly in the long search +for my lost ones."</p> + +<p>Mr. Pryse then proceeded to make the most minute inquiries into +details of all that Ethel had said or done during her brief stay with +these Good Samaritans, and the kind woman told him all she knew. This +account, when added to the Diary so abruptly broken off, gave Edward a +connected story of the sweet, sorrowful life, since the day their hands +had parted, and the long good-bye was said.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>It was late on Saturday night before he could manage to reach St. +Elvis, even by the most rapid travelling, so there were no curious +gossips standing about to watch him as he entered "The Jolly Sailors" +and engaged his rooms. He could see the churchyard from his window, +and stood watching late into the night the waving sycamores over those +two graves in the corner, until his heart felt ready to burst with its +sorrow.</p> + +<p>And there down the quiet valley, with the sea breaking near it, stood +the cottage that sheltered his precious child—his one link with Ethel +in heaven. Would she be glad to call him father, when he clasped her in +his arms? Or would she turn away and say she did not need his love now? +This agonising doubt prevented sleep from visiting his eyelids until +daylight began to dawn through the dingy stuff curtains of his room.</p> + +<p>Then he fell into a troubled but heavy slumber, from which he was only +awakened by the ringing of the church bells for morning service. Voices +and footsteps hurried by in the street below, and he caught snatches of +sentences—</p> + +<p>"Dr. Pryse is not going to preach till afternoon," said one.</p> + +<p>"It will be Mr. David, then, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay; he's a fine preacher, that young man."</p> + +<p>"Who would have thought of Widow Gwynne's son rising to be a minister!"</p> + +<p>"He speaks plain enough, don't he?" said the first speaker.</p> + +<p>"Ay, that he do, indeed; he don't mind calling things by their right +names, do he? Offence or no offence; and yet he's a good friend to the +poor."</p> + +<p>The conversation grew distant, and Edward Pryse relapsed into his +reverie.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The afternoon sun was streaming into the church windows, showing +the dancing motes. Service had just begun, when Lettice noticed the +mysterious stranger who had taken such a fancy to her child come in +and seat himself near her, in one of the free seats by the font. Her +heart gave a little flutter when she saw him; she could not tell why. +What had he come back for? Who was he? Lettice felt quite ashamed to +discover her thoughts were causing her mind to wander utterly from the +service. She had not heard any of it for the last five minutes, nor +joined in a single response!</p> + +<p>When they rose to sing, Ermyn handed a hymn-book to the sad-looking +gentleman, whom she recognised as the same who had taken her likeness.</p> + +<p>Dr. Pryse ascended the pulpit-stairs, and in a distinct though +faltering and aged voice read as his text the story of the Prodigal +Son. Then, after a pause, continued:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "What a sad and life-like picture we have here! A dearly loved son, +with every comfort and blessing round him, wishes to leave it all and +go away from his father's face.<br> +<br> + "'Give me the portion that falleth to me.'<br> +<br> + "What was it? Just the very portion that men of the world are craving +for nowadays—'his living;' all that they think life is worth; the +worship of the golden god with all his attendant train, 'the lust of +the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life': this trinity +of evil was what the young man desired as his portion, and he got it.<br> +<br> + "Did it satisfy him? Was it a portion that filled him with good? Ah no! +Alone in a stranger-land, he sat and wept. Instead of the dainty meat +he had once fed upon, there was the swine's trough set before him. In +vain he held out his empty hands. 'No man gave unto him.'<br> +<br> + "Then he remembered the light and love in his father's dwelling. There, +in that home of peace and purity, no rough winds could come; no hunger, +no drought. Thrice blessed they who dwelt beneath its shelter! There +was not only food, but enough and to spare. Even the hired servants +could know no want. Alas for him, sitting out there alone in the cold, +with no eye to pity, no hand to raise up! But while he mused over his +desolation and misery, a light shone into his soul,—a light as bright +as that which lit up the prison darkness that surrounded Saint Peter.<br> +<br> + "'Arise!' it said. 'How many hired servants of my father's have bread +enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to +my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, +and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me +as one of thy hired servants.' 'If only I can be in my own fair home +again, and under the same roof as my father, he may give me the office +of a menial; I will serve him joyfully.'<br> +<br> + "Ah, but he did not know the father's love even then; he put a limit +to it. He was judging him according to his own poor standard. He could +not believe that from the day the erring one left the shelter of his +home the father had yearned for his return. My friends, have you ever +known what it was to lose a son? I do not mean by death. Has your +well-beloved child ever wandered away upon the mountains and never come +home?"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>The aged pastor could get no further, for a sob choked his utterance, +as he leaned heavily on the pulpit cushion. But he checked himself. For +years he had struggled to speak to his people from this parable, but +could not. He must do it now.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Does not the love for the absent one," he continued, "grow deeper +and deeper as the years move on? Would you not give all you possessed +for that precious life? Forgiveness! Ah, that is only the glistening +surface of the deep well. You must go beyond that, deeper and deeper +still. It is all love beneath, nothing but love! How was the prodigal +received?<br> +<br> + "'When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had +compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.'<br> +<br> + "Oh, my friends, behold this Divine Compassion, so far beyond our poor +earthly love, however deep that may be. Alas! An earthly parent may +have been the cause of driving his son into the far country. We can +never say that of God.<br> +<br> + "'He willeth not the death of a sinner, but rather that he should turn +from his wickedness and live.'<br> +<br> + "It is 'we' who have turned our backs upon Him.<br> +<br> + "'Come home, O wanderer!' calls the voice. 'Come home! Come home!'<br> +<br> + "Poor sinner, God loves you. He is your Father. Will you not turn and +seek His face, and let Him lead you home? A royal welcome awaits you +there—the best robe, fair and white, and the jewelled ring of His +everlasting love. If that poor young man had stayed where he was in the +fields, and made no effort to arise and come, he would never have been +clasped in his father's loving arms.<br> +<br> + "See how God's grace to the guilty one is shown forth in this story. +He first convinces him of sin by His Holy Spirit, causing him to +cry,—'Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in Thy sight, and am no +more worthy to be called Thy son,' and then gives him the white robe +that will make him clean and fair for ever.<br> +<br> + "'Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your +sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red +like crimson, they shall be as wool.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Lettice started and turned pale, for she thought she heard near her a +groan and a heavy sob. A few minutes after, to her great surprise, the +stranger rose hastily and left the church.</p> + +<p>Edward Pryse could not stay to hear the remainder of that sermon. The +arrow, feathered with love, had shot straight into his heart, making +it bleed with sorrow and contrition. He sought where to weep. The +churchyard was no fit place, for in a few minutes the people would be +coming out. He quickly made up his mind. There was but one place. It +was his home, and thither he went.