aLOCKHART GORDON
 
 
 %~w 
 
 s*,*"^, 
 
 ?*!lr*!fe> 
 
 sJSto *. 
 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 Bertie Wilmot was perched on the topmost branches, doing his best to shake the 
 yellow pippins into the outstretched aprons of Daisy, Pansy, and another little 
 flaxen-haired maiden who were capering wildly beneath. A in.
 
 TO THE END. 
 
 BY 
 
 C. LOCKHART GORDON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "HUMP AND ALL." 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 THOMAS WHITTAKER, 
 
 2 & 3, BIBLE HOUSE. 
 1890.
 
 T27 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. CONFIRMATION BELLS 7 
 
 II. A FIRESIDE TALK IO 
 
 III. THE HOME FARM 14 
 
 IV. THE HAY-FIELD l8 
 
 V. THE COTTAGE HOME 24 
 
 VI. EVENING CONFIDENCES 28 
 
 vii. AN "AT HOME" AT THE KNOLL 33 
 
 VIII. TWILIGHT TALKS 39 
 
 IX. WAVERERS 47 
 
 X. THE DARKENED HOME 55 
 
 XI. ADELBERT TERRACE 6l 
 
 XII. TAKES UP THE CROSS 67 
 
 XIII. A LUNCHEON PARTY 76 
 
 XIV. TEMPTATION 85 
 
 XV. CONQUEST 94 
 
 XVI. MARRIAGE BELLS IOO 
 
 XVII. A CHANCE MEETING 106 
 
 XVIII. A SAD RETURN 113 
 
 XIX. CONFIRMATION BELLS 125 
 
 622809
 
 TO THE END. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CONFIRMATION BELLS. 
 
 " O Jesus, I have promised 
 
 To serve Thee to the end ; 
 Be Thou for ever near me, 
 
 My Master and my Friend. 
 I shall not fear the battle 
 
 If Thou art by my side, 
 Nor wander from the pathway 
 
 If Thou wilt be my Guide." 
 
 IVE fresh young voices carolled forth 
 these words five bright fair faces 
 gleamed soft and solemn in the sweet 
 spring sunshine. It was Confirmation 
 Day at St. Magna's, and the old parish church was 
 crowded from end to end. 
 
 The roll of the organ ceased, the sweet notes 
 of the singers died away, and the five young girls 
 in the front oaken pew seated themselves to listen 
 to the Bishop's parting words. 
 
 " Soldiers and servants of Jesus Christ," he
 
 8 To the End. 
 
 began, "this day you have sworn allegiance to 
 your great Captain ; you have takcm upon your- 
 selves the vows which were made for you at baptism ; 
 you have promised to fight manfully against sin, 
 the world, and the devil, and to continue Christ's 
 faithful soldiers and servants unto your lives' end. 
 Now, in whose strength are you going forth to this 
 warfare ? In your Saviour's or your own ? Are 
 you trusting to your strong right arm and your 
 good resolutions to bring you the victory, or have 
 you knelt, and with all the fervency of your young 
 hearts besought the Lord to nerve you for the 
 conflict for which none of us are too strong to 
 shoe you for the race for which none of our feet 
 are too swift? 
 
 " My dear young friends, I know not the secrets 
 of your hearts, but God does ; but if you have 
 never honestly raised a cry to Heaven for help 
 before, raise one now, I beseech you. Rush not 
 unarmed into the fight. Ask your Heavenly Father 
 to equip you with the helmet of salvation, with the 
 sword of the Spirit, to give you the shield of faith 
 and the breastplate of Christ's righteousness, to 
 gird you with truth, and to shoe your feet with 
 peace, and then and then alone may you hope to 
 run with patience the race that is set before you 
 to be faithful unto death to continue Christ's 
 faithful soldiers and servants until your lives' end."
 
 Confirmation Bells. 
 
 More words followed words of love, words of 
 counsel, words of encouragement and then the 
 organ pealed forth again, the bells chimed, and the 
 crowded congregation poured itself forth into the 
 bright spring sunshine. 
 
 " To the end, to the end ; Father, keep me faithful 
 to the end," pleaded Edith Wilmot that night as 
 she knelt in the room where her little sisters 
 slumbered. 
 
 " To the end, to the end ; dear Saviour, guard me 
 guide me," whispered Ruth Hope with clasped 
 hands, as she lay on her invalid couch at the Home 
 Farm that evening. 
 
 " To the end, to the end ; may I be true to the 
 end," prayed Patience Trueman, as she gazed up 
 through her cottage-window at the stars that were 
 shining down so brightly. 
 
 Thus three out of the five young girls that had 
 knelt in the oaken pew that morning started forth 
 on the race that was set before them leaning on 
 the same strong arm resting in the same dear love. 
 
