I told her how it was I had stayed so long, and then asked to be excused coming into the drawing-room that evening. I wanted to be alone; it had all seemed so sudden and unexpected that I could hardly realize it.

Early the next morning the village church bell began to toll, and I knew that my eldest scholar had gone home. It was a real grief to me, and yet for his sake I could not regret it. How thankful I was now that I had taken him into my Sunday class, in spite of his age! It seemed as if it was a special bit of work that God Himself had given me, and I thanked Him for it on my knees in the midst of my tears. I heard afterwards that he had not spoken to any one afterwards, or taken the slightest notice of anything, but had passed peacefully away about four o'clock in the morning.

Roddy remarked cheerfully, when he heard it, 'Jim will be glad now, won't he, mother? I wish the angels would come for me, too!'



CHAPTER XIV

WOOED AND WON

'Beloved! let us love so well, our work shall still be better for our love, And still our love be sweeter for our work; And both commended for the sake of each, By all true workers, and true lovers born.'—E. B. Browning.

It seemed as if Roddy's wish might be realized, for two days after he sickened with the same complaint. Mrs. Forsyth would not hear of my going near him, and I had to be content with news from time to time through the different villagers. I was not anxious about myself, but I did not feel well, and when my throat began to pain me I felt pretty sure that I was going to have it, too.

I was meditating whether I should tell Mrs. Forsyth one afternoon, as I sat by the morning-room fire, when Nelly and Kenneth came in from a walk glowing with health and spirits.

'Now,' said Kenneth, throwing himself full length on the sofa, 'we are very tired, and want a rest. Get your fiddle and play to us in the gloaming, Goody!'

I did not feel much in the mood for it, but I thought it would take off my thoughts from myself, so I began to play. And in the firelight, with the flickering shadows over the room, I lost all sense of my audience. I seemed to see the golden gates of the Beautiful City, and Jim beckoning to both Roddy and myself. 'The Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters, and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.' These words came to me with a fresh realization of their beauty.

When I stopped playing, Nelly was regarding me with round open eyes, and Kenneth took me quite aback by saying, with cool deliberation, 'There are moments, Goody Two-Shoes, when you and your fiddle are before my eyes, that I think I should like to marry you and take you away with me somewhere where you should charm me with those strains continually. Don't look so frightened. We understand each other. I know you wouldn't dream of having me, so I am never going to ask you. You have certainly a fit of inspiration on you to-night. I don't think I have ever heard you play better.'

'Miss Thorn has tired herself I think,' said a voice near the door; and looking round, I saw that Mr. Stanton had been an unseen listener.

I sat down in my chair by the fire. 'I am tired,' I said. 'I think I shall go to bed, Nelly.'

Instantly Mr. Stanton came forward and gave me his arm. 'You are trembling all over,' he said very gently; 'lean on me. I am afraid it is your throat.'

I looked up at him. 'Yes,' I said. 'Will you ask Mrs. Forsyth to come to me? I am so sorry to give her the anxiety, but I am afraid I am going to be ill.'

There was a strange look in his eyes as his glance met mine—a look that haunted me through hours of weariness and pain afterwards. It seemed so full of tender concern and anxiety; but all he said was in a low tone as we left the room together, 'The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.'

Nelly came with me to my room, and in a very few moments her mother followed. I feared what Mrs. Forsyth might say, and began half apologising for the trouble I might give her; but she cut me short, and nothing could have been kinder or more restful than her words. She told Nelly to leave the room, helped me to bed herself, saying, 'Don't talk or worry yourself, child. I have sent for the doctor. It may be a very slight attack, and the quieter you keep the better. There is nothing for you to be anxious about. I shall send my maid to you presently; she is very good in sickness. Now lie still, and don't talk to any one. I only wish you had told me you were not feeling well before.'

The next week or ten days seemed like a dream; I hardly knew how ill I was till afterwards; but they had feared at one time that I would not pull through. The verse that Mr. Stanton gave me kept running through my head as a continual refrain: 'Underneath are the everlasting arms.' And I found it a wonderful pillow to rest upon. As I gradually recovered my health and strength, I was astonished at the extreme kindness of all in the house. My room was supplied with fresh flowers every day, and all varieties of books and magazines were constantly making their appearance.

Mrs. Forsyth was in and out of my room the whole time, though she would not allow her daughters to come near me, and nothing could have exceeded her kindness and attention.

'How is Roddy?' was one of the first questions I asked.

Lyle, Mrs. Forsyth's maid, answered me. 'He is getting well, miss. His mother has been in a sore state of fright about him, but the doctor was hopeful about him from the first.'

When Christmas Day came, it found me still in my room; but on New Year's Day I made my first appearance downstairs. I was surprised to find how weak I felt, and was glad to rest on the couch which Kenneth wheeled up towards the fire in the drawing-room for me.

'We have missed you very much,' said Kenneth, with a twinkle in his eye that invariably came there when he spoke to me; 'I fell to quarrelling with Nell from lack of occupation; she doesn't stand fire like you! Haven't you missed me? I am sure you must have.'

'I don't think I have thought of you once,' I replied with truth.

'And who do you think sent you those beautiful flowers every day if I did not?'

'I don't think it was you,' I said decidedly.

He laughed, and Nelly put in, 'Of course he didn't. Mr. Stanton was constantly bringing some back from London, if he failed to coax old Brown to cut him some from the houses. I think he has been the most attentive one all through!'

'Of course he has. I think he was longing to go in and read the Bible to you, if the mother had let him. Ministration of the sick, don't you call it? He will be very attentive yet, I assure you. We know the way the wind lies, don't we, Nell?'

'I know this, that you are not going to bully Hilda the very first day she comes down.'

Kenneth turned away with his low chuckle, and Nelly came up, and sitting down by me, put her hand on mine caressingly. 'You look as white and fragile as a piece of china, Hilda. I am so glad you are better. You don't know how we have missed you, and when I thought we were going to lose you altogether I was miserable. I thought over all the nasty things we had said to you, and how you had borne it like an angel, and then I thought you were going to be taken away because you were too good for us, and I was wretched!'

Her eyes were full of tears. She added impulsively, 'I prayed that you might be spared to us. I promised God I would turn over a new leaf and be more serious, and I want to keep that promise. You will help me, will you not? I so often wish I was more like you!'

'Dear Nelly,' I said, tears coming to my own eyes, 'I will do what I can to help you. I know you will never regret it if you do keep that promise!'

More we could not say then, for others came up, Mr. Stanton amongst them. He smiled as he took my hand. 'Welcome back, Miss Thorn. Are you glad to be amongst us again?'

'Yes,' I said, looking up at him, 'I think I am, though at one time I thought I should like to go. I did not think I would be missed.'

He did not answer for a minute, then he said in a low voice, 'I think the Lord has more work for you to do yet in this corner of His vineyard.'

I thought of Nelly, and wondered if that was to be my work. How often I had prayed that she might have the desire given to her to be different! She had always appeared so perfectly content with her life, that I wondered if anything would ever convince her of its emptiness.

I saw a great deal of Mr. Stanton during my convalescence; he would sometimes come into the morning-room where Nelly and I spent most of our time, and bring me a book or paper to read, often sitting down and reading it himself to us. And I soon lost all sense of constraint with him, and could talk to him as unrestrainedly as I could to any one.

Miss Graham would often join us in her spare time, and the days passed so pleasantly that I dreaded a change in them.

One afternoon I was lying back in an easy chair by the fire alone, when Mr. Stanton came in.

'I thought I would enjoy a little chat with you before dinner,' he said. 'I am going away in two days' time, so may not have another opportunity.'

My heart sank within me, but I knew that it must come, and steadied my voice as I replied simply, 'I am sorry.'

'Are you?' he said, bending down over me with a look in his eyes that I could not meet. 'Will you miss me when I am gone? I have such a longing to stay and surround you with the love and tenderness that I feel for you—to have the right of protecting and shielding you from so many things that must distress you in your life here. I wonder what your feelings are towards me? Could you trust me with your dear little self, or am I too old, and too grave to suit you? Do you care for me just a little—Hilda?'

I could not answer. Somehow or other I had never expected this or looked for it. To have him as a friend was as much as I had ever hoped, and I felt confused and bewildered by the thoughts of anything more.

He seemed to read my thoughts. 'I have taken you by surprise; do not give me your answer now. I will wait till to-morrow. I think I could make you happy, my child,' and there was a little wistfulness in his tone. 'I know how happy you would make me.'