</p> + +<p>The Rectory doors were never locked on Sunday, though Molly was in +church with her mistress. So Edward passed into the quiet, empty house, +unperceived by any one.</p> + +<p>The study door stood open, and he crept stealthily in. Nothing was +changed! There were the shabby carpet and ancient furniture, the books, +the pictures, and quaint sampler. The colour had faded a little out +of the sweet girlish face that smiled at him from its frame. Yes, +Minnie had looked just like that, when, struck one day by her artistic +appearance, he had made his first study from life. Those laughing eyes +seemed as if they could never know sorrow. He had left his little +sister bright and young, and such she would ever be to him, while he +had grown grey in the stern soil of grief. The last wind of trouble had +stripped and made bare his branches, and he felt very, very old.</p> + +<p>The window was open, and a gentle breeze stirred the ivy leaves +outside, bringing whispers to his memory of that sad night long ago, +when he had crouched beneath them to listen to his father's wrathful +sentence. Suddenly, and overpowering the sound of the rustling leaves, +came the echo of human voices from the churchyard. The service was +over, the congregation was dispersing. His father and Silexa would be +at home in a few minutes!</p> + +<p>Should he flee and hide himself? Oh, he dared not meet them. What +should he say? He felt like a guilty thief. He thought of the lonely +garret at the top of the house. But just as he was meditating a flight +to it, he heard Molly enter by the back door, and he was afraid to run +the risk of meeting her. So he stood still as if spellbound, gazing at +the picture. His heart felt as if it must stop beating when he heard a +firm, decided footstep approaching the door. He could not turn round +to see who it was. Trembling in every limb with nervous agitation, he +heard the handle sharply turned. Some one had entered. Yes, he must +face that person, whoever it might be. One look was enough.</p> + +<p>"Edward! My brother!" burst from Silexa's lips, as she sprang forward +and knelt beside the fainting figure, that had sunk into a seat below +the picture.</p> + +<p>In that moment of wonder and amazement, her yearning sister-heart had +penetrated the disguise that Time had woven round him. She had heard of +the mysterious stranger's visit to St. Elvis, but had refused to allow +herself to dream of the possibility she so often longed for. Now she +read the secret. The sea of sorrow had given up its dead!</p> + +<p>When Edward came to himself, her strong arms were supporting him, his +head was on her breast, and he knew it was his own sister Silexa who +was weeping over him.</p> + +<p>"Don't talk yet," she said, rousing herself with her usual brave +determination. "Rest here, Edward, on this sofa. No one will disturb +you. I must go to our father. The shock might kill him. How thankful I +am David detained him, and that Eudora is waiting in the churchyard to +bring him home!"</p> + +<p>Silexa calmly retraced her steps to the lych gate, but what a mingling +of thanksgiving and sorrow was going on in her heart! My readers know +enough of Silexa's past history to enable them to understand what she +felt at such a crisis.</p> + +<p>Eudora was seated on a moss-grown tombstone, but rose when she saw her +aunt coming through the gate.</p> + +<p>"What is it, auntie dear? David and grandpapa are having such a long +talk. Did you want me? Oh, auntie, why are you looking so white? And +you are shaking all over. Something is the matter."</p> + +<p>Silexa took the girl's hand and sat down beside her.</p> + +<p>"I am weak and foolish," she said, wiping away the tears that would +drop from the grey eyes. "Oh, Dora, my darling, help me to bear up! +Your grandfather's life depends on whether we can be calm and patient. +I can trust you," she added, looking into the sweet upturned face. +"Dora, your Uncle Edward has come home."</p> + +<p>Eudora had heard the sad history since she had grown up, for the +confidence had become dearer and closer every day between aunt and +niece since Eudora's dangerous illness. But as it was before her birth +that this sorrow had come to the Rectory, she had never known the agony +of the loss, nor half its bitterness. Therefore, this sudden news was +only the source of the keenest joy to her. Yet the gentle, sensitive +girl understood the situation in an instant, and took in all its +emergencies. She put her arms round Silexa's neck, and in that loving +caress whispered, "Our Father has been very good to us, auntie. How +safe we are in His keeping! Your prayers have indeed been answered. +There is grandpapa coming towards us," she added. "I will run and meet +him as if nothing had happened."</p> + +<p>But David lingered by the old man's side, as he watched Eudora glide +gently along the daisy-bordered path. Dr. Pryse put his hand forward +and took her arm. Eudora felt perplexed, and wished David would say +good-bye. But she could not tell him this. What was to be done?</p> + +<p>"Ah, Silexa!" said the aged minister. "I thought you had gone home. Why +did you wait?"</p> + +<p>"I came back again, father, to tell you some one is in your study +waiting to see you."</p> + +<p>"Who is it? Where did he come from?"</p> + +<p>David and Eudora always remembered the clever way in which Silexa +parried these questions, until she had paved the way for a safe avowal.</p> + +<p>"Father," she said, at length; "you have been telling us about the +Prodigal Son this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Silexa, yes, but it was a sore subject for me. God grant that my +people may never know such a sorrow as mine!"</p> + +<p>"Father, what would you say if 'your' prodigal came home? We have never +actually heard of his death."</p> + +<p>"Ah, my daughter, a father's welcome should be his, but that can never +be now on earth. I shall clasp him to my bosom in the Father's house +above. I know we shall meet there."</p> + +<p>"Father dearest, God will let you meet him before then. It has pleased +Him to hear our prayers and wipe away our tears. Edward has come home. +He is the stranger I have called you in to meet."</p> + +<p>The poor old man seemed as though he heard not, but gazed from one to +the other. David came closer to him, and supported him as he trembled +from head to foot. He could not speak, but began to sob like a child. +Tenderly they led him on through the garden and into the study. David +and Eudora turned away on the threshold.</p> + +<p>Silexa guided the tottering footsteps to the accustomed seat in the +great mahogany chair, and then put Edward's hand into her father's. The +penitent knelt down, and with bowed head received the paternal kiss +and blessing. The sister softly turned to leave the parent and the son +alone, and heard her father murmur, as she closed the door,—</p> + +<p>"'This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.'"</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_17">CHAPTER XVII</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE TREASURE CLAIMED</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>DAVID GWYNNE walked slowly back to his home; his mother met him at the +door.</p> + +<p>"Davie, did you see the stranger in church?" she said.</p> + +<p>"What stranger, mother?"</p> + +<p>"Why, the artist that came here last year so shabbily dressed, and took +Ermyn's picture. What is he here again for? And why did he leave the +church before service was over?"</p> + +<p>"Mother, a great secret has come out to-day; there is joy at the +Rectory. The prodigal has returned to his father's house; your stranger +is the lost son, Mr. Edward Pryse."</p> + +<p>When David saw his mother's white and troubled countenance, he was +sorry he had made the announcement so hastily.</p> + +<p>"Edward Pryse!" she ejaculated, lifting up her hands. "Davie, you are +dreaming; it cannot be."</p> + +<p>"Go up to the Rectory, mother dear, and see for yourself. You will +find a rejoicing going on there, such as is never made except over a +recovered treasure. I expect the good news is all over the town by this +time. Ermyn!" he called. "Come here quickly; we have something to tell +you."</p> + +<p>"What is it, Davie?" cried she, appearing from the inner room.</p> + +<p>"Why, they are all so happy up at the Rectory; Mr. Edward Pryse has +come back."</p> + +<p>"Has he? When? Oh, I want to see him so much. I wonder what he is like."