 But what of the other two ? Alas ! alas ! though 
 Violet Norman and Rose Wicks bent the knee 
 and folded the hands, repeating the words they 
 had learnt by rote from childhood, that night, no 
 true cry went up to Heaven for help, under no 
 wings of love did they seek for rest and shelter.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A FIRESIDE TALK. 
 
 HE short spring day had closed, and the 
 firelight flickered merrily on the rose- 
 coloured blinds of an old-fashioned 
 house in High Street. Tea was being 
 carried out from the drawing-room, and with a 
 sigh of content a lady dropped into a cosy chair 
 near the fire and drew a work-basket to her. 
 
 " What ! all the petticoats finished ! Rachel, 
 you must have worked hard this morning ; too 
 hard, dear, I am afraid," and Miss Scott looked 
 anxiously at her sister. 
 
 " No, Margaret, I am not tired," and the sweet 
 pale face that rested against the cushions of the 
 sofa lifted itself smilingly. " Little Mary Trueman 
 came round this morning, and the sight of her 
 well-worn garments gave my fingers new energy." 
 
 " Poor Mrs. Trueman, she must find it hard work 
 to clothe her baker's dozen, and yet Patience looked
 
 A Fireside Talk. 1 1 
 
 so neat and respectable this morning quite as 
 respectable as Rosa Wicks, whose father earns 
 thirty shillings a week. Patience and Rose and 
 Violet and Edith and Ruth Hope were all in the 
 pew together, dear." 
 
 " Were they ? How strange ! just the five girls 
 we are so interested in. And you liked the 
 Bishop's address ? " 
 
 " Liked it I more than liked it ; it sent me 
 out to my district with fresh energy. But oh, 
 Rachel, I could not help thinking of my own con- 
 firmation that happy day twenty-five no, let me 
 see thirty years ago ; it was just such a May day 
 as this, bright and beautiful you remember it, 
 dear, don't you ? But I am forgetting, how should 
 you ? you were only a little toddle then. Good old 
 Mr. Mansel was our vicar, and Bishop Wilson con- 
 firmed me ; and father was there. I can see him 
 now beaming at me from the red-lined pew in the 
 gallery ; and mother, dear mother, in her lavender 
 bonnet and white ribbons, kneeling down praying 
 for me, and Arthur yes, Arthur was home from 
 India that year. Ah ! they were all here then, 
 and now . . ." And Miss Scott's voice faltered. 
 
 " Now, Margaret darling, they are safe at home 
 with the Saviour in Paradise," and Rachel Scott's 
 thin blue-veined hand stole gently into her sister's. 
 
 "Ah, Rachel dear, what should I do without
 
 12 To the End. 
 
 you ? I I am always looking back, while you 
 are always looking forward. Yes, as I sat listening 
 to the Bishop's brave stirring words to-day, I 
 could not help thinking what a poor cowardly 
 soldier I had been ; how often I had never held 
 up my shield of faith at all ; and how sometimes I 
 had even been tempted to throw away my armour 
 and fly." 
 
 " Tempted, Margaret, darling ! but through 
 God's grace you did not give way to the tempta- 
 tion. We have all bitter things to write against 
 ourselves ; but I only trust those five young 
 soldiers \vho are starting to-day will fight as man- 
 fully as you have done." 
 
 " Rachel, Rachel ! hush ! hush ! but let us 
 change the subject. Those dear young girls it 
 was quite touching to see them. Patience True- 
 man's honest open face was beaming over with 
 happiness; and Edith, our own dear Edith, had 
 such a sweet look in her blue eyes ; and con- 
 siderate and thoughtful as usual, she helped Ruth 
 Hope so tenderly to the chancel." 
 
 " Ah, dear Edith, Dr. Wilmot was only telling 
 me yesterday what a help and comfort she was to 
 him. A much greater weight of responsibility, he 
 says, rests on her young shoulders than he would 
 willingly place there, but her mother suffers so 
 terribly from headaches. Edith however accepts
 
 A Fireside Talk. 13 
 
 her position, Dr. Wilmot says, most brightly, and 
 she is the sunshine and mainstay of the household." 
 
 "But what of Violet and Rose, Margaret ? you 
 did not tell me about them." 
 
 "Well, dear, even their pretty faces looked 
 thoughtful, but Frank tells me he is anxious about 
 them. He says they were most regular attendants 
 at the class, and assented most readily to all 
 he had to say ; but somehow or other he fears his 
 words have had no real influence upon them, and 
 that they do not at all realize the solemnity of the 
 step they have undertaken." 
 
 " Ah, Margaret dear, my heart aches for them 
 pretty motherless Violet, and winning, bright Rose. 
 God grant they are not starting forth to meet all 
 the trials and the temptations that lie before them 
 without the Good Shepherd's arm around them." 
 
 " God grant they are not, darling ; we must pray 
 earnestly for them," and Miss Scott stooped and 
 pressed a kiss on her sister's forehead. " But, Rachel 
 dear, what hot cheeks ! you have talked enough 
 for to-night. Where is the book ? Come, I will 
 read to you."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE HOME FARM. 
 