I tried to speak, but could not. He stood up by the fireplace, looking down at me silently for a moment, then said, 'Do not distress yourself; it is no light thing I am asking you—to give yourself away for life to one you know so comparatively little. If I were a younger man, I should not hesitate so. But I do think we have a bond together which many have not—that of being fellow-workers and servants of the same Master. And,' here his voice broke a little, 'Hilda, dear child, you have my love; shall I be able to win yours?'

Then, as I was still silent, he made a movement as if about to leave me. 'I will not press you—give me an answer to-morrow.'

But by this time I knew my own heart. I raised ply head and put my hand on his arm. 'Don't go,' I murmured; 'I will give you the answer now.'

And the answer never got put into words, for with his strong arm round me all doubts vanished, and I knew that no one on earth occupied such a position in my heart as he did.

'I don't know what General Forsyth will say,' I said, a little time after, when I heard the first gong sound for dinner.

'I had his permission to come to you,' was the reply.

I went into Mrs. Forsyth's boudoir before dinner, but she seemed to know all about it, and kissed me in a most motherly fashion. 'I can see what you have come to tell me, child, and you have the best wishes of both the general and myself. You are exactly suited to each other in all your peculiar views, and he is able to give you a comfortable home. I thought when you were first taken ill how it would end, he was so concerned about you!'

It certainly was a surprise to me that all in the house seemed to have expected it but myself.

'It stands to reason, my dear Goody,' observed Kenneth when he heard it, '"that birds of a feather flock together." I think myself he has the best of the bargain. That is the first compliment I have ever paid you, I believe!'

I seemed to live in a dream for the next few days, for Mr. Stanton—or Philip, as I soon learnt to call him—postponed his departure for a week. He took me out for drives on warm, bright days, and was continually with me. It seemed to change my whole life, and I could only thank God again and again for His goodness. I suppose I had been so accustomed to live my life alone without receiving sympathy or help from any, that I had ceased to expect it, and Philip's tender, watchful care over me seemed sometimes more than I could bear.

I broke down one afternoon altogether, and it was only some trifling little piece of attention on his part that did it. 'You spoil me,' I cried; 'I have never had any one to care for my likes or dislikes before. You will make me selfish, Philip. Don't be so good to me.'

'I shall not spoil you,' he responded, with a smile. 'I want to make your life brighter. You have had plenty of loneliness in it, and now I have the pleasure of altering all that. Dear child, a little love and care will not make you selfish.'



CHAPTER XV

A GATHERING CLOUD

'O friend! O best of friends! Thy absence more Than the impending night darkens the landscape o'er!'—Longfellow.

'Miss Rayner is in the drawing-room, and would like to see you, miss,' was the message brought to me one afternoon.

I hastened in. She had been to see me twice whilst I was ill, but neither time was I well enough to enjoy her visit. I had written to tell her of my engagement, and was a little doubtful as to how she would receive the news. I had not heard from her since.

'Well,' she said, drawing me towards her by both hands, 'you haven't been long about this affair, child! You did not know such a person was in existence a couple of months ago. And it isn't a curate, after all!'

'Would you rather it had been, Miss Rayner?' I asked, laughing.

'I abominate the tribe, as you know, but, as far as I am concerned, this Mr. Stanton may not be much better. Who is he, and what is he? He is an unknown quantity to me!'

'He is a Christian and a gentleman,' I said warmly 'and one of Hugh's literary friends.'

'A dreamy book-worm like Hugh? That does not commend him to me; I should wish you something better. Now don't try to crush me with that fiery look. How do I know what he is like? I only know that you must have had very short acquaintance with him, and you could afford to wait. You are quite a child still.'

'Shall I call him and introduce him to you? He is in the house,' I asked very quietly, for I knew Miss Rayner was only trying to draw me out.

'Not just yet; my call is on you this afternoon. Are you feeling strong again? How that attack has pulled you down! Are they feeding you up well?'

'Yes, I am getting well fast.'

She sat down and talked to me for some time, and then allowed me to go and fetch Philip.

I need not have been afraid of the result, though I had prepared him for her extremely blunt way of speaking.

As she shook hands with him, she said,—

'I have come over to see what you are like. I take an interest in this child here, and I was not best pleased at the news. I hope you mean to be good to her. Are you sure you are suited to each other?'

Philip was not in the slightest disconcerted by this speech, only a gleam of humour was in his eye as he replied, 'That remains to be seen. Of course we think we are at present, but that is always the case. I think you will allow I am strong enough to protect her, and old enough to know my own mind. I doubt if I am good enough for her, but I am going to try to do my best.'

Miss Rayner was silent for a minute.

He added, 'I am really glad to meet with any one who takes an interest in Hilda. Her friends seem to be few and far between. She has spoken to me of you, and of how much she enjoyed her visit to you.'

And then they drifted into an easy, amicable conversation one with the other, whilst I for the most part was silent, only putting in a word now and then. Afterwards Mrs. Forsyth came in, and then Miss Rayner did not stay much longer. I had one word alone with her in the hall.

'I see by your anxious eyes what you want to ask,' she said good-naturedly, pinching my cheek as she spoke. 'I am slow to make friends, but he looks honest and good, and is presentable; you might do worse, I suppose; only don't be hurried into a hasty marriage, I implore you. Get to know each other through and through first. Ah! well, you have knocked down one of my castles in the air, but I might have expected it! I am sure I wish you every happiness, child.' A quick sigh followed her words, and then she called out brightly to us as she got into her trap,—

'Come over and dine with me both of you one night; if not now, when next you come down, Mr. Stanton. I suppose you will be continually hovering about this neighbourhood now!'

The last day of Philip's visit soon came. I drove down to the station to see him off, but I dreaded the parting.

'You must write to me often, and tell me all about yourself,' he said, trying to speak cheerfully; 'and when Easter comes I have a plan in my head. I shall get a cousin of mine to come down with her husband to Cobham Hall, and then she will help me entertain my visitors. I shall invite all of you down, for I want you to see your future home, childie. Meanwhile, I shall doubtless be able to run down here for a day or two and see you. Mrs. Forsyth has kindly asked me to do so whenever I can.'

'Yes,' I said; 'the future looks very bright to me, almost too bright sometimes, I think. Oh, how good God has been!'

Then after a moment's silence I said, 'I shall miss you so, Philip. It will seem like a dream.'

'You will "dwell deep,"' he said, smiling as he quoted my favourite verse. 'We are not solely dependent on each other's presence for happiness, are we? We shall be able to strengthen each other's hands by prayer.'

He went; and I think others besides me missed him. His presence made itself felt wherever it was. Hugh had behaved very well about our engagement. He said to me, with a grave smile, when first he heard of it,—

'You have gained a friend, and I have lost one. I ought to be vexed, I suppose.'

'Oh no,' I replied; 'your friendship with him remains unchanged. You will find there will be no difference. I cannot be to him what you are, and if he does not spend quite so much time with you now as he has done, it will not always be so.'

But he turned away with a laugh and a shake of his head.

We were very quiet for some time after Philip's departure. Constance went away on a visit to Mr. Stroud's relatives. Kenneth went up to London, and as I was still far from strong, I was left to do very much as I liked, Nelly accompanying her mother when she went out. General Forsyth called me into his study one morning to have a talk over my future.

'Have you any idea in your own head when your marriage is to be? Has Stanton said anything to you about it?'

'I—I don't wish to hurry about it,' I said confusedly; 'he is willing to wait.'

'How long?' demanded my guardian shortly.

'Are you wanting to get rid of me?' I asked, a little vexed by his tone.

'Do not be so foolish!' was the reply. 'I intend, as I have told you before, to treat you as I should one of my daughters; but it seems to me that there is nothing to wait for. Constance is going to be married about Easter. I do not see why that time should not suit you.'

'Oh no,' I cried; and though I had resented them at the time, Miss Rayner's words came before me. 'I would rather wait longer; please let me, if it is not inconvenient to you.'

He said no more, but I wondered much if the Forsyths were relieved at the possibility of my leaving them soon. I said something of the sort to Nelly, who, of course, eagerly disclaimed it. 'Why, Hilda, we shall miss you awfully! I don't know what I shall do, unless I get engaged before you go. Fancy me being left here alone, the old maid of the family! I dare say I shall not marry. I have never seen a single man that I care for yet. Some one asked me the other day if I wasn't jealous of you! So ridiculous! I am sure I would be frightened out of my life by Mr. Stanton. I am very glad he picked upon you. You are just made for each other, you two! I wouldn't have him for my husband for worlds! Sometimes when he is thinking, he looks so severe and cold that he makes me shiver. Grace Dawkin said the other day that he looked like a man with a "dark past." Have you ever asked him about his past, Hilda? Because, really, we know very little about him. Hugh seems to know hardly anything. Mother is satisfied, because she knows he comes of a good family; but he may have murdered some one, or done anything, for all we know!'