</p> + +<p>"You have seen him, Ermyn; he took your likeness last summer, and he +was in church to-day, sitting very near you."</p> + +<p>"Davie! No, you cannot mean it; it is just one of your jokes. It is not +really true? That sad-looking man Miss Silexa's brother! Impossible!"</p> + +<p>"You will know more about it to-morrow," laughed David, little dreaming +that in his words lay the seed of a revelation that would spring up the +next day to bear bitter fruit for Lettice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am very glad!" rejoined Ermyn. "What does Dora say to it all? +This is indeed a happy day for St. Elvis. That heavy grief has been +lifted off at last."</p> + +<p>Lettice heard her children talking, and discussing the joyful event in +all its details, but she could not remain long in the same room with +them. Her heart was fluttering like a bird trying to get free.</p> + +<p>The meaning of that sobbing groan in church was explained now. That +flash of instinct had been a true one, the day she had walked beside +him to the churchyard, and fancied those piercing brown eyes were like +Edward's. She could interpret now those sad, averted looks, and that +abstracted manner. And oh, how heedlessly she had run on, telling him +his own sad history. What a simple fool she had been!</p> + +<p>Then came another thought that hung like a millstone round her neck, +threatening to drag her down with its sudden weight. His eyes were like +Ermyn's. What had the sight of the child so agitated him? Had he power +to take her darling from her? No, no, that could not be. He did not +even know of the wreck until she informed him of it.</p> + +<p>She could not tell Ermyn or David of her terror. God grant that her +fears were groundless! She would pray over it.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Thou art a refuge for the oppressed," she cried; "a refuge in times of +trouble."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>But the fear haunted her all the evening; she could not put it from +her, and was grave and silent.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The following morning all St. Elvis and Porthmynwr rang with the good +news.</p> + +<p>"Master Edward has come home," echoed from lip to lip; "only to think +the good parson has got his son again! Indeed and indeed he has!"</p> + +<p>"We knew he would come some day," nodded the gossips; "there have been +signs in plenty about it, for those who had eyes to see them, and who +believe in such things."</p> + +<p>Ermyn ran off to rejoice with Eudora, and David went to his parish work.</p> + +<p>Only Lettice sat still in the house. She heard footsteps coming up +the causeway. It was surely Miss Silexa's voice; and Lettice looked +out to see her coming towards the cottage, leaning on the arm of the +mysterious stranger.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, Lettice," said he, in a tremor of agitation, as he held +out his hand; "it was wrong of me to deceive you, but thank God for all +you were to me that day, I was so lonely and miserable."</p> + +<p>Silexa's manner was more tender than Lettice had ever known it. There +was a calm, deep joy in the eyes of the rector's daughter. But Mrs. +Gwynne thought she also detected a keen pity, which made her fear what +was coming next.</p> + +<p>"Where is Ermyn?" said Silexa gently; and Lettice saw tears gathering +in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I have not seen her since breakfast," replied Lettice, in an unsteady +voice. "She was going first to the Rectory, and then to see Mrs. +Llewellyn."</p> + +<p>"We are glad she is not here now, Lettice," said Edward, laying his +hand on Mrs. Gwynne's arm. "Lettice, my sister tells me you have a +locket in safe keeping. Will you show it to me? It is a gold one set +round with pearls. I gave it to Ethel my wife when I left her to go to +America. Our initials are worked across the hair. My good, kind friend, +you have been a mother to my child. God bless you for it!"</p> + +<p>Lettice could not answer; she bowed her head in her hands and wept +bitterly.</p> + +<p>Silexa knelt beside her and put an arm tenderly round her.</p> + +<p>"I knew it," sobbed Lettice. "I knew last night you would come to-day +and take away my darling."</p> + +<p>The brother and sister glanced at each other. Silexa had only seen her +look like that once, when the dead baby Ruth lay upon her knees. They +both felt how hard it was for the poor woman, after having nurtured and +brought up the child as her own, suddenly to be called on to give her +up. But the unselfish heart of Lettice soon recovered its balance.</p> + +<p>"How wrong I am!" she murmured. "How selfish and cruel!" As rising, she +left the room to fetch the locket.</p> + +<p>When she returned, God's peace was once more visible on her chastened +face.</p> + +<p>"Here it is," she said. "No eye has seen it but mine since the day I +locked it away; and there is the little shirt laid in the box beside +it. There was nothing else."</p> + +<p>Edward put his hand into his breast-pocket, and producing the tiny +half-finished garment he had discovered in Ethel's workbox, gave it +to Lettice. The two women saw at a glance the same hand had made both +shirts, for the pattern was the same, and there was a fancy-stitching +across the sleeves of each that corresponded to a thread.</p> + +<p>Edward then repeated the tale that Silexa had sat up so late the night +before to hear, of his wanderings and return, the search for Ethel's +child, and the chain of evidences that had grown so wonderfully out of +each discovery.</p> + +<p>"Ermyn is your child without a doubt," said Lettice calmly, when he had +concluded. "I thank God for giving her to me to nurse and take care +of for you all these years. 'The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken +away,'" she added, with a sob.</p> + +<p>"We shall never forget that you have been a mother to her," said the +brother and sister in one breath; "and I am sure Ermyn will always feel +the same."</p> + +<p>"Lettice," continued Silexa, "listen! Please do not turn away with +such a sad, hopeless look. My brother is longing to clasp his child in +his arms, and I yearn to hear her call me 'auntie.' But we have quite +decided that no one shall tell her anything until you have informed +her yourself of her past history, and how it was you came to be such a +good, kind mother to her."</p> + +<p>"Thank you both for that," said Lettice, smiling through her tears. +"You shall not wait long for your joy. I will bring her to the Rectory +this afternoon. How kind you are to me! It will not be so hard to give +her up to you. I was always afraid some stranger might claim her. +Good-bye."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Silexa and Edward walked quietly home through the sunny pasturelands. +And the sister recalled to mind that morning so many years ago when she +had trodden that very path on her way to learn tidings of the wreck, +and seen for the first time the little motherless infant who had so +strangely proved to belong to her own dear brother.</p> + +<p>"I kissed your Ethel, Edward, as she lay in the cottage in her last +sleep. She had a lovely face."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you saw my darling, even in death," he answered.</p> + +<p>There was silence after that as the two stepped among the daisies +beside the stream that ever sang its glad song of hope, heedless of +human joy or sadness.</p> + +<p>Ermyn, all unconscious of the change in her destiny, came tripping up +the causeway some time after, singing a merry tune.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother," she cried, "everybody is so glad up at St. Elvis; they +are all shouting and talking about it. I went to the Rectory first, and +Dora came out to meet me, and she kissed and hugged me and looked at +me again and again with happy tears in her eyes. I did not think she +would care so much, but the joy has quite turned her head, mother. I +never knew her so absent or strange in her manner. She kept stopping in +what she was going to say, and then blushed as deep a pink as the roses +growing on the porch. At last I ran away, pretending to be angry, and +I have been with Mrs. Llewellyn ever since. I hope the poor gentleman +will look happier now. But it is all so odd, mother, I cannot make it +out yet."