 -DITH ! E . . . dith ! E . . . . dith ! " 
 The call which had begun in a high 
 treble ended in a shrill crescendo. 
 
 Softly a door opened and closed at 
 the end of the corridor, and quickly with finger 
 uplifted a young girl came along it. "Bertie, 
 Bertie! hush, hush! don't you know mother is 
 lying down with a headache ? " 
 
 " Oh, Edie, I quite forgot," and the face of the 
 curly-headed little boy that bestrode the banisters 
 sobered instantly. 
 
 " I thought you did, darling, for you are generally 
 so thoughtful," and Edith Wilmot stooped and 
 pressed a kiss on her little brother's forehead ; " but 
 run up-stairs now and tell Daisy and Pansy I am 
 ready, and if nurse wants to speak to me she will 
 find me in the school-room." 
 
 " Edie, are you really going to slave all the way
 
 The Home Farm. 15 
 
 to the farm this hot afternoon ? " was the question 
 that came from the depths of a wicker chair placed 
 just outside the school-room window, where the 
 old-fashioned caves of the Elizabethan house cast 
 a patch of shade on the gravelled pathway. 
 
 "Yes, Joan, I must ; mother will not touch meat 
 to-day, and I want to tempt her with some of Mrs. 
 Muir's fresh eggs." 
 
 "You darling old pet, you are a model of 
 thoughtfulness and self-denial. I hope you are not 
 going however to ask me to accompany you, for 
 Mrs. Norman has just written to ask me to go for 
 a drive with her," and Joan Wilmot tossed into 
 the school-room a daintily scented envelope. 
 
 " No, Joan, I am not," and Edith stooped and 
 with a slight shade on her face picked up the 
 letter ; " and as to self-denial, I am sure none of 
 that is required in performing a little service for 
 mother mother whose health has broken down in 
 slavery and service for us." 
 
 "You know, Edith, I did not mean that," and 
 Joan Wilmot toyed somewhat shamefacedly with a 
 sprig of the clematis that clambered up the red- 
 brick walls. 
 
 " I know, darling, that you did not," and Edith 
 turned up the pretty pouting face of her sister and 
 kissed it fondly ; " but, Joan dear, you will be back 
 in time for your French lesson, will you not ?
 
 !6 To the End. 
 
 Madame le Foi is always so vexed when she is 
 kept waiting. Ah, there is good little May learning 
 her verbs in the arbour, I see. Good-bye, May 
 darling, I'm off to the farm," and blowing a kiss 
 through her ringers Edith joined the impatient 
 children, who, armed with big baskets and shady 
 hats, were awaiting her arrival at the school-room 
 door. 
 
 Farms, as a rule, exercise an irresistible attraction 
 over most children, and a walk to the Home Farm 
 was the little Wilmots' especial delight ; it con- 
 tained such a world of interests, and it was pre- 
 sided over by such a kind mistress a mistress 
 who did not mind even when little footprints were 
 left on the red bricks of her clean dairy, nor when 
 little hands seized the handle of her big churn ; 
 nor, strange to say, even when little voices disturbed 
 the privacy of the secluded nook where the old 
 gray hen was sitting. Yes, Mrs. Muir was a mistress 
 after the children's own heart, and they turned to 
 her instinctively, not only to be made busy and 
 happy, but also with all their little confidences, 
 while she she looked on the children as a bit of 
 God's own sunshine rays of light and gladness 
 sent down from heaven to brighten and to cheer 
 this lower world of ours. 
 
 Mrs. Muir was Scotch very Scotch some people 
 would say for she pronounced her /z's with delicious
 
 The Home Farm. 17 
 
 distinctness, and rolled out her r's as though she 
 loved them. She had been brought up in comfort 
 and luxury, for her father had been a wealthy 
 Glasgow merchant ; but comfort and luxury she 
 had turned her back upon when she became the 
 wife of a missionary, and consented to accompany 
 Alan. Muir to his lonely station in southern Africa, 
 to the land and the work he loved so well. 
 
 Five short years passed the golden years of 
 Janet Muir's life and then Alan Muir was called 
 to exchange labour for rest, work for praise, and 
 Janet returned to her father's house a widow. 
 
 To her father's house, but not to the home of 
 her childhood, for during her absence the wealthy 
 mercantile house in which her father was a partner 
 had become bankrupt, and he and his little orphaned 
 grand-daughter were now living in a quiet suburb 
 of Glasgow. 
 
 In tending and ministering to these dear ones, 
 Janet Muir sought to assuage her own sorrow, but 
 when her father's days were ended, at the request 
 of a cousin of her husband's, she and her little 
 niece turned their faces southernwards, to the 
 Home Farm a home which God in His provi- 
 dential care ultimately designed one day should be 
 Janet's own a haven of rest and shelter for the 
 widow and the orphan.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE HAY- FIELD. 
 