I knew it was of no use being angry with Nelly, or I could have scolded her well for her way of talking; she always said out anything and everything that came into her head without a thought of whether her hearers would like it or not. There was a little difficulty at first about my taking my Sunday class again. Mrs. Forsyth had an objection to it, but she finally consented, and only forbade me to visit in any of the cottages if there was sickness. Roddy was well again, and no other cases of diphtheria had been heard of. I promised her I would be careful, and joyfully took up my work again, but found I missed Jim much more than I could have imagined. He had always been so helpful at the class, arranging the seats, keeping an eye on the very little ones, and guiding Kitty Brown to and fro. Poor Kitty missed him dreadfully. 'He never teased me, teacher, like the other boys do; he never said a cross word. I wish sometimes it had been me that was took; but I 'spose I'm not good enough.'

'I think Jesus, perhaps, wants you to do some work for Him that Jim couldn't,' I replied, answering her in much the same way I had been answered myself a short time before.

Here Roddy broke in. 'What's Jim doing, teacher? Mother says singin' hymns. Won't he never get time to write a letter to me? I asked him to.'

'He is doing just what Jesus wants him to, Roddy. You mustn't expect a letter, but you will see him again one day, and that will be better than a letter.'

So the time slipped on, and writing so constantly to Philip and hearing from him in return, was my greatest consolation during his absence. Twice he managed to come down for a couple of days, which were much enjoyed by us both; and then Easter drew near, and with it all the bustle attending the preparations for Constance's wedding. After it was over we were to go down to Cobham Hall, which was Philip's place, and stay there for three or four weeks, and Nelly as well as myself was greatly looking forward to it.

Two days before the wedding we were gathered, a large and merry party, in the drawing-room after dinner. Philip had come down that afternoon, but in spite of his pleasure at being with us again, I fancied he was ill at ease, and wondered at the cause.

'Now, Goody Two-Shoes,' Kenneth cried, when music was going on, 'give us something extra nice from your fiddle. Get into a dream over it, and make us all as dreamy as yourself.'

I took my violin up, and standing in my favourite position against one of the French windows I began to play. Everything that evening is stamped vividly upon my memory. I can see now the yellow jasmine outside the windows fluttering to and fro in the breeze, the lilacs and laburnums on the lawn sending some of their sweet fragrance through one of the half-opened doors, and the last rays of the setting sun gilding the tops of the distant hills. As I turned my eyes inwards, I saw a bright fire, General Forsyth on one side reading the evening paper, Mrs. Forsyth on the other, busy with her fancy work and little table before her. At the piano, lounging about in different attitudes, were Nelly and several girl cousins, Kenneth and two other gentlemen in the background, whilst at the farther window stood Constance with Mr. Stroud. Philip was bending over a book with Hugh at a small table near, but when I began to play he threw himself into an easy chair, and resting his head upon his hand, prepared himself to listen. I noted an abstracted, moody look in his eyes, and it was in vain that he tried to hide it. I began to play one of Beethoven's sonatas, but drifted on from that to my own fancies, and glancing out into the dusky twilight, seemed to feel, rather than see, great banks of heavy, gloomy clouds roll up and envelop us in their darkness. A strange depression seemed to take possession of me, a heavy weight to settle down upon my spirits. I played on dreamily, until suddenly I was stopped by a cry from Constance, 'Do for pity's sake stop that wail, Hilda; one would think you were playing our funeral dirge!'

Her sharp tone so startled me that my violin fell to the ground with a crash. I gave a shiver, and Kenneth said, 'Has an evil spirit taken possession of you, Goody? You have put us all into the blues by the uncanny cries and moans that have proceeded from your fiddle! What is the matter with you?'

I could not answer him, Philip was picking up and replacing my violin in its case, after which he laid his hand on my arm. 'Come into the library with me.'

I followed him; he stirred up the fire, which was nearly out, and then drew me to him.

'What is the matter, childie?'

Nothing could have been more tender than his tone. The tears came to my eyes, and I rested my head against his shoulder with a sigh.

'I don't know,' I said. 'What is the matter with you, Philip?'

'You have sharp eyes to see that anything is the matter,' he replied, smiling; then, in a graver tone, he added, 'I have something worrying me—a matter of business that I cannot speak of at present to you. You must trust me, Hilda. Can you do this, do you think, even if appearances are against me?'

He raised my face to his as he spoke, and our eyes met. Trust him! I felt as I met his clear, open gaze that I would trust him through any amount of doubt or mystery, and I told him as much as we stood by the firelight together.

'I wish,' he said presently, 'that it was our wedding that was going to take place to-morrow; and yet I don't know—perhaps it will be best for you that it is not.'

A heavy sigh followed, and then we were both startled by the appearance of a servant.

'A telegram, sir.'

Philip took it and turned to me.

'I must leave you. Darling child, don't look so distressed. I am vexed that I should have to go before the wedding, but it is imperative that I should. I must write and tell you my movements when I know them. I shall just catch the 10.30 train to town if I go at once. Hilda, say good-bye to me here before I go to the drawing-room. Trust me, little one, and pray for me.'

I clung to him, for I still felt the shadow of a dark cloud hovering over us. 'Why need you go? Where are you going? When are you coming back again? We were to have travelled to your home together. Don't go till you have told me more, Philip. You must not leave me like this!'

He looked surprised at my vehemence. 'Dear child, you are overwrought. I shall be back in a few days at the most, I hope. Good-bye, my darling; God bless you and keep you!' And taking me in his arms, he kissed me over and over again. I said no more, my tongue seemed tied, and he left me standing by the fire, feeling as if a great unknown trouble was settling down upon me.

I stayed there, heard his voice in the hall, and then a confused babel of questions and exclamations from the others. When, a few minutes later, I heard him leave the house, I flew upstairs to my room; I knew from my window I should see a bend of the road along which he must pass, and as I saw the trap driving rapidly along I leant out and waved my handkerchief. He saw my signal. I suppose the light in my room and the unclosed shutters to the windows helped him to do so, and taking up the lantern in front of the trap he waved it to me. Then came a knock at my door, and Mrs. Forsyth appeared. 'Do you know the reason of this sudden disappearance, Hilda? I do wish sometimes Mr. Stanton were a little more communicative.'

'It was a telegram,' I said, trying to speak quietly; 'only a matter of business, he said, but it obliged him to go to London immediately.'

'It is very annoying. I was quite counting on his presence to-morrow. We seem to have such a scarcity of men. Are you not coming down to the drawing-room again?'

'I would rather not, please,' I said; for I felt I could not go through all the questions and remarks that would assail me.

Mrs. Forsyth did not stay, and I, trying to fight with the nameless fears in my heart, took refuge and comfort in prayer.



CHAPTER XVI

DARK DAYS

'Rest thou in God, amid all changes; Be pleased with all He may ordain; Wait patient till what He arranges, For thy best welfare shall be plain; God who has chosen us as His, Knows best what our true welfare is.'—Neumark.

The wedding passed off successfully. I think I was the only one who felt out of harmony with the brightness and gaiety all around. Though the Forsyths felt the loss of their eldest daughter, there was much to soften their regret at parting with her. She was not going very far away from them; she and her husband seemed exactly suited to each other in many ways, and she was going to a comfortable, luxurious home.

I think too that Nelly occupied a warmer place in their hearts than Constance. The latter seemed to live so entirely for herself, and her nature was so cold and unsympathetic that her presence did not always make home the happier for it. Nelly was the sunshine of the house, and it was she who up to the last kept up an atmosphere of sparkling brightness which none could withstand.

We felt rather 'flat,' as Kenneth expressed it, when all was over and the guests had departed. My thoughts were with Philip, and when, two days after his departure, the post brought me a letter in his handwriting, I opened it with trembling fingers. It was very short.

'MY DARLING,—

'I am off to America on this business that I spoke to you about. Will send you my address later on, but my movements are quite uncertain. So sorry that your visit to Cobham Hall must be postponed. God bless you!

'Yours 'PHILIP.'