</p> + +<p>"Did you see Dr. Pryse?" asked Lettice, turning away to busy herself at +a drawer in the table, that Ermyn might not notice her trembling hands.</p> + +<p>"No, mother, I did not. The sudden surprise last evening quite upset +him. Dr. Llewellyn has ordered him to keep quiet in his room all day +and see no one."</p> + +<p>Lettice sat down in the low rocking-chair—the very one she had sat in +the night baby Ermyn was hushed to sleep on her knee after the terrible +wreck. The room looked just the same, only the cradle was not there now.</p> + +<p>"Ermyn, child, come to me. I want to talk to you for a little."</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother darling," she cried, seizing the little wooden stool, +always called her own since babyhood, and seating herself with her head +laid down on Mrs. Gwynne's knee. "Now this is like old times. I was +afraid I was getting too big for this, mother. We haven't had a cosy +talk for a long time."</p> + +<p>How sweetly and naturally the word "mother" fell from her lips! Lettice +noticed it now with an aching heart. Would she call her that again +when she knew all? A gulf had opened between her and her darling since +yesterday; it was growing wider every minute. Only a few hours ago +she was her child; now she was far removed by birth and station, able +to take the rank of a lady, while she, Lettice, would always remain a +humble peasant woman. Oh, cruel truth! But it must be told, and that +without delay.</p> + +<p>"Ermyn, I am going to tell you something. Listen!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother."</p> + +<p>"It happened a long time ago, just a year after I lost my dear little +baby Ruth."</p> + +<p>Ermyn looked up all eager attention.</p> + +<p>"I was sitting here one evening on a very wild, stormy night. The sea +roared and the wind howled, and heavy sheets of rain dashed against the +windows. Oh, it was an awful storm! Davie was a little boy then, and +lay fast asleep in that bed, and your dear old granddad—" here Lettice +checked herself, "my father," she added, "was out with the other +sailors on the jetty."</p> + +<p>"What was he doing, mother?"</p> + +<p>"Nancy Lewis came up to tell me there was a fine ship driving on to the +rocks close to the Head, and nothing could be done for her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, poor, poor people!" said Ermyn. "Did granddad try to save them?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he put out in a boat with several of his brave mates. But it +wasn't a lifeboat, so they could do nothing to help, and the ship went +down."</p> + +<p>"Was any one saved?" asked Ermyn breathlessly.</p> + +<p>Lettice continued her story, as though she had not heard the question. +"Presently we heard voices, and when I opened the door, granddad and +the sailors were carrying in a poor drowned lady, and I heard a baby +cry. Then I looked and saw granddad holding something wrapped up in a +bit of fishing-net. I took it from his arms and found it was a dear, +helpless infant."</p> + +<p>"Was the lady dead?" inquired Ermyn.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed she was; nothing more could be done for her. She was laid +in the churchyard to sleep the next Sunday."</p> + +<p>"And what became of the baby?"</p> + +<p>"I nursed her and took her for my own instead of little Ruth. Ermyn, +you were that little babe."</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 class="t4"> +<b>"OH, MOTHER, WHY DID YOU TELL ME?"</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"Mother, oh, mother!" cried Ermyn, kneeling and flinging her arms round +Mrs. Gwynne's neck, while the two sobbed together. "Oh, mother, why did +you tell me? I would rather never, never have known. Don't say you are +not my own mother."</p> + +<p>"Hush, my darling, there is more to tell you. Forgive me for hiding +from you the secret of your history. Perhaps it would have been better +if you had always known it."</p> + +<p>"Why, mother?"</p> + +<p>"Ermyn, sweet child, you are mine no longer! Your father lives. He +is waiting and longing to clasp you in his arms to-day. You are the +daughter of Mr. Edward Pryse, and his people at the Rectory are your +own kith and kin. Miss Silexa came with him this morning, while you +were out, to break the news to me."</p> + +<p>It is impossible to describe the effect these words had upon Ermyn. She +was dumb in open-eyed wonder for some minutes, thinking it must surely +be a dream of the night. Then she understood it all; and with a low cry +flung herself into the arms of Lettice, murmuring, "Oh, mother, mother, +don't send me away from you! I don't want any one but you!"</p> + +<p>Lettice said no more; for she saw the effect her words were having +on Ermyn's highly strung nerves, as the hysterical sobs grew louder. +She half carried, half led her into the inner chamber, and, loosening +her dress, laid her on the bed. Then shading the light from the small +window, she kissed her tenderly and left her.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon, they were treading the valley-meadows together, +calm and quiet. Ermyn felt timid and shy. Poor child, it was hard to +realise her new situation in so short a time. Would they be glad at +the Rectory? Did Dora know she was her own cousin? Yes, she felt sure +she did. But eyes were already on the look-out from the rose-clustered +windows, and Silexa stood waiting in the porch.</p> + +<p>"Come in, darling! My niece and godchild Ermyn. Edward, here is your +child!"</p> + +<p>Ermyn said nothing till she found herself clasped in strong, loving +arms. Then she knew she had indeed found a father.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>A week later, Lettice was sitting alone at work in her cottage. The +shadows were lengthening on the causeway, and the returning tide broke +in soft murmurs against the boundary wall, as a hum of voices from the +jetty was borne upon the sultry air. Her fingers were busy, but her +thoughts were far-away. She was still learning in the school of her +Lord and Master Jesus Christ; the lesson-books were not put away yet, +and on the page turned to-day great silent tears were dropping.</p> + +<p>Ermyn, her child and treasure, was going away; far-away from her to +her northern home. The devoted father would have his daughter all to +himself in Scotland. Would she forget the cottage by the creek? The +lowly village-maiden was an heiress now. In time, she might learn to be +ashamed of her former poverty and upbringing.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my God!" cried Lettice half aloud. "Why did they take my own +ewe-lamb from my bosom? She crept in there in place of little Ruth, +and the space is cold and empty without her. I know her love will ever +be warm and faithful for me; but oh, it can never, never be the same +again."</p> + +<p>A footstep so light that Lettice only perceived it when it was close to +the door, now caught her attention, but not quickly enough to give her +time to hide the tears that were falling. Looking up she saw the sweet, +fair face of Eudora Meredith, and rose to greet her.</p> + +<p>"You did not hear me coming, Lettice. Sit down again, please. I want +you to pretend I am the little Dora of long, long ago. I shall steal +Ermyn's stool and come and sit at your feet. There! I have taken off my +hat. Now, stroke my hair as you used to do."</p> + +<p>Lettice obeyed, while Eudora put one hand into hers.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Gwynne," she continued, as the golden head bent low, and a +crimson blush dyed the delicate cheek. "Lettice, I have come to tell +you something that I hope will make you very happy. I know you are +dreadfully sad to-day," she added, "because your darling Ermyn is so +soon going away, but her love for you will never change, Lettice. She +will be always the same. Still, we know she cannot be quite so much +your child as she used to be. Lettice, kiss me and put your arms round +me. I am to be your daughter now. Davie has asked me to be his wife. +Will you be my mother?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gwynne started and turned pale. She could only say, "Miss Eudora!"