 ND is your talk with Ruthie over, dear ? 
 Then come to yonder shady coiner, 
 and we'll make ourselves cosy on a 
 hay-cock ; the children have been 
 making me an arm-chair and they are most anxious 
 that I should try it." 
 
 " Ah, Mrs. Muir, they are enjoying themselves ! 
 How happy you do make them ! yes, yes, Bertie, 
 I see you," and Edith Wilmot waved her parasol in 
 answer to her little brother's violent gesticulations, 
 as perched on old Dobbin's ample back he made 
 the tour of the field in the hay-cart Pansy and 
 Violet, all laughter and excitement, rolling on the 
 load behind. 
 
 "Wee Iambics, it does my heart good to see 
 them, and they are quite safe. I have given them 
 into old Robin's charge, and he is as careful over
 
 The Hay-field. 19 
 
 them as though they were his house-lambs; well, 
 and how do you think Ruthie is looking, dear ? " 
 
 " Pretty well ; perhaps a trifle pale from the heat ; 
 but oh ! Mrs. Muir, how sweet and patient she is j 
 never murmuring nor complaining." 
 
 " That she does not, dear bairnie ; even old Elspeth 
 said to me this morning, ' It does my heart guid, 
 mem, to look at Miss Ruth, her face beams like a 
 glint of sunshine, and as for her sweet voice, I heard 
 her singing when I was stirring the porridge this 
 morning, and it was just like the lark a-lilting.' 
 I expect it was Ruthie's confirmation hymn old 
 Elspeth heard ; she always sings it over to herself 
 the first thing in the morning." 
 
 " Does she ? Then I hope she will like this," and 
 Edith produced from her pocket an illuminated 
 card. 
 
 " It is pretty, dear very pretty, and oh, what a 
 needful prayer!" and Mrs. Muir repeated slowly to 
 herself the words 
 
 " O Jesus, I have promised 
 
 To serve Thee to the end ; 
 Be Thou for ever near me, 
 
 My Master and my Friend. 
 I shall not fear the battle 
 
 If Thou art by my side, 
 Nor wander from the pathway 
 
 Jf Thou wilt be my Guide." 
 
 The card was handed back in silence. Mrs. 
 
 B 2
 
 2o To tJie End. 
 
 Muir was gazing across the hay-field, but not at the 
 children. 
 
 " Mrs. Muir," at last Edith ventured to say, " Mrs. 
 Muir, do you know although I love that verse I 
 almost tremble when I sing those words 
 
 'O Jesus, I have promised 
 To serve Thee to the end.' 
 
 The end may be such a long way off, and there 
 may be such difficulties and trials before it comes, 
 and then when I think of that verse in the Bible 
 that speaks of vowings to God and not performing, 
 and remember that I have promised to my Saviour 
 to my God ..." and Edith covered her face 
 with her hands. 
 
 The far-away look in Mrs. Muir's eyes was gone ; 
 in a minute she was back in the present. " My 
 bairnie, when you made the promise you did not 
 forget the prayer ? " 
 
 " No, no, indeed I did not." 
 
 " I thought not ; then fear not to take up the 
 words of that sweet hymn sing, my bairnie, with- 
 out a quaver of doubt 
 
 ' I shall not fear the battle 
 
 If Thou art by my side, 
 Nor wander from the pathway 
 If Thou wilt be my Guide.' 
 
 I was thinking, Edith, of a little incident in my
 
 The Hay field. 21 
 
 own life when you spoke to me. Shall I tell it to 
 you, dear ? it will help to illustrate what I mean." 
 
 " Please do." 
 
 " Well, my child, my Alan and I were once 
 spending a few weeks in the Highlands ah me, 
 how long ago now ! " and again the far-away look 
 came into Mrs. Muir's eyes. " Behind our wee house 
 there rose a hill which I was very anxious to be- 
 come better acquainted with, and as my husband 
 was always very busy with his letters in the morn- 
 ing, I thought some day I might scale it alone. 
 Alan however assured me it was far steeper than 
 it looked, and that it should be ascended by only 
 one particular path. He promised however to be my 
 guide one day, but laughingly he asserted I must 
 exercise the womanly virtue of patience, and wait 
 till he could claim an honest holiday. I kissed 
 him and told him his wife was not a southern maid, 
 hills had no terrors for her, and one day when he 
 was busy in his study I stole out of the house and 
 soon was on my way to Ben Dhu. 
 
 " What need to dilate on my experiences ? For 
 the first hour I sang like a lark ; during the second 
 I was silent ; by the third I had stumbled over 
 a stone, and lay speechless with fatigue and 
 exhaustion. 
 