I had expected something of this sort, and was hardly surprised, though I did wish he had written more fully. When I told the others, I had to bear a great deal of comment and commiseration.

'I cannot bear mysteries,' said General Forsyth; 'why can't the fellow tell his business instead of being so vague about it?'

'He is so exceedingly reticent about his affairs,' said Mrs. Forsyth, 'that one seems to know very little more about him now than one did at first. Are you in his confidence, Hugh?'

'If I were, I would be hardly likely to betray what he sees best to withhold.'

Hugh's tone was haughty. I looked across the breakfast table at him with a smile, feeling I had one on my side to do battle for the absent one.

'It's awfully disappointing,' grumbled Nelly. 'I was looking forward to our visit at his place, and have refused several invitations that I might have had instead of it. When people go off to America they generally stay there for years, and are never heard of any more.'

'That is cheerful for me,' I said, forcing a laugh; 'but America is not very far off, Nelly, the passage takes next to no time, it is only a question of a few weeks.'

'It is well to keep up your spirits, Goody, but it looks bad—very bad!' and Kenneth shook his head with mock solemnity as he spoke. 'We all noticed his gloom and uneasiness the last evening he was here. I am afraid he has a "dark past," and his conscience is troubling him. Be prepared for the worst. It may be a case of another woman, Goody. In the style of the penny dreadfuls, a wife that he thought dead may have turned up again, and then where would you be? He may have been married two or three times before, for all we know!'

'That will do,' General Forsyth said sternly; 'such jokes are extremely out of place, and we will have no more of them.'

And Kenneth subsided, to my great relief. I felt I could bear very little more, and was glad to get away alone and bear my disappointment as best I could.

But the next few weeks were very trying ones. Not for an instant did I doubt Philip, but others did, and the remarks and conjectures on his sudden departure were hard for me to sit and listen to.

I did not hear from him again, except a post-card to announce his arrival in New York. I wrote to him there, but received no answer, and the time of waiting and suspense seemed interminable.

If I had not learnt the secret of 'dwelling deep' in dark times, I sometimes think I should not have been able to live through that time. The Forsyths were kind, and felt for me, I knew; but my guardian was angry by the suddenness of it all, and persisted in looking upon me as being ill-treated in the matter. Nelly took the very blackest view, and declared I would never hear of or see him again, whilst Kenneth spent his time in concocting the most elaborate stories and bringing them out for my benefit, of different people who mysteriously disappeared, and the causes of their doing so. Hugh was the only one who with me felt it must be right, and he often cheered me by assurances of his speedy return.

'It is most likely money matters,' he said one day to me; 'I know a good deal of his income is in some funds in New York. He has some cousin in business there, who manages things for him.'

And this was the most likely solution I could obtain. But why did he not write? As time went on I grew more and more anxious. I said very little to any one, and tried to be cheerful, and go on with my daily life as before, but it was a hard matter.

I could not bring myself to touch my violin. That last evening rose up before me, and the dim foreboding of evil that had so overshadowed me. I felt a strange shrinking from the very thing that used to be such a comfort and delight to me.

One afternoon I was startled by a message being brought to me by Miss Rayner's old coachman, saying she was ill and wanted to see me. Mrs. Forsyth had gone up to London for a fortnight, so I went at once to my guardian.

'Helen ill!' he exclaimed. 'I should not think she has had a day's illness in her life. What is the matter with her?'

'John says she fell into the river trying to ford it riding, and did not change her wet things. He says she got a violent chill last week, and has had a great deal of fever. This is her note to me.'

I gave him a little slip of paper, on which was scrawled, in letters very unlike Miss Rayner's usually firm hand:—

'DEAR HILDA,—

'I am ill. Will you come and help Susan to nurse me?

'Yours affectionately, 'HELEN RAYNER.'

General Forsyth gave his consent to my going, and I returned that afternoon with John, who was full of garrulous accounts of Miss Rayner's illness. He wound up with saying,—

'And h'it's just my doing that hi'm taking you back. I said to Susan this morning,—I won't be a party to hiding h'it h'any longer. I'll go straight over to the general's and get some one to come h'and see to her while she's yet h'alive, and you may tell the mistress that hi'm doing it. So Susan she sees hi'm not to be trifled with, h'and she tells Miss Helen, h'and she sends this note for you. You will find her very h'ill, miss. She's been at death's door, h'and she's not turned the corner yet!'

The house was very still when we entered it. Even the dogs seemed to know something was the matter, for there was no bounding forward and barking when I appeared; they only crept up to me, and looked with mute, wistful appeal into my face, as if to ask for their absent mistress. As I went quietly up the stairs I met the doctor coming down. He looked grave, and, in answer to my inquiries, said,—

'I hope she will pull through; the worst has passed, but she is very weak. If you are going to be with her, do not let her talk too much. She must not be excited; and see that she has nourishment at the times I have ordered. I shall be in early to-morrow morning.'

A minute after and I stood by her bedside, but I was shocked to see how her illness had pulled her down. She lay motionless, but not asleep, and when I laid my hand softly upon hers she looked up.

'Do you know me?' she asked, with a faint smile. 'I feel a wreck, and as helpless as a baby!'

'I wish we had known about it before,' I said, 'I would have come over at once.'

'I was too ill to care,' she responded. 'I hate people fussing round. I thought I should like to see you, and so sent John over.'

She closed her eyes, and I, quietly removing my hat and jacket, came and took up my position at the bedside.

Susan and I had some anxious days after this, and, beyond saying a verse or two from the Bible to her, I could do nothing but pray for her. She seemed too weak to be able to hear or understand. But at length she really began to mend, and then her recovery was rapid.

One afternoon, the first time I felt I could with safety let her talk a little to me, she turned to me and said abruptly,—

'Hilda, I can't face death. I am not prepared for it.'

I did not answer for a minute, then I said,—

'God has been very good in saving you from that, hasn't He?'

'But I have been on the brink of it, child, and I can't forget it. It has made me see things so differently—my wasted life, and my self-will and self-pleasing, my rejection of so much Bible truth that was distasteful to me. I have thought and thought over these things till I wonder I did not go crazy. It was that that made me send for you. I felt you were the only one that could help me.'

'I am afraid I have not been able to do much,' I responded. 'You have been too ill to talk to, but I have been praying for you.'

'You said one verse to me soon after you came that has been ringing in my head ever since. Wasn't it something like this, "There is one Mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, in whom we have redemption through His blood, even the forgiveness of sins"?'

'Yes,' I replied; 'but those are bits of verses you have put together. I repeated both of them to you.'

I took my Bible and read them to her again, then she said,—

'Now then, take those verses as your text, and give me a little discourse on them, just as you do to your little Sunday scholars.'

I hesitated. Never had I been asked to do anything that seemed as difficult as this. Yet I dared not refuse such an opportunity, and, with an earnest prayer for the Holy Spirit's guidance, I began, falteringly enough at first, to talk about it. I do not remember now what I said; I was only conscious at the time of Miss Rayner's earnest gaze, and of a longing desire that she might obtain both pardon and peace.

She listened in silence, then said,—

'Now I want to hear you pray. Don't look so frightened. You pray with the old villagers you go to see, and I have a soul as much as they have. Kneel down and pray for me.'

I knelt, and when I rose she had tears in her eyes.

'You are a dear little thing!' she said in a softened tone; 'one would think my welfare was as precious to you as your own, to hear you! Now, that is enough for to-day. Suppose you leave me, and go out into the garden for a breath of fresh air. You can send Susan to me.'

I stooped and kissed her before I left, saying softly,—

'Dear Miss Rayner, I know you will find Him if you seek Him. He is very near you now.'

We had several talks together after that. I could not help thanking God again and again for having given me this bit of work in the midst of my own trouble. And it was touching to see how, with all her power of intellect and will, Miss Rayner's illness had humbled her like a little child. She seemed to realize deeply her sin in rejecting the truth for so long.

It was when she was beginning to sit up a little that one day she turned to me and said, 'I have not asked after Mr. Stanton once yet. When are you going to Cobham Hall?'

She evidently knew nothing of what had taken place, and was greatly surprised when I told her all.

'Do you mean to say you have never heard from him since he left?' she exclaimed.

'Yes, once—from New York. That is nearly two months ago.'

'I wish you hadn't been so quick about it, child. I felt from the commencement that it was a risky thing, your knowing so very little about him!'

'I know him well enough to be able to trust him,' I said quietly.

She looked at me and smiled. 'Then you are not anxious, at all events?'