</p> + +<p>"You are never to call me that again," said Eudora, springing up and +flinging her arms round the neck of the astonished and overjoyed woman. +"I knew you would be very glad, and I made Davie promise, as one of +the conditions, that I should be the first to tell you. He has been +very good and kept his secret. Oh, you don't know how unhappy we have +been! He was afraid to ask me, because we were both poor; and I thought +he did not care for me at all. Aunt Silexa has been our good angel. I +wonder how she guessed! When Uncle Edward came to her, wanting to know +how he could repay even a part of all the kindness and care you have +given his child throughout her life, auntie told him there was one way. +And what do you think that was, Lettice?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gwynne could only smile inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"Why, he has bought the house that has been built close to Dr. +Llewellyn's, and given it to Davie; you are to live with us," the happy +girl ran on. "And the dowry Uncle Edward gives me will be quite enough, +with David's stipend, to make comfortable. Now I have told my news."</p> + +<p>Lettice at first could find no words to express her joy. She felt God +had honoured and blessed both her and her house beyond her highest +expectations. She scarcely believed she heard aright.</p> + +<p>"I could not think what Davie wanted," broke in Eudora, with a little +laugh. "He came to me in the kitchen garden this morning when I was +getting something for auntie, and his face looked as if he was the +happiest man in the world. Then he followed me about, holding my basket +until it was filled, and then somehow we found ourselves sitting +together under the medlar boughs. Lettice, dear Lettice, you can guess +the rest!</p> + +<p>"Here is Davie himself, and Ermyn too, I declare! You are both of you +very naughty," said she, turning to them. "I thought I had slipped +away, and that you would not find me for ever so long."</p> + +<p>What a happy talk there was after that in the old cottage, as Eudora +and Ermyn pretended to be jealous of each other, in their caresses of +the dear and much-loved mother. Lettice could only feel that, instead +of losing her treasure, another child had been given to her wide +mother-heart.</p> + +<p>"Mother," said Ermyn, "Davie and I came home on purpose to tell you, +you must please put on your Sunday gown and cap at once; for you, and +auntie, grandpapa, father, and all of us are going to have tea together +at Dr. Llewellyn's."</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a delightful plan!" cried Eudora, springing up. "Just like +our dear, kind friends! How I wish Maurice had been at home; there +would not have been one wanting then."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>While Lettice arrayed herself in her plain black silk and white cap, +and her children waited to escort her, Mary Llewellyn was as busy as a +bee. She was not pretty, but her bright, honest eyes and sweet, frank +smile made the face a very attractive one to watch. She moved about +quickly and quietly, setting out the oval table in the most festive +manner for the expected guests. The snowy tablecloth hung in glossy +folds, and the pretty green and white tea-service and homemade bread +and butter looked most tempting upon it.</p> + +<p>"Let me see," said Mary, smiling towards her mother, who was a +delighted spectator of the hospitable arrangements. "That little glass +basket I brought from London will look the prettiest for the flowers in +the centre; and I declare I quite forgot the honey—and such honey too! +What can I be thinking of, mother? My wits are woolgathering."</p> + +<p>"We have so much to think about, dear," replied Mrs. Llewellyn, +laughing, "that I do not wonder your ideas are inclined to go astray. +Even now I can scarcely believe our pretty, simple lily of the valley +is transformed into a fine lady."</p> + +<p>"She will never be that, mother; she has too much good sense—thanks +to her being blessed with two such mothers as you and Lettice; for +you have been quite a mother to her. What a blessing it is, as +circumstances have turned out, that Ermyn has had such a thoroughly +well-grounded education!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I must not take all the credit of that. The child was so +bright and clever it was a pleasure to teach her; and you, Mary, have +also done a great deal for her, and for Dora too."</p> + +<p>"They are a sweet pair of cousins, mother. Is it not funny it should +all have come out as it has? I am so glad they have been thrown +together so much. I keep on thinking I am reading a fairy tale, but I +did not expect the transformation scene so soon. Now let me shake up +your cushions and make you tidy. You must have on your cap with the +lavender ribbons to-night."</p> + +<p>"I never thought my fanciful daydream about that child would ever be +realised," said Mrs. Llewellyn, as she thanked and kissed her daughter.</p> + +<p>The guests arrived at the appointed hour; and never was there a merrier +feast. Everybody was hungry, and did full justice to Mary's bountiful +cheer, as she presided at the tea-tray, all the more pleased that the +cups were sent up again and again to be replenished.</p> + +<p>"My grandchildren," said Dr. Pryse, looking at the pair of laughing +girls before him, "I must have you one on each side of me to-night. +What a rich old man I am, with all my treasures about me!" he added, +looking round the table with a gratified smile on his aged features. +"I am not going to give away my little love yet," quoth he, with a sly +glance at David.</p> + +<p>This was the signal for a great deal of fun. And Dr. Llewellyn arrived +in the middle of it all, adding his hearty laugh and amusing sayings to +the merry-making.</p> + +<p>David and Eudora could afford to be laughed at now. They did not mind +how soon all St. Elvis heard the news, and were much too happy in +one another's love to care for the opinion of the world, or what the +gossips would say round the ancient cross.</p> + +<p>"What is this I hear about a lifeboat?" said Dr. Llewellyn.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the news has flown like the wind among the sailors," answered +David. "Miss Ermyn Pryse has given the money for one, and it is to +arrive here and be launched before the winter sets in."</p> + +<p>"And it is to be called 'The Ermyn,'" put in Eudora eagerly.</p> + +<p>Lettice had not heard this piece of information before, and tears of +joy filled her eyes as she thought of the many brave lives it would +probably be the means of saving on that dangerous coast.</p> + +<p>"It is in memory of dear old granddad," whispered Ermyn, as she slipped +her hand into that of Lettice. "I wish he had lived to see it."</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_18">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>CONCLUSION</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>MUIRSTANE donned its gayest holiday attire the day Edward Pryse was +expected to arrive with his young heiress. The great iron gates leading +to the manor-house no longer mourned in rust and weeds, but had been +freshly painted and flung wide open, while an arch of evergreens and +flowers spanned the portal. Little children stood on either side of +the hilly road near the entrance, holding bunches of flowers in their +hot hands, and they all set up a joyous shout on seeing the carriage. +It was a new experience for Ermyn, as she sat by her father's side, +prettily dressed in quiet grey silk, smiling and nodding to the eager +crowd, who came streaming out into the road to get a sight of her.</p> + +<p>Edward's heart was too full for speech. Tears came into his eyes as he +thought of his Ethel, but oh, the joy of having her child with him now! +How lovingly he watched her return the glad greetings! How tenderly +he handed her from the carriage into the spacious hall of the noble +old mansion! It should henceforth be his pride and pleasure to watch +over and care for her. No one must interfere with his newly found +treasure—she must be all his own, his very own.</p> + +<p>Reader, pardon his selfishness. He had to dive into very deep waters +ere he found his pearl. No wonder she was priceless now.</p> + +<p>With reverent footsteps, Ermyn followed her father from room to room. +Her own dead mother had lived here, and everything she had touched and +used was sacred, Ethel's little sitting-room especially so. When her +child entered it, she started and looked at Edward; for there, hanging +in a gilded frame above the mantelpiece, was the picture of herself, +as she had stood by the Sainted Well in her old blue dress and red +petticoat.