 " What was to become of me ? Our wee housie 
 in the glen was plainly visible, for I had but half-
 
 22 To the End. 
 
 way ascended the hill, but I had no strength to 
 retrace my steps. Oh, why, why had I not listened 
 to dear Alan, and waited for his strong arm to 
 guide me ! Now perhaps I should have to spend a 
 night out on the hill, and hiding my face in the 
 bracken, I burst into a passion of tears. 
 
 "Just then I heard the furze-bushes being pushed 
 aside, and tramp ! tramp ! coming over the heather. 
 I raised myself, and there was Alan, my husband, 
 come in search of me. I need not describe our 
 meeting, Edith, but I will tell you, dear, I was not 
 upbraided. I was fed with milk and biscuits, and 
 after being lifted on to a Highland pony, carefully 
 led homewards. 
 
 " Three weeks later, Edith, my husband and I 
 stood on the top of Ben Dhu, and as I gazed at 
 the lovely landscape I said, ' Alan, I should never 
 have seen this if you had not been my guide.' 
 
 ' You would not have made that speech a month 
 ago, wifie,' said my husband, as he smilingly drew 
 me down to a seat on the heather; 'you learnt 
 your wisdom by bitter experience, I am afraid.' 
 Then changing his tone, he added, 'It is a small 
 matter to mistrust an earthly guide; but, oh, 
 Janet, my darling, may neither you or I ever mis- 
 trust our Heavenly Guide our blessed, blessed 
 Saviour. Before us there lies a steeper than any 
 earthly hill to climb ; may we mount it leaning on
 
 The Hay -field, 23 
 
 the arm of our Beloved and then, and then alone 
 may we hope to reach the better land the new 
 Jerusalem.' 
 
 " He is there now, my Alan," said Mrs. Muir 
 softly, as she wiped away a tear ; " but, Edith, there 
 are the children take them to look for the eggs, 
 will you, dear ? I will go in and get tea ready," 
 and pulling her sun-bonnet over her eyes, Mrs. 
 Muir turned in the direction of the farm-house. 
 Often and often in after years when Edith was far 
 away from the Home Farm, and new duties and 
 responsibilities were weighing upon her, that 
 summer's afternoon would rise to her remem- 
 brance the deep blue sky the sunny hay-field 
 the children rolling in the hay-cart ; and once more 
 she would fancy herself looking into Mrs. Muir's 
 sweet earnest eyes ; once more would she recall 
 the truth that the story of Ben Dhu had taught 
 her.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE COTTAGE HOME. 
 
 ATIENCE, tell Bob to let me have the 
 bat, he's had it for nigh half-an-hour." 
 " No, Patience, I ought to keep it ; 
 Tim hasn't put me out yet." 
 " Now, boys, isn't mother always telling you to 
 give up to one another ? Come, Bob, you are the 
 eldest, let Tim have a turn ; there's no chance of his 
 putting you out, he's but a little fellow ; but run 
 along now, for there are the children to put to bed, 
 and mother's supper to get ready," and closing the 
 door on her brothers, Patience Trueman turned 
 back into the kitchen. Mrs. Trueman's cottage 
 was small so small that it was difficult when 
 night came to know where to stow away the 
 numerous olive branches ; but a mother's love and 
 tact can overcome a good many difficulties, and 
 few curly heads slumbered more peacefully than 
 did the little Truemans.
 
 The Cottage Home. 25 
 
 Tom, the eldest, was domiciled at the Home 
 Farm ; Ted, the next brother to Patience, was at 
 sea ; George, Mrs. Trueman had taken in that very 
 day to Great St. Magna's, where he was to act as 
 general factotum to his uncle, who kept an oil and 
 tallow-chandler's shop ; Bob, Willie, Tim, Mary and 
 Nellie were all still at school ; while Susie, Freddy 
 and Artie (the fat twins), and Jessie, the three-year- 
 old baby, enjoyed the freedom of home. A goodly 
 number of young mouths to feed, despite that three 
 out of the thirteen chicks had already taken flight 
 from the family roof-tree; not one too many, how- 
 ever, thought Mrs. Trueman ; and when Patience, 
 belying her name, was all impatience to be also on 
 the wing (not from discontent with her cosy, snug 
 nest, but because she was longing to bring money 
 into the family exchequer), her mother declared 
 that straitened means with her were worth any 
 amount of money without her, and Patience had 
 to give her promise that she would bide at home 
 at all events till Mary grew a bit bigger. 
 
 It was mother's supper that Patience was now 
 busy over, and after concocting a savoury little 
 dish from some scraps of meat and potatoes, she 
 popped it into the oven, and calling to Mary to 
 bring up the twins, she caught up baby Jess, and 
 covering her dimpled face with kisses carried her 
 off to bed.
 
 26 To the End. 
 
 The upper storey of Mrs. Trucman's cottage 
 consisted of three bedrooms, if bedroom the third 
 could be called when it was little more than a 
 cupboard cupboard though it was, however, it 
 was the coveted possession of the elder Trueman 
 boys, and now that George had departed to the 
 region of oil and dips, Bob and Willie had become 
 its proud possessors. 
 