'Yes, I am anxious,' I replied, 'for I do not understand his silence. He must be ill, or something must have happened to him; but other people do not think so, and their insinuations and remarks about it are almost more than I can bear.'

Miss Rayner was silent. I added impulsively, 'I had more than once thought of writing to you, and asking you to have me for a little. I felt it would be such a relief to get away from all the talk. This was before I knew you were ill, of course.'

'And why did you not?'

'I thought it would be rather selfish of me. Now Constance is married, Nelly seems to cling more to me, and there is my work in the village. It is rather cowardly to run away from one's duties if the way is not smooth, don't you think so?'

Miss Rayner did not answer, only said with a sigh a moment after, 'I hope he will not disappoint you.'



CHAPTER XVII

DAWN

'The night is mother of the day, The winter of the spring.'

Mrs. Forsyth came to see her sister directly she returned from town, and was vexed that she had not been sent for before. She was quite willing that I should remain where I was, and so after she had returned home again I had some quiet, restful weeks during Miss Rayner's convalescence. I call them restful, but though I had the sense of peace and rest deep down in my heart, I am afraid on the surface I was restless and ill at ease. Every post awakened fresh expectation and hope, only to be followed by the depression of disappointment. I prayed much to be given a quiet mind, and I do think, to some extent, my prayer was answered. And I had the intense joy of seeing Miss Rayner's whole life change, her interests and thoughts now centred on things above. She did not say much, but her Bible was now her constant companion, and I felt by her conversation how real and deep the change was in her.

It was one evening in the beginning of July that we were sitting out in a low verandah that ran along one side of the house. The sun was setting in front of us, and a glorious sunset it was; the sky was illuminated with rosy light from the deepest crimson to the most delicate pink, and the fleecy clouds that passed by seemed bathed in its golden splendour.

'It always makes me think of heaven's gates,' I was saying to Miss Rayner; but before she had time to reply we were startled by the sudden appearance of Hugh.

In a moment I was on my feet, and I felt every vestige of colour leave my face.

'You have some news!' I cried.

For answer he quietly put a letter in my hand, and when I saw the well-known writing the reaction was too much, I sat down and burst into a flood of tears.

Miss Rayner wisely left me alone. She drew Hugh away, and took him inside the drawing-room, saying, 'It has been a strain to the child—this time of suspense, though she has taken it so quietly. She will be better left to herself.'

And then when they had left me I opened my letter. It had evidently met with some delay on the road, for it was written a long time past. Only one sheet as follows:—

'MY DEAREST,—

'How you must have wondered at my silence, and how little I thought what a test your love and trust would be put to during this long time! When I reached New York I found it imperative to push on somewhere in these remote regions, from where I date this letter. I had only time to send you a card, but I little thought how long it would be before you would hear from me again. A bad accident resulted in my being stretched on a sick-bed for two whole months, and I am only now able to write. But I am on the way to speedy recovery now, and as soon as I can be moved I shall make the best of my way home to you. The business I was called out here about is at an end. Circumstances have made me wonder, as I lie on my bed, whether it is still right to allow you to link your life with mine. But I cannot write it. I must see you face to face, if God permits, and then we must talk it over. I am hoping to be in England soon after you receive this. Till then, darling, good-bye.

'Ever yours, 'P. STANTON.'

I sat with the letter in my hand, one thought after another following in rapid succession. But what really filled me with anxiety and dismay was the date on which the letter was posted. According to his statement he ought to have arrived in England long before this, and why had he not done so?

I rose from my seat and called Miss Rayner, who came to my side at once.

'Well? Good news, I hope!' she said cheerily.

'Why isn't he here?' I said, and I handed her the letter. She read it, and told Hugh its contents, as I did not seem to have the voice to speak.

'He may have been delayed,' Hugh said at once, 'I will go up to his agents again in town, and find out if they know anything of his movements.'

'Again!' I exclaimed. 'Have you been before then?'

'Yes,' he said hesitatingly; 'there was nothing to tell you, or I would have done so. They had lost sight of him themselves.'

'When did you go?' I demanded, 'and what did they say? Oh! Hugh! you might have told me. I didn't know he had any agents in town, or I would have gone myself. Let me come with you now—tonight.'

Miss Rayner laid her hand on my arm. 'Don't be so excited, child. Use a little of your common sense. Do you think there is any chance of getting up to town at this time of night, or if there were, would you be likely to get the information you need? Hugh can sleep here, and go up the first thing tomorrow morning.'

To this Hugh agreed at once. He seemed almost as anxious as I for the welfare of his friend.

The letter had brought little comfort to me, but I could see it had greatly relieved Miss Rayner's mind. My one fear now was that it was illness, perhaps death, that was the cause of his absence.

'He says so little,' I remarked presently; 'he does not tell me the nature of the accident, or how badly he has been hurt. And why should the letter have been delayed?'

'That is easily accounted for,' said Hugh, taking up the envelope and examining the post-mark. 'He was evidently at some rough mountain place when he wrote, and posts are few and far between. If you trust your letters to a messenger or a passer-by, you may think yourself fortunate if he remembers to post them at all, and they may often lie in his coat pocket for weeks before he thinks of them.'

That was an anxious evening to me. As I was wishing Hugh 'good-night' I said, 'I have never thanked you yet for coming over to me at once with the letter. It was very good of you.'

'The governor suggested posting it, but I thought you would like to get it as soon as possible. Nell was dying to open it; she told me to tell you she wanted you home again. When are you going to part with her, aunt?' And he turned towards Miss Rayner as he spoke.

'When she wants to go,' was the blunt reply.

I went to bed soon after, but I could not sleep. I read and re-read the letter, and wished much that further details had been given. Yet when I thought of him penning those lines on a sick-bed, perhaps with the greatest difficulty and pain, I could wish he had not troubled to write so much. Earnestly did I pray that his health and strength might be given back to him. I felt it such a comfort to pour out all my doubts and fears to God, knowing that He was not only willing to listen, but able to control all Himself, and watch over and protect, yes, and heal the absent one. I fell asleep, repeating to myself, 'The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord,' and it brought comfort to my soul.

Hugh was off the first thing the next morning, but Miss Rayner would not allow me to go up to town with him, and it seemed the longest day that I had ever spent. Miss Rayner asked me if I would like to return to the Forsyths at once, but I shook my head.

'You are not quite strong yet,' I said to her, 'and I do like being here. I feel as if they will be so full of questions, and will pick my letter to pieces, if I go back. General Forsyth always imagines the worst about people. None of them believed it must be illness that caused his silence, though I felt myself it must be. They all ascribed the worst motives they could think of for it. And—and sometimes I feel I can't forgive them for doubting and mistrusting him so.'

'You don't mean that?' Miss Rayner said, looking at me steadily.

'No,' I said, colouring a little, 'I have no ill-feeling really, I ought not to have harboured it for an instant, but it would come. I try and look at it from their side, and of course I know that what you all say is true. A few months ago he was a stranger; oh! Miss Rayner, tell me, do you fear the worst? If he is dead, I think my heart will break!'

'Hearts are not so easily broken,' Miss Rayner replied, with a little sigh; 'my dear, you must have patience and wait. I think most likely he has only been delayed. You would have heard before now if the worst had happened.'

Hugh returned about eight o'clock that evening, but he had little news to give us. Philip's agents had known only quite recently of his illness, and were expecting to hear of his arrival in England every day.

So there was nothing for me to do but wait patiently. I left Miss Rayner soon after, for the Forsyths wanted me back.

'I shall miss you, child,' she said, as we were parting, 'and you must pray for me. I find that the habits of a lifetime are not easily uprooted; if I get into a tangle, I shall send for my little minister to put me straight again.'

'No; you don't want any one to come between you and God,' I said with a smile; but I left her with a heavy heart. We had grown, in spite of the disparity between our ages, to be such very close friends since her illness.

And then I took up my old life again, hoping every day to hear fresh tidings, and trying to bear the disappointment as brightly and bravely as I could.

One afternoon I wandered out by myself to the moor. It was a hot day in August, but there was always a breeze up there, and I loved to get away from every one; the loveliness and stillness soothed and comforted me. I had my Bible with me, and the hours slipped by so quickly that when I began to retrace my way homewards I found it was much later than I had imagined. At the entrance to the village I met Kenneth. 'Well, you are a nice one!' was his remark when he saw me; 'do you know we have been scouring the country for you all the afternoon? A telegram came for you about a quarter of an hour after you had left the house—Goodness gracious! are you going to faint? There's nothing wrong—allow me to finish my sentence—and now there's something better than a telegram arrived in the shape of a two-legged specimen——'

'He has come then!' I exclaimed. 'Oh, Kenneth, tell me!'