</p> + +<p>"Oh, father, how well I remember that day!"</p> + +<p>"So do I, my daughter."</p> + +<p>For the first few weeks that followed, it was all novelty and +brightness for Ermyn. Her affection for her father became deep and +passionate. It seemed as though all her child-love for him had been +storing itself up through long years, to be poured out in a golden +treasure at his feet when he should come to claim it.</p> + +<p>Her filial devotion gradually healed the open wounds in his heart. +How he loved to hear this beautiful girl calling him father! His cup +was full now. Together the two would wander among the wild and lovely +Scottish scenery each glen and exquisite haunt had its story about +Ethel. The heather bloomed as sweetly now as when he had pulled its +purple blossoms at her side; the little brown burns still tinkled their +merry tune.</p> + +<p>Ermyn won all hearts among the poorer tenantry. She had known poverty +and toil, and could come among them with true kindliness. She was +none the less noble and refined that she had once worked hard for her +living; nay, rather it added to her woman's worth, because it had +enlarged and drawn out her sympathies towards the poor. They all called +her "oor bonnie leddy," and loved her well.</p> + +<p>But, notwithstanding her pleasant occupations, her father's untiring +love and devotion, and the long affectionate letters received from +Wales, her heart yearned to return to St. Elvis. When she laid her +head down on her pillow at night, she missed the mother-kiss. And she +wanted her sweet cousin to share her new pleasures with her. Sometimes +she would weep in secret about it, and even pine to be the humble +cottage-maiden again.</p> + +<p>Edward soon began to notice her drooping looks, and besought her +to tell him what was the matter. But Ermyn, afraid of wounding his +feelings, and still anxious to be more of a comfort to him, could not +confess the truth. She evaded his questions by laughing excuses, and +tried to look brighter again. But all in vain. Her heart was not in +Muirstane. And as the months moved on, the trouble could be hidden no +longer.</p> + +<p>"Father," she said one day, "please don't be angry with me. I know I +ought to be quite happy here, but I want to go back to St. Elvis. I +miss them all so very, very much."</p> + +<p>A grieved look of pain came into his face, and she saw it.</p> + +<p>"Ermyn, my child," he answered, "try for my sake to make yourself happy +here with me through the winter. In the spring, we will go back. Let me +have you to myself till then."</p> + +<p>Ermyn hid her disappointment by a bright smile of acquiescence. This +promise was something definite, at any rate; but oh, how long the +spring was in coming that year! Ermyn watched the snow melt away at +last off the stern hills. And when the April sunbeams tipped them with +brightness, she and her father turned their backs on Muirstane and set +out for St. Elvis.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>A joyous peal of welcome was ringing out from the old church tower as +they entered the town. Silexa, Lettice, David, Eudora, and the dear old +grandfather were all standing waiting to receive them. Oh, how glad +they were to get their darling back again!—Not one bit changed, no—they +all said that.</p> + +<p>And when the May-buds blushed pink, and there was "a little piping of +leaf-hid birds" in their downy nests, the bridal morning dawned.</p> + +<p>Ermyn, once more our blithe, merry maiden, was standing in Eudora's +room, helping Aunt Silexa and Lettice to dress the bride in soft clouds +of white muslin. How like a lovely flower looked the child of the +Rectory to-day! And how proud they all were of her!</p> + +<p>The beloved and aged grandfather with his silver locks stood within the +communion rails, as the simple procession moved up through the crowded +church. In clear though trembling tones, he read the solemn marriage +service, which united the two persons whom all firmly believed God had +joined together. Eudora's lip quivered and her cheek paled, but her +voice was clear and calm, as she uttered the familiar thrilling vow.</p> + +<p>What a burst of jocund music rang out from the ivied tower, as the +joy-bells sounded loud and sweet when the newly wedded pair left the +church! What a feast there was for the poor in the Rectory kitchen, +after the pretty breakfast was over in the dining-room! Nobody in St. +Elvis ever forgot that day.</p> + +<p>"I hope you and Davie will have a happy time together at Muirstane," +whispered Ermyn, as she said good-bye to her cousin. "I will look after +everybody, and do the work of two curates in the village till you bring +Davie back again. Good-bye, good-bye! Auntie, give me an old shoe to +throw after them!"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>While the two were away spending their honeymoon among the heathery +moorlands of Scotland, Lettice had her hands full of work. But she did +not labour alone, for Silexa and Ermyn joyfully helped her each day, in +the pleasant task of beautifying and making ready the new pretty home +for David and his bride.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how charming it is to be able to do this for them!" cried Ermyn, +in an ecstasy of delight, as she ran from room to room, discussing and +settling about colours and furniture. "I long to see my Dora's glad +face when she enters her home."</p> + +<p>Lettice felt very sad the night she slept in the old cottage by the +creek for the last time. True, she had known poverty, sorrow, and care +while dwelling under its roof, but God's presence had never forsaken +her. Her loved dead had rested under its peaceful shadow, and made it +a hallowed spot. She would like to have ended her days here in humble +seclusion, had it not been for the entreaties of her children. Then, +Jem and Nancy Lewis had been long wishing to remove their large family +into this more spacious cottage; and as Jem had bought Old Roger's two +boats, and succeeded to his fishing trade, they seemed the right people +to take possession.</p> + +<p>"I cannot leave the cradle," said Lettice, as she was looking over her +things, most of which she intended to bequeath to her successors. "That +must go wherever I go. Davie, and dear little Ruth, and Ermyn all slept +in it; it is full of tender memories and associations; I will never, +never part with it."</p> + +<p>So the cradle journeyed up the valley with some more of Mrs. Gwynne's +household treasures, and they gave her large, airy room in David's +house a home look at once.</p> + +<p>The few weeks that the bride and bridegroom were away seemed a short +time in which to get everything completed, but as all worked with a +will, they managed to do it.</p> + +<p>The evening before David and Eudora were expected, Ermyn was with her +father in the newly made garden, pulling up stray weeds, and tying up +the flowers. Suddenly she looked up from her work to see Mary Llewellyn +at the gate, and Maurice standing by her side.</p> + +<p>"Well, Ermyn," cried Mary, in glee, "is not this a surprise for all of +us? We only knew of it this morning."</p> + +<p>Ermyn advanced shyly to greet almost a stranger now, for it was long +since she and Maurice had met, not since she had been a hard-working +little cottage-maiden. She felt at first she would like to run away and +hide.</p> + +<p>"Miss Ermyn Pryse," said Maurice, frankly extending his hand, and +reassuring the timid girl by a glad smile. "You have said good-bye to +childhood since we met, and yet you are not a bit altered. I should +have known you anywhere."</p> + +<p>"But you are considerably changed," replied Ermyn, laughing, as a blush +tinted her cheek. "Father, let me introduce Mr. Maurice Llewellyn."</p> + +<p>"Is it not delightful?" rejoined Mary, as she kissed Ermyn. "Maurice is +to be at home a whole month before he goes away on another long voyage."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am so glad!" replied Ermyn. "Now we shall be all together once +more."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The welcome that St. Elvis gave to the curate and his wife the +following day was a right royal one. The church bells rang out a +deafening peal. And when the carriage appeared in sight, a troop of +strong young men ran a race to meet it, when they unharnessed the +horses, and insisted on drawing the carriage themselves to the new +home. Gay summer blossoms were flung in fragrant showers upon the young +and happy wife, as she sat smiling and nodding by her husband's side, +while the village children shouted,—</p> + +<p>"Hurrah! Hurrah! Welcome! Welcome home!"