 Mrs. Trueman, baby, Susie and Tim slept in the 
 front apartment, while Patience, Mary, Nellie and 
 the twins occupied the white-washed chamber that 
 looked over the strip of old-fashioned garden. 
 
 The air that came through the casement-window 
 was fragrant with the smell of roses, jasmin, 
 mignonette and honeysuckle, and as Patience 
 (after putting the children to bed) watched the 
 stars come out one by one, she thought, " Truly 
 the lines had fallen to her in pleasant places ; yea, 
 she had a goodly heritage." 
 
 The hushed stillness of the room was only 
 broken by the deep-drawn breaths of the tired 
 children, when a low whisper came from the bed 
 nearest to the window. 
 
 " Patience, what are you looking at ? The stars ? " 
 
 " Yes, Nellie ; why ain't you asleep ? " 
 
 " Oh, I bain't tired, Patience ; do let me look 
 too ; I do love them stars," and the child crept on 
 to her sister's knee.
 
 The Cottage Home. 27 
 
 Patience drew together the casement, and wrap- 
 ping an old shawl round her little sister the two 
 gazed together for some minutes in silence. 
 
 " Ain't they lovely ? " at last whispered Nellie. 
 " Patience, be Heaven up there ? " 
 
 " I don't know, Nellie ; nobody rightly knows." 
 
 " Oh, I hope it be stars seem somehow so 
 home-like." 
 
 " But Heaven does not require to be made 
 home-like, Nellie dear; Heaven is our Father's 
 house, and then (and Patience's voice lowered and 
 her eyes glistened) Jesus is there." 
 
 The child's arms tightened round her sister's neck, 
 but she said nothing ; when Patience was carrying 
 her back to bed, however, she whispered, " Patience, 
 I do love the Lord Jesus." 
 
 " I am so glad, Nellie dear, for you know the 
 Lord Jesus loves you very much more than even 
 mother or me." 
 
 "I know He does," and the little fair head 
 nestled with satisfaction on its pillow. 
 
 Tucking her little sister in securely, Patience 
 kissed her fondly, then ran down-stairs to look after 
 her savoury dish in the oven.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 EVENING CONFIDENCES. 
 
 RS. TRUEMAN was very tired when 
 she reached home, but Patience put 
 her into the old-fashioned arm-chair, 
 and took off her heavy boots, and after 
 a strong cup of tea and some supper she began to 
 revive. 
 
 " Well, Patience, some folks may like being out 
 and about, but to my mind there's no place like 
 home," and Mrs. Trueman stroked her daughter's 
 head fondly. 
 
 " What, mother ! you don't envy Uncle Tom all 
 his grandeur ?" 
 
 " No, lass, that I don't, though he has as tidy a 
 house as you would wish to set eyes on a parlour 
 at the back of the shop where they takes their 
 meals, and a sitting-room up-stairs with a pianer 
 for Amelia to play on, and four bedrooms with 
 lace curtains at the windows ; but there now, I
 
 Evening Confidences. 29 
 
 wouldn't give our little place for the whole of it," 
 and Mrs. Trueman gazed with satisfaction round 
 her cheery kitchen. 
 
 " And did George seem content to stay, mother ? " 
 
 " Ay, dear lad, he did his best to put a brave 
 face upon it, but his heart was in his mouth, that 
 I could see, when he said good-bye to me in the 
 parlour. His uncle, however, he slapped him on the 
 back, and told him that if he was a sharp lad, and 
 steady, perhaps some day he might write his name 
 over the shop." 
 
 " Then, mother, some time perhaps George will 
 have a house too with a parlour and a pianer and 
 bedrooms and lace curtains." 
 
 " Ah, Patience, my child, it is not money I 
 covet for my children ; if George only turns out an 
 honest God-fearing man like his dear father, my 
 prayers will be answered." 
 
 " I know, mother, I know," and looking up in 
 her mother's face with a bright smile, Patience 
 added softly, " We all know, mother dear, your 
 heart's desire for us." 
 
 " And my heart's desire is granted for one at 
 least of my children, is it not?" 
 
 Patience's " yes," though a low was a very earnest 
 one ; then drawing a stool to her mother's feet 
 she repeated her conversation with Nellie that 
 night.
 
 3O To the End. 
 
 " Ah, Patience, my child, what a true God in 
 Heaven is our God ! The night your dear father was 
 taken how I did beseech the good Lord to let me 
 meet my dear Will again some day, and to let me 
 bring all my dear children with me, and see how 
 He is answering my prayer. Dear little Nellie, I 
 always thought her a child beyond her years, and 
 she is that like her father I could almost fancy 
 sometimes it is his dear eyes a-lookin' at me." 
 
 Eight o'clock struck, and Patience was still on a 
 stool at her mother's feet ; a big basket, however, 
 stood beside her with a pile of socks which she 
 was busy darning. 
 