'Who has come? Who are you expecting? You interrupt me so that I have lost the thread of my discourse, and forget what I was going to say.'

Then seeing that I was not in a state to stand much more joking, he altered his tone. 'Yes, he has arrived, looking rather seedy, but he is alive. He has been closeted with the governor for the last two hours, giving an account of himself. I hope it is all fair and square, but he won't let us into his secrets, though I told him his conduct had been rather "fishy" in our eyes. What are you going to do? Run away from me? You are such a dignified little soul generally, that I expected we should have a saunter up to the house together; but I forgot that "love lends wings," isn't that the saying? I will race you if you like. Now, one, two, three, and away!'

And in another minute we were tearing through the village and up the avenue to the house in a style that would have greatly shocked Mrs. Forsyth, had she seen us. Kenneth gave a loud 'whoop' when we entered the hall, which brought every one out at once, but I was only conscious of one form, one greeting, and the next minute I found myself drawn into the empty library. Then my composure gave way: clinging hold of him, I could do nothing but sob, and for some minutes there was perfect silence between us. I could only feel the touch of his fingers on my hair, and the strong beating of his heart, against which my head was resting.

And then I controlled myself, and looked up into his face. 'Oh, Philip, how ill you must have been! How worn and ill you look! Are you well again?'

'Very nearly well, thank God!' was the reply. 'And now come and sit down, childie, here by me, and let me tell you everything. You have never doubted me, have you? I need not ask you, for your eyes tell me. Only you are looking white and thin, darling. The suspense must have tried you!'

'It is all right now,' I said. 'I am longing to hear it all.'

But Philip's explanation had to be postponed—the gong rang for dinner, and I knew we must not keep the others waiting.

As I went up to my room to change my dress, Nelly seized hold of me. 'Oh, Hilda, I'm so glad for you! And it will come all right, though father is shaking his head downstairs, and saying to mother he doubts whether he ought to countenance your engagement proceeding. What is it? has he lost money?'

'I don't know,' I answered,' and I don't care. I only know he is safe home again, that is quite enough for me at present!'



CHAPTER XVIII

WEDDED

'My wife, my life. O we will walk this world Yoked, in all exercise of noble end, . . . . Indeed I love thee, come Yield thyself up: my hopes and thine are one.'—Tennyson.

It was after dinner, wandering arm-in-arm through the dusky garden, that Philip told me the whole story. It appeared that a young cousin of his whom he had promised a dying mother to befriend, had fallen into bad company out in New York, and had accomplished several successful forgeries for very large amounts in Philip's name. He was clerk in a house of business out there with which Philip was connected; in fact, he had obtained the situation for him. The forgeries were discovered whilst Philip was with us, and though he forbade any proceedings to be taken until he had investigated the matter himself, Ronald Stanton, the culprit, took fright and absconded, taking with him a great deal of money from the firm in which he was. And Philip on the impulse of the moment determined to follow his track and save him if possible from worse ruin. It was the wish to shield this cousin that kept him silent, and made him leave us with so little explanation. When he arrived at New York, he told the managers of the firm that he would be responsible for the missing sums, and started with a confidential servant in quest of the runaway. He went through a variety of adventures before he came on his track, and then at length when he met him in the depths of some backwoods, the young fellow turned upon him in desperation, and before Philip could explain that it was on an errand of mercy and not of justice that he had followed him, in the heat of the moment Ronald drew his revolver and shot him.

'It was very nearly proving fatal for me,' said Philip as he told the story, 'but God in His mercy prevented the sin of murder being laid to the poor lad's charge. He was in such a state of mind when he found what he had done, that if it had not been for my servant's restraining hand, he would have made an attempt on his own life. I could just manage to say, "I have come to save you," and then I remembered no more; but when I recovered consciousness I found that he had become my watchful, untiring nurse. I think it was due to his indefatigable care that I recovered. Both he and my man Dawson never left me night or day. Poor fellow! it was as I feared. He had been a mere tool in the hands of others, who had decamped, leaving him to bear the consequences of his sin.'

'But, Philip, how long were you ill? And were you hurt much? I have no pity for your cousin—no, none; how could he, oh, how could he treat you so?'

'Perhaps I had better tell you no more. Let us talk of other things.'

'No, no, I want to hear everything; please go on.'

'I tried to write to you when I got better, for I thought you would be less alarmed than if a stranger wrote to you; but in illness one does not take much count of time, and I had no idea that I had left you so long without a line. At last I was able to manage, and then I did hope I should get home. Ronald, poor boy, waited to come back and give himself up to the hands of justice, and in telling your guardian about it he thinks I was wrong in not letting the law take its course. But I would be the only sufferer, it was my money he had made away with, and I could bear the loss. He was so thoroughly and truly repentant that I did not regret it. I made arrangements for him to go and start life afresh out there on a farm. It is his determination to pay back gradually as he can all he owes; but this would be the work of a lifetime. It was through gambling that he was tempted first of all.'

'But why did you not come home at once?'

'I had a relapse, and found when I reached the nearest town I must go into hospital to have the bullet extracted, which had never been done. I did send you a letter from there, which you ought to have had, but an accident happened to some mail bags about that time; they got burnt, and I can only conclude yours must have been amongst them.'

'And were you very ill in hospital?'

'I had rather a bad time of it. If I had been able to have a proper doctor at the time, it would have saved me a good deal. As it is, my right lung has been injured, and I shall have to be careful for a long time.'

'I feel as if I can never forgive that cousin of yours, never! Oh! Philip, why were you so good to him?' And unnerved by the account he had given me, I burst into tears.

'It has been too much for you to-night, childie,' and Philip drew me closer to him. 'You will feel differently towards him to-morrow. I have told you all, for you have a right to know, and I found I was obliged to tell your guardian; but I did it in the strictest confidence, and I know he will respect my wishes about it. Others need not know particulars, and you must try to forget it. Now to come to the subject that will concern us much more closely. This has made a difference in my prospects. I have not gone thoroughly into my affairs yet, but I see nothing for it but to let Cobham for a few years. I will not go into debt, neither will I mortgage it, and I cannot now afford to keep the place up as it should be. I think eventually I shall be able to go back to it, but not at present. Will you be content with a small house somewhere near town, while I follow my literary pursuits, as much now for gain as formerly for pleasure?'

'Why do you ask me such a question? you know how satisfied I shall be.'

'The general is not. He is very distressed about it, and then there is another objection now—my health.' He stopped, and his face looked grave and worn in the', dusky twilight. I stood still and faced him, a dreadful fear taking possession of me.

'Philip, tell me truly, is your life in danger? are the doctors afraid of anything serious?'

He took my hands in both his, as he answered, 'There is nothing to be anxious about, my darling, at present. I shall need care and nursing, perhaps. They give me hope that time will outgrow the mischief, but perhaps it may shorten my life. I tell you this because I want you to see what is before us. I have no right to expect you to link your life with mine under these circumstances, and your guardian is very doubtful as to the wisdom and expediency of it.'

'Does he think,' I said, the blood rushing to my cheeks with indignation, 'that this will make any difference in my feeling towards you? It will certainly in one way; it will make me ten times more conscious of the honour it will be to become your wife. It will make me realize more and more your unselfish devotion and goodness towards the one who has marred and spoilt your life, and make me know what a noble——'

'Hush! hush!' he said, half laughing, as he dropped my hands, and put his arm round me, 'you may think me a hero to-night, but in the calm light of to-morrow morning you may think differently. And yet I am so confident of your love and trust that I have never doubted how you would act. I would not let you sacrifice yourself, if I were sure in my own heart that my health was seriously injured; but I do not think it is. I believe the doctors are right when they say that time will heal the mischief. I do not think we shall be called to give each other up, if you are content to take me as I am.'

Much more we said to each other on that calm, still evening; and before we came indoors we gave thanks together to our Heavenly Father for His goodness in bringing us together again.