</p> + +<p>Silexa, Ermyn, and Lettice stood at the porch to receive them, and the +wedded life of David and Eudora at St. Elvis began.</p> + +<p>No one liked to think that some of the members of this happy and united +circle must soon again separate. But Maurice had been appointed to take +the medical charge of a large ship bound for America; and he had mapped +out for himself a long course of hard work in the world before his +vision of settling down with his father in St. Elvis could be fulfilled.</p> + +<p>He went away full of hope and courage, but has invalid mother could not +help shedding some bitter tears after saying good-bye to her son. The +first letter from him revived her spirits:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "St. Elvis," he said, "would ever be the brightest spot in the whole +world to him, and he should be always longing for home."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Edward Pryse began to grow somewhat weary and impatient, as week after +week Ermyn put off their journey north. But at last it was settled, and +she went back to Muirstane with her heart full of dutiful and strenuous +resolutions. She must make it her home now, and try to do the very best +among her people there. She would fill the old house with light and +brightness for her father; he should never see her discontented again. +And she did it.</p> + +<p>Six years passed quietly and evenly away. The father and daughter +gathered numerous pleasant friends and acquaintances around them, who +were all charmed with the youthful mistress of the manor. Guests came +to stay in the house, which soon became renowned for its hospitality +and good cheer.</p> + +<p>Edward Pryse never objected to visit St. Elvis when Ermyn wished it, +but the place was so filled with painful associations to him that she +soon saw it was a great effort. Besides, his health was very feeble +now; the sorrows of his youth had broken him down, and made him an old +man before his time. Therefore it was only at intervals that the child +of St. Elvis was seen in her old loved haunts.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>But the years brought new joys and interests to the sweet young wife +Eudora, for some baby-voices now echoed in the pretty home. Lettice had +her hands full, with helping to care for the imperious little autocrats +of the nursery, who were always climbing about her, and making her +their willing slave. There was Edward, the first-born, and Roger, his +fair-haired brother, then toddling, lisping Ermyn, and sweet baby Ruth. +Yes, Lettice held another little Ruth in her arms now, and the same old +wooden cradle rocked her to sleep.</p> + +<p>Sometimes as Mrs. Gwynne, with her foot on the rocker, looked within +it, she would think it must be all a dream, and that she was back again +in the cottage by the creek. But dear old granddad had sailed away to +the golden shore; he was with her own little Ruth now, in the happy +land above.</p> + +<p>And Eudora! How the years had deepened and sweetened, as the stream of +life flowed on, broadening and widening. She sometimes felt she was +almost too happy, and feared lest shadows should begin to fall. But in +her husband's love she felt calm and secure, and she knew that "the +blessing of the Lord which maketh rich," adding no sorrow with it, was +theirs, whatever might happen in the future.</p> + +<p>What light and warmth there was for David in that sweet, peaceful home, +whither he bent his tired footsteps at the close of each day's work! In +the true spirit of wife-like devotion, hers was—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "An ear that waits to catch<br> + A hand upon the latch;<br> +A step that hastens its sweet rest to win.<br> + A world of care without,<br> + A world of strife shut out,<br> + A world of love shut in."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>She was sitting thus one evening waiting and watching, busily plying +her needle on a tiny garment that had been torn among the valley +brambles. Lettice was upstairs in the nursery, and Eudora could hear +her low voice hushing baby Ruth to sleep with a soothing lullaby. +Eudora thought it was David's step on the gravel outside, and rose to +meet him with her usual smile of welcome. But when she opened the door, +to her no small surprise there stood Maurice Llewellyn.</p> + +<p>"Why, Maurice," she said, "who would have thought of seeing you! Mary +certainly told me you were not coming until next week."</p> + +<p>"I did not think I could," he answered, "but I was able to get away +sooner than I expected."</p> + +<p>"Well, come in," quoth she, with a bright look, "the children would +have been scrambling down to see you by this time if they had not been +asleep in their cots."</p> + +<p>Maurice followed Eudora into the pretty, well-lighted sitting-room, +which now had its curtains drawn and a cheerful fire burning.</p> + +<p>"Sit down," she added; "I am expecting Davie every minute, but he told +me he should be later than usual, as he has gone some miles off to see +a poor woman who is dangerously ill."</p> + +<p>In spite of this cheery welcome, Maurice looked very dismal, as he took +a seat opposite Eudora. She noticed his gloomy manner, and at once +guessed the cause.</p> + +<p>"I hoped I should have found Ermyn Pryse at home in the old Rectory, or +staying with you," he said presently.</p> + +<p>"And so you will," cried Eudora triumphantly. "Hasn't Mary heard that +she is coming to-morrow or next day? Her father has promised to let her +stay over Christmas, and I am to have her to myself part of the time +for a visit to us."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid it will not make much difference to me, Eudora," he said +sadly; "I know you have guessed my secret long ere this, so I need take +no pains to conceal it, but there is a hopeless gulf between us."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Eudora innocently.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I could never be beholden to my wife for money; not that it need +be really so," he added, "for I would always work hard to earn an +honourable living by my profession."</p> + +<p>"Then where lies the difficulty?" queried Eudora.</p> + +<p>"Her father would say directly that I wanted to marry her for her +money; he is so hard-looking and unapproachable, and I am sure he +dislikes me. I dare not attempt it."</p> + +<p>"Poor man!" sighed Eudora. "Oh, Maurice, don't judge him harshly. The +burden of grief he has had to carry has well-nigh crushed him."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and for that reason he would hate me all the more for attempting +to rob him of his only child," continued Maurice, in a dreary voice. "I +do not know what is to be done. Each time I have seen her since your +marriage, she has grown dearer to me; and how lovely she is, so modest +and gentle! I could never love any one else as I do her. I would that +she had always remained the lily of the valley my mother used to call +her. I could then have reached forth my hand to gather the flower, and +no one would have said me nay. But now it is quite hopeless. After +looking once more on her beauty, I shall go away on a long voyage, and +perhaps never come back again."</p> + +<p>"Maurice, you are both wrong and selfish; you quite forget your mother, +and how she yearns over you."</p> + +<p>"You are unfeeling, Eudora."</p> + +<p>"No, I am not, but I want you to pluck up your courage and face your +trouble like a man."</p> + +<p>"How can I?" pleaded Maurice piteously.</p> + +<p>"Ask Ermyn yourself, the first opportunity you have, and hear what she +says."</p> + +<p>"Do you really think, then, I have a chance, Eudora? Don't offer me +advice that I shall rue afterwards. Do you think she will listen?"</p> + +<p>"I am not going to say anything about that, Maurice," replied Eudora, +laughing. "How the fire has caught my face," she added, reaching up her +hand to take down a screen from the mantelpiece. "Maurice, I wish you +good speed on your errand. Nothing venture, nothing win! You know the +old lines:</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"He either fears his fate too much,<br> + Or his deserts are small,<br> + Who dares not put it to the touch,<br> + And win or lose it all."