 It was easy to see what a bond of union existed 
 between this mother and daughter. To Mrs. True- 
 man, Patience was not only a deeply-loved child, 
 but also a trusted companion and counsellor, while 
 to Patience Mrs. Trueman was just mother; but 
 the way in which the girl's voice softened and her 
 eyes brightened when she pronounced this word 
 showed what a wealth of meaning it conveyed to 
 her. 
 
 " Patience, give me some of those stockings ; I 
 am more rested now." 
 
 " No, mother, not one, you are to finish your 
 day like a lady," and jumping up Patience shook 
 up her mother's cushion and pulled her gently 
 back upon it. " There now, that is right ; it is really
 
 Evening Confidences. 31 
 
 quite a pleasure, mother dear, to see you for once 
 with your hands before you." 
 
 " Ah, Patience, you spoil your old mother, but 
 I suppose I must give in to you. Well, dear, and 
 how did the children behave themselves?" 
 
 " Oh, very well ; Bob and Willie they had a few 
 words at dinner, but they soon made it up after- 
 wards. But, mother, I have something to tell you ; 
 do you know I have had a visitor ?" 
 
 " A visitor and who could that be ? " 
 
 " Rose Wicks ! Yes, mother, you may well open 
 your eyes ; I am sure I did mine when she walked 
 in, it is so long since she has been to see us ; and, 
 mother, do you know I think she is so changed 
 since the confirmation she seems somehow so much 
 more quiet and humble-like." 
 
 " I am right glad to hear it, child, for to tell you 
 the truth, I was afeard Rose Wicks was beginning 
 to get a little light-headed last winter ; but there 
 now, I hope she has taken heed to all that good 
 Mr. Newton has said to her ; and, Patience dear, 
 when you get a chance you might say a word of 
 counsel to her. She is a pretty lass and soft spoken, 
 but she has a spirit of her own, and Wicks and 
 his wife, I fear me well, they don't go the right 
 way to manage her." 
 
 The garden-gate now clicked, and Bob and 
 Willie rushed in full of the band-of-hope meeting
 
 32 To the End. 
 
 they had been at, and eager to hear the latest news 
 of George. 
 
 Mrs. Trueman answered all their questions, and 
 then bade Bob reach down the Bible, for "the 
 church clock was striking nine," she said, and she 
 and Patience had a hard day's washing before 
 them. 
 
 A chapter was read, prayer was offered, and by 
 ten o'clock all in the little cottage were peacefully 
 sleeping, secure in the care of Him who never 
 slumbcreth nor sleepeth the God of the widow 
 and the fatherless.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AN "AT HOME" AT THE KNOLL. 
 
 1IFTEEN love; thirty love ; thirty- 
 fifteen ; thirty all ! " 
 
 These were the sounds that issued 
 from Dr. Wilmot's garden one bright 
 afternoon towards the end of July, and the moss- 
 covered, velvety lawn looked like some gay parterre 
 of flowers with the summer costumes that were 
 dotted over it. 
 
 " I say, Joan, do exert yourself, Violet and I 
 don't want to win the set without you and Newton 
 getting a game." 
 
 It was Harry Wilmot who spoke, and with a well- 
 directed serve he sent a ball straight at his sister. 
 
 " Harry, you add insult to injury ; your serves 
 are aggravating enough at the best of times, but 
 on hot days they are positively " 
 " Cruel, are they not, Joan ? " 
 " Harry, my boy, be chivalrous and merciful, 
 
 C
 
 34 To the End. 
 
 young ladies are not expected to be such ' dabs ' 
 at lawn-tennis as the students at Guy's. Well, 
 Newton, how are you and Violet? Miss Violet, 
 why the weather seems to have no evil effect upon 
 y OU positively you look as cool and fresh as your 
 namesakes down in the valley yonder. Harry 
 has been doing all the running about for you, I 
 suppose ; quite right too, I would do the same if 
 I were in his place ; keep him at it, and then he 
 won't have time to launch any more shafts of sar- 
 casm at his sister," and with a nod and a smile 
 Dr. Wilmot passed on to the cosy party seated at 
 tea under the cedar-tree. 
 
 The old house had been made to disgorge couches, 
 easy-chairs, rugs, stools, &c. ; and now that all 
 these were temptingly arranged on the mossy turf 
 beneath the shade of spreading branches, the old 
 cedar-tree looked a nook by no means to be 
 despised. 
 
 " Well, Miss Scott, how do you like our im- 
 promptu drawing-room ? It is preferable to the 
 house in this weather, isn't it? and there is no fear 
 of damp with this plentiful supply of rugs that 
 Harry has provided for us." 
 
 "I think it is delightful, doctor," and Rachel 
 Scott leaned back in her easy-chair as she spoke, 
 and gazed up at the blue sky through the thick- 
 branches.
 