I was obliged to have an interview with my guardian the next morning. He was very kind, but said he was doubtful whether, under the present circumstances, I ought not to look at things with a different eye. When he found, as I think he must have expected to find, my opinions on the subject were totally unchanged, he ended up by saying, 'Of course I have tried to act towards you as I should towards my own daughters. It is a disappointment to me that you will not be as comfortably off with Stanton as I had supposed you would be at first, and there is his state of health that is a drawback; but still I cannot press you to break off the engagement, having given my sanction to it. I only wish he had not acted in the extraordinary quixotic way he has. Then all this trouble might have been spared you both. For a man of his age and stamp, I consider he has been most foolish, if not to say culpable, in the manner he has treated that young scoundrel of a cousin!'

Two evenings after this we were in the drawing-room after dinner, when Philip asked me if I would play to them.

There was silence amongst the others whilst I opened my violin case, and then Kenneth remarked, as I began to tighten the strings, 'Can it ever be used again? Don't you know, Stanton, that it was not only a broken heart, but a broken fiddle you left behind you, when you departed so suddenly last time you were here? It's astonishing how soon hearts get mended, and fiddles too, it appears. Goody has shuddered at the sight of that instrument ever since. I thought the epitaph on her tombstone would be, "She never played again!"'

I found a difficulty in playing that night in the midst of this nonsense. I seemed to have lived a lifetime since last I had touched my violin; but when I had once started, I as usual forgot everything but just the comfort and soothing it brought me. And when I had finished, Nelly said, impulsively, 'There! now you look like your old self, Hilda. You haven't been the same since that night Kenneth was speaking of. Don't you love your violin? I am sure you do, from the way you handle it!'

'Of course I love it,' I responded warmly.

Kenneth laughed. 'You have a rival, Stanton. I tell you, when she stands up there, her eyes getting bigger and bigger, and her precious fiddle hugged tighter and tighter, you are absolutely nowhere—out of her affections and thoughts altogether! I think, if I were in your place, I should quietly make away with it when you have an opportunity. It will bring discord into your life, I warn you; it is capable of it!'

We all laughed; but Philip said to me afterwards, 'Everything that I see and hear makes me realize afresh what an anxiety and strain I have brought into your life. Can you forgive me?'

'Is there anything to forgive?' I asked. 'I have been anxious, Philip—it was no wonder, but I think the trouble and anxiety has only made me realize the force and strength of that verse in the Psalms, as I never should have done otherwise: "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble."'

'And it is worth going through the darkness to experience His tenderness and care,' was the rejoinder.

Philip had a great deal of business to do for the next month or two, and then it was settled that our marriage should take place the latter end of November. A dreary month for a wedding generally, but it was not so in our case, and it was a sunshiny, frosty morning when we stood together in the little village church as man and wife.

I could not have believed, if any one had told me a twelvemonth before, how much I should have felt the parting with the Forsyths—Nelly especially lay very near to my heart; we had had many a talk together of things above, and I sometimes dared to hope that she had grasped hold of the truth, though she was fearful of letting others know about it. The night before our wedding she came to me and asked me to pray with her, which I did; and then with tears in her eyes she said, 'I shall miss you so dreadfully, Hilda; you have helped me to see things so differently, and I don't think I shall ever be satisfied now with just a whirl of gaiety.'

'You have promised to take my Sunday class, so that will give you an interest,' I said, trying to speak brightly; 'and oh! Nelly, if you get to know the Lord as your personal Friend, you won't miss me. He will be quite sufficient.'

'I am trying to,' she said softly; 'I would like to know Him as you do.' Then in a brisker tone she said, 'And you will ask me to stay with you soon, won't you? When you are in town, you know! I should like to come, and I won't ask to go to any theatres, or even to a picture gallery, or a ride in the Row, if you think it worldly! But do let me come just to be with you.'

Miss Graham bid me good-bye with much grief; but I felt happy about her; she was steadfastly setting her face heavenwards, and praying and influencing her pupil into the same path too. I think Mrs. Forsyth was genuinely sorry for me to leave, and when I said something to her about being so sorry that my views had clashed with hers, and hoping she would understand how it was, she gave me a warm kiss, saying, 'Never mind the past, my dear. Perhaps if I had been brought up differently, I should have seen more with you. We shall miss you very much, for you have been a great help and comfort to us whilst you have been here.'

Miss Rayner appeared at the wedding, to every one's great astonishment. Her parting words caused me much thought and consideration: 'Don't be surprised if you hear soon that I have given up my chicks, and departed to the wilds of Africa as a missionary. I must do something with my bit of wasted life left me.'

My little Sunday scholars were in full force at the church gate as we went through, and irrepressible Roddy darted up to me and clutched hold of my dress,—'You isn't going away to heaven, is you, like Jim?'

'Not yet, I think,' I answered, trying to detach his chubby fingers from my skirt.

'I thought you was, in that booful angel dress!' And he fell back with a trace of disappointment on his rosy face.

Kitty was by his side openly weeping. As I came down the path after it was all over, I could not help giving her a special 'good-bye.' Her sad little face flushed with pleasure as I did so, and she murmured, 'I never shall forget you, teacher, you've taught me to love Jesus'; and my own eyes filled with tears at her words.

As we drove away to the station on our way to the Continent for a month or six weeks, and I felt I was on the threshold of a new life, I said to Philip, 'I feel as if I could put to this chapter of my life, "Not one thing hath failed of all the good things which the Lord God spake concerning you!"'



CHAPTER XIX

OLD FRIENDS

'One in heart, in interest and design, Gird up each other to the race divine.'—Cowper.

'Hilda, I have an old friend coming to dine with us to-night. I came across him in town to-day; you are sure to like him, he is a general favourite wherever he goes.'

'What is his name?'

'Ratcliffe—Charles Ratcliffe. I have known him a long time, before he cared for serious things. It was a meeting in town to which I took him that was, in God's hands, the means of his conversion. That was many years ago, when I was just beginning to understand these things; I was quite a young fellow myself, and he is my senior by many years. I shall like you to know him, and I want him to know my wife.'

We were at breakfast, and it was a cold morning in February. Philip had taken a flat in South Kensington, and though in many ways we should have preferred a house of our own, we were perfectly happy with this arrangement. The only anxiety I had was Philip's health; his lung that had been so affected still gave him trouble, and he was often confined to the house for weeks at a time. All day long I kept repeating the name of Charles Ratcliffe over to myself, and wondering where I had heard it before, but it was not until our guest was actually in our drawing-room, and shaking hands with me, that it flashed across me. Miss Rayner had been engaged to a Mr. Ratcliffe. Could this be the same, I wondered? And I determined presently to find out. He was a tall, handsome man with an iron-grey moustache and clear blue eyes. I could not keep my gaze off him. How often I had longed that somehow or other I might be permitted to bring those two together again! It would be strange if I were to discover that he was the identical man.

Our conversation got round to the Forsyths and their part of the country, and then I said boldly, 'One of the prettiest parts is where Mrs. Forsyth's sister lives, a Miss Rayner. She lives in an old farmhouse close to the moor. I spent some of my happiest days with her.'

He did not start or show any emotion at the name, as I hoped he would; but he said slowly, after a minute's pause, 'I used to know a Miss Rayner long ago—Helen Rayner her name was. I suppose it is the same, as I heard she had settled down there somewhere.'

'She is a very great friend of mine,' I said warmly; 'but I do not think she will be there much longer now, she talks of giving the place up. In fact, she is coming up to town to stay with us next week for a few days, whilst she is meditating an interview with some missionary society; she wants to go abroad as a missionary. Perhaps, as you are old friends, Mr. Ratcliffe, you would like to meet her. Won't you come and dine with us again whilst she is here? Would next Friday suit you?'

I saw Philip glance across at me with slight surprise; but I was too intent on my own plan to mind, and he at once added his invitation to mine.

Mr. Ratcliffe hesitated a little, and then asked if he might leave it an open question for that night, as he hardly knew what his engagements were. And having gained my point I changed the subject, and Miss Rayner's name was not mentioned again.

We had a pleasant evening with our guest. And when he had gone Philip turned to me.

'I need not ask you how you like him,' he said, with an amused sparkle in his eye; 'I never saw my little wife more determined on making acquaintance with any of my friends, or of improving the opportunity. Who else is to be invited to your dinner-party on Friday, may I ask?'

'You mustn't tease me,' I rejoined,' for you don't know my motives. Come and sit down here, and let me tell you all about it.'

He did not seem as interested in my story as I was, though he laughed at my 'match-making' propensity, as he called it.

'I recollect now,' he said, 'that he was engaged to some girl at the time I first knew him. It is strange that it should have been to Miss Rayner. I remember how glad I was when he told me it was broken off, for I feared she would be a stumbling-block to him. I should let matters alone if I were you, little woman. They are very happy now, both of them. It's too late in the day to alter things, and neither of them would wish it, I am sure!'