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"At worst, you can only be where you were before."</p> + +<p>"God bless you, my kind friend!" cried Maurice, starting to his feet +and grasping her hand. "You have done me good. I shall come to you for +comfort if I am turned away a lonely, heart-broken man."</p> + +<p>"What nonsense you talk!" cried Eudora, with a little rippling laugh. +"You are just a donkey, Maurice—yes, I will say it—to go on working +yourself up into this sentimental misery. I have no sympathy with that +kind of thing, no, none whatever."</p> + +<p>This homely thrust was the best possible medicine at that moment for +Eudora's patient, though he winced a little. Yet he could not be angry +with his playmate of former days, so he smiled somewhat grimly at her +instead, and said he must go home.</p> + +<p>"Mind you do as I tell you," she called out after him, as he went down +the garden path.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>And so it came to pass, about a fortnight after this conversation, that +Ermyn Pryse was kneeling beside Mrs. Llewellyn, burying her face in the +sofa cushions.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad, so very glad, my darling!" murmured the voice of the +invalid, in tender mother-tones. "You have been dear to me for many +years, and now you will be my own daughter. Maurice was naughty not to +tell me his secret before."</p> + +<p>"He was afraid I should refuse him," whispered Ermyn; "and all because +of that paltry money. Oh, Mrs. Llewellyn, I have loved him such a long, +long time. Dora found it out somehow, but he did not know. Father is +so good and kind about it too, which makes me quite happy, and," she +added, with a tighter clasp round her friend's neck, "oh, I am so glad, +for I shall always be the child of St. Elvis now! Our home in Scotland, +dear though it will be, cannot break the link with the loved and lovely +valley of my childhood."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Llewellyn could only answer her with her tears and blessing:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'The Lord bless thee and keep thee, my child: the Lord make His face +shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: the Lord lift up His +countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.'"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Late that night, after the household were asleep, Silexa crept into +what used to be Eudora's little room over the porch. It was all so +unchanged; the grotesque chintz still grimaced at all comers, the ivy +twigs and roses still tapped against the casement. What was different?</p> + +<p>Silexa shaded the light, and looked into the small bed. There, instead +of Eudora, lay the sleeping Ermyn, sweetly dreaming, and unconscious +that human eyes were watching her. Her dark hair was flung over the +pillow, and her rosy lips had a half smile on them.</p> + +<p>"She will be very happy," thought her good aunt; "and there is no one +in all the world more worthy of her love than Maurice Llewellyn. Oh, +how strange and sweet is life!" she went on to herself, as softly she +left the sleeper and closed the door. "It is no longer an intricate +maze of dancing shadows. How dark it was once! How hopeless and dreary! +Now I can look back and see the path, with all its windings, was +leading me towards a better country, that is, an heavenly. I did not +always think so. Life is the letter; death is but its envelope."</p> + +<p>Silexa entered her own room, the very room where she had knelt on the +night of that agonised conflict, when she thought her niece was dying. +It all came back to her now, as sitting down she opened an old brown +much-worn book and read:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "God knoweth best what is needful for us, and all that He does is for +our good. If we knew how much He loves us, we should be always ready +to receive equally and with indifference from His hand the sweet and +the bitter; all would please that came from Him. The sorest afflictions +never appear intolerable, but when we see them in the wrong light. +When we see them in the hand of God, who dispenses them; when we know +it is our loving Father who abases and distresses us, our sufferings +will lose their bitterness, and become even matter of consolation. Let +all our employment be to know God: the more one knows Him, the more +one desires to know Him. And as knowledge is commonly the measure of +love, the deeper and more extensive our knowledge shall be, the greater +will be our love; and if our love of God were great we should love +Him equally in pains or pleasures. We cannot escape the dangers which +abound in life without the actual and continual help of God; let us +then pray to Him for it continually. How can we pray to Him without +being with Him? How can we be with Him, but in thinking of Him often? +And how can we often think of Him, but by a holy habit which we should +form of it? We must 'know' before we can 'love.' In order to know God +we must often think of Him; and when we come to love Him we shall then +also think of Him often, for our heart will be with our treasure.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "O Lord, I have known and believed the love that Thou hast to me," +murmured Silexa, as she closed the book; "for Thou hast given Thy Son +Jesus Christ to be the Saviour of the world.<br> +<br> + "'This God is our God for ever and ever: He will be our guide even unto +death.'<br> +<br> + "'Only a few more shadows, and He will come.'"<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "And a sense of tune,<br> +A satisfied love, meanwhile,<br> +Which nothing earthly could despoil,<br> +Sang on within her soul."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +THE END<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> +Printed by MORRISON & GIBB LIMITED, Edinburgh<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +<em>UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME</em><br> +</p> + +<p class="t3b"> +EVERY GIRL'S BOOKSHELF<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + Her Treasure of Truth. By H. Louisa Bedford.<br> + Beryl's Triumph. By Eglanton Thorne.<br> + Annie Carr. A Tale of Two Hemispheres.<br> + Ellen Tremaine. By M. Filleul.<br> + The Girls of Marleigh Grange. By M. M. Pollard.<br> + Little Maid Marigold. By Eleanora H. Stooke.<br> + The Mysterious Locket. By Ruth Lynn.<br> + The Mistress of the Manor. By E. Kirby.<br> + Anthony Cragg's Tenant. By Agnes Giberne.<br> + The Heart of a Friend. By Florence Wilmot.<br> + Brown Eyes and Blue. By Annie Mabel Severs.<br> + Arthur Glynn. By Ruth Lamb.<br> + Two Enthusiasts. By Evelyn Everett-Green.<br> + The Faith of Hilary Lovel. By Evelyn Everett-Green.<br> + The Romance of Miss Hilary, and other stories.<br> + Kitty and Kit. By Florence Wilmot.<br> + The Colleen's Choice, and other stories.<br> + Dick and Brownie. By Mabel Quiller-Couch.<br> + Alwyn Ravendale. By Evelyn Everett-Green.<br> + Half-a-dozen Sisters. By Evelyn Everett-Green.<br> + Brought out of Peril. By Emma Leslie.<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> +LONDON: THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79291 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/79291-h/images/image001.jpg b/79291-h/images/image001.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6ed86e3 --- /dev/null +++ b/79291-h/images/image001.jpg diff --git a/79291-h/images/image002.jpg b/79291-h/images/image002.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2ef06ad --- /dev/null +++ b/79291-h/images/image002.jpg diff --git a/79291-h/images/image003.jpg b/79291-h/images/image003.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e80d14e --- /dev/null +++ b/79291-h/images/image003.jpg diff --git a/79291-h/images/image004.jpg b/79291-h/images/image004.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..648b7c3 --- /dev/null +++ b/79291-h/images/image004.jpg diff --git a/79291-h/images/image005.jpg b/79291-h/images/image005.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a4202ba --- /dev/null +++ b/79291-h/images/image005.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +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. 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