'You men never understand these things,' I said, laughing; but at the same time I felt very doubtful as to whether my experiment would succeed.

Mr. Ratcliffe did accept for Friday, and now I grew very nervous about telling Miss Rayner. She arrived, and had been two days with us before I could pluck up courage to broach the subject, and it was Philip who eventually did it for me.

'By the bye, Miss Rayner,' he said at breakfast on Friday morning, 'a friend of mine is coming in to dinner to-night. I hope you won't object. Ratcliffe is his name.'

She gave a little start, but answered, 'Of course I have no objection; but I told Hilda I would not be drawn into society whilst up here. I came up solely on business, and when that is over I shall go home.'

She did not ask any questions about him, and I said nothing. When he was announced that evening she and I were alone in the drawing-room. Certainly of the two Mr. Ratcliffe was the coolest. 'We have met before, Miss Rayner, so need no introduction,' he said, holding out his hand.

She took it. 'Yes,' she said, 'it was a surprise when I heard your name mentioned. What cold weather we are having!' and we drifted into general topics of conversation as easily as possible.

There was no constraint at the dinner-table.

Miss Rayner could always talk well, and I never heard her talk better than on this night; more than once I saw Mr. Ratcliffe looking rather furtively across the table at her, but nothing could have been more indifferent than his tone when addressing her.

Then we began to talk on mission work at home and abroad. Mr. Ratcliffe seemed thoroughly at home with this subject, whilst Miss Rayner grew more and more silent. I was longing for an opportunity to leave them alone, and hoped that we might succeed in doing so after dinner, but I could not manage it. When he was taking his leave he turned to Miss Rayner and said, 'Would you care to come down and see over the premises of the East End Mission I am interested in? If you have never seen London slum work, I think this would give you an insight into it.'

And to my great delight Miss Rayner responded in the affirmative. They arranged a time, and tried to include me in the visit, but I declined; and when the next morning I saw the two walk off together, I turned to Philip with a beaming face.

'There!' I exclaimed. 'I consider I have managed that. Now if they don't make it up, it won't be my fault.'

'You are a foolish child,' Philip responded, as he turned round from his writing to draw me to him. 'Why should you be so anxious to bring them together?'

'Because,' I said, as I laid my cheek lightly against his, 'I want them to be as happy as we are, Philip, and I believe they will be.'

Miss Rayner returned from her morning in the East End very quiet and preoccupied. I asked no questions, but was surprised when later in the day she said to me, 'I must leave you to-morrow, Hilda. I have done my business, and am longing to get out of London. It never suits me. I feel as if I cannot breathe here.'

'You promised to stay till the end of the week,' I said reproachfully.

'Circumstances alter cases,' she rejoined briefly.

This did not sound very hopeful. I was silent, not knowing very well what to say. Presently she said, with a short little laugh, 'I am always outspoken, Hilda, so I'll tell you frankly that if you had not Mr. Ratcliffe hanging about this part I might have lengthened my visit. I cannot stand the chance of meeting him again.'

'Why?' I asked innocently.

'Why?' she repeated. 'You know my story, and he will not let bygones be bygones, but insisted this morning upon dragging up old memories that are best left buried. In fact, he wants things to be as they once were, and they cannot.'

'Oh, Miss Rayner, why not?' I again exclaimed.

'Because we are old and grey,' she said, laughing; 'because he has drifted into ways of his own, and into mine. It would be ridiculous and besides I—I should be no help to him. I am such a beginner.'

She turned from me quickly and left the room.

I was perplexed and disturbed. I had felt sure that my little plan was going to succeed, and I was very disappointed at its apparent failure. I knew that she still cared for him, and why she would persist in standing in her own light, and putting such happiness from her, I could not imagine!

That evening Miss Rayner and I were dining alone as Philip had an engagement out. I was a little anxious about him, as he was only just recovering from a bad cold, and made him wrap up very warmly before he went. Miss Rayner said to me at dinner, 'I am afraid your husband's health is a great anxiety to you.'

'It is a little cloud to our happiness,' I said, 'but we are not troubled. I always feel He is in God's hands; I suppose we shall never have unclouded sunshine on earth, and I don't think I would have it so, otherwise we should perhaps lose the experience of "dwelling deep," and I would not wish that.'

'Have you seen Kenneth at all lately?' Miss Rayner asked. 'I heard he was up in town. Do you know, I used to fancy that he was very partial to you.'

I laughed. 'He says he is still; but Kenneth is just Kenneth, Miss Rayner! I look upon him as a brother. He was calling here the other afternoon and brought Captain Gates with him.'

'Was that your friend?'

'Yes; but he got over that a long time ago. He is engaged to a very nice girl, I believe, and told me he was steadying down. I wish he had the real thing in his life; but perhaps it may come yet.'

A short time after dinner I was surprised by Mr. Ratcliffe being announced. Miss Rayner did not happen to be in the room. He looked a little awkward, I thought, and said, 'I meant to have given Miss Rayner a Report of our Mission this morning, and thought I would bring it round, as I understood she was leaving you to-morrow morning.'

'Yes,' I said gravely; 'I am afraid she is. I wish you could persuade her to stay a little longer.'

I have no influence over her,' he said, a little sadly.

'But you once had,' I said softly.

'Do you know about us, Mrs. Stanton?' and there was a slight eagerness in his tone. 'How I wish you could help me now! All these years, though I have steadfastly put it in the background, her face—in fact, her self—has been haunting me. There has only been one woman in the world for me; and now, when I find her so changed, I thought that perhaps she might—even though I am no longer young—be willing to come to me. Her parting words years ago were, "It is not you that I dislike, but your views; and those I cannot stand." Now she loves those very things that were so distasteful to her, and yet she will not listen to me. I can only conclude her affection for me died out long ago, and is a thing of the past.'

'No, no,' I cried; 'it is not so. I believe you have always been as much in her thoughts as she has been in yours. I cannot quite understand her now. She seems as if she is afraid of letting you see what is in her heart. I should persevere, if I were you, and make her listen to you.'

I could say no more, for the door opened and Miss Rayner came in. I saw from the determined set of her lips, and the distant, frosty tones in which she spoke to him, that she had no intention of relenting; and I knew it was only a cloak to hide her real feelings, and longed to tear it aside.

I tried all in my power to make conversation easy between them. I could not bear to see the troubled, pathetic look in Mr. Ratcliffe's eyes. Miss Rayner was in her worst mood—cynical and hard. She did not seem to care how she was wounding by her words, and I felt she was purposely representing herself in the worst light possible. Suddenly a thought struck me. I knew how music softened her, and quietly taking out my violin, I asked them if they would like me to play. They assented, and moving to a distant corner of the room I began. I think I put all my soul into it, for I was longing the sweet sounds should soothe and soften her, as they had so often before.

I played on. There was perfect silence in the room. She was sitting in the firelight, and he, leaning against the chimney-piece, never took his eyes off her face.

When I at last paused I saw her eyes were moist, and all the hard lines about her face had entirely disappeared. Without a word I slipped softly out of the room, and going into Philip's study, I knelt down and asked that the two hearts and lives that had been so long severed might be brought together again. Then I waited, and the time seemed long before I heard the drawing-room door open, and Mr. Ratcliffe's voice inquire, 'Where is Mrs. Stanton?' I went out, and received a grasp of the hand that I felt for long after. 'God bless you for what you have done for me to-night!' he said, in an agitated tone; and without another word he departed.

I went in to Miss Rayner. She was sitting where I had left her, but no explanation was needed to see from the expression of her face what had taken place.

I just went up to her, and put my arms round her neck.

'I am so glad and thankful,' I whispered, 'and I do hope that you will be happy.'

Miss Rayner did not speak for a minute, and then she said, in a broken voice,—

'You have brought two blessings into my life, child. This present one is big enough, but the other outweighs it by far, and my heart is too full to speak of it. As for Mr. Ratcliffe, I only hope I shall be a help to him now, and not a hindrance.'

'It is all right, Philip,' I said, as I met my husband an hour later in the hall; 'they have come together at last!'

He put his arm round me, and said gently,—

'I hope Ratcliffe will be as much helped and blessed by his wife as I have been by mine. I have experienced the truth of this, "He that getteth a wife beginneth a possession, a help like unto himself, and a pillar of rest."'

THE END