 An "At Home" at the Knoll. 35 
 
 " I was just telling Edith that even the tea seems 
 more delicately flavoured, I think, when it is taken 
 cut of doors." 
 
 " Ah, I don't wonder at your thinking that, 
 you are compelled to lead such a shut-up life." 
 
 " Yes, but when I do get out, just think how I 
 enjoy it ! I don't suppose I would be drinking in 
 the delights of this beautiful day with half such 
 a keen sense of enjoyment if I had not been kept 
 to the house for the best part of the winter." 
 
 " Ah, Rachel doss net require sunshiny weather 
 to make her look on the bright side of things, 
 does she, doctor?" said Mr. Newton, as he laid 
 a hand on the back of his cousin's chair ; " she 
 carries sunshine with her." 
 
 " That she does," said Dr.- Wilmot ; " I wish all 
 my patients did the same, it would be better for 
 them and for me. Ah, here comes my little bit 
 of home sunshine, I see, with a cup of tea for her 
 old father. Well, Edith, my pet, not overcome 
 with your duties at the tea-table ? And Violet and 
 Pansy, my sweet flowerets, what have you been 
 doing to make yourselves useful?" and stooping 
 down Dr. Wilmot lifted a child on to each knee. 
 
 " We have been taking round the bread and 
 butter," lisped the pretty pair, " and Mrs. Newton 
 said we did it very nicely," whispered Daisy, while 
 the modest Pansy hung her head. 
 
 c 2
 
 36 To the End. 
 
 " Oh ! and you haven't been eating any, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, we did have one little piece." 
 
 " But Edith said we might," chimed in Daisy. 
 
 "Oh then, if Edith said you might, I suppose 
 I mustn't say anything," and Dr. Wilmot drew the 
 golden heads on to his shoulder. " I am glad, 
 however, it was only ' one little piece,' for that 
 Scotch bun looks very rich and ' plummy,' and I 
 shouldn't like nurse to pay me a visit to-morrow 
 to ask for one of the black bottles off the shelf 
 in the surgery." 
 
 " No, and we shouldn't like it either," and the little 
 fair faces looked apprehensive at the suggestion. 
 
 " No, I am sure you wouldn't," and Dr. Wilmot 
 leaned back in his chair laughing merrily. "As 
 you only took 'one little piece,' however, I don't 
 think you need look so woebegone, for I dare say, 
 after all, I shall not have the pleasure of a visit 
 from nurse, so put such thoughts out of your heads, 
 and run away now and pick up balls for ' Sister 
 Joan,'" and kissing the pair fondly, Dr. Wilmot 
 watched them trot off with satisfaction. 
 
 " Dear little pets," said Miss Scott, " how happy 
 they are to be of use ! I have been watching that 
 game of lawn-tennis with such interest, for though 
 I don't understand the rules, I like to see the deft 
 way in which the ball is sent backwards and for-
 
 An "At Home" at the Knoll. 37 
 
 wards. Harry never seems to miss a chance ; I 
 suppose he is a capital player, Dr. Wilmot ? " 
 
 " Rather too capital, I am afraid, for his poor 
 little sister Joan. Frank plays well to Newton, 
 and what a pair of broad shoulders the young 
 fellow has brought back ! Sea-voyages evidently 
 agree with him." 
 
 " Yes, I wish Lawrence looked as well ; his mother 
 has been bemoaning his want of roses all the 
 morning ; but a curate's life in the east end of 
 London is no sinecure." 
 
 " No, I should think not ; but, Lawrence is 
 Lawrence with you ? Why, to be sure ; there he is 
 talking to the wife. I must go over and speak to 
 him." 
 
 The face that turned to greet Dr. Wilmot was 
 a very pale one, but the deep gray eyes were clear 
 and sparkling, and the firm hand-clasp the doctor 
 received betokened no lack of vigour. 
 
 "Why, Lawrence, my dear fellow, I thought 
 you were hard at work in the London slums. 
 How came I not to see you when I was cross- 
 ing the lawn ? You were in the back garden. 
 Ah, I thought so ; I felt sure I could not have 
 overlooked your stalwart form. Well, we are de- 
 lighted to have you back again amongst us once 
 more, aren't we, Janie?" and the doctor turned 
 and looked appealingly at his wife. " But you have
 
 38 To the End. 
 
 lost all your country roses, your father tells me ; 
 ah, you do look rather whitewashed overworked, 
 I suppose ? " 
 
 "Overworked, dear! I should think so," stole in 
 Mrs. Wilmot's soft voice ; " do you know, Henry, 
 how many thousand Lawrence has in his parish ? 
 Twenty-five ! " 
 
 " Twenty-five ! and how many helpers ? " 
 
 " Only the vicar, a lay-reader, and myself, and 
 some fifteen to twenty Sunday-school teachers 
 and district visitors." 
 
 " Not one for every thousand ; Lawrence, my dear 
 fellow, I do pity you," and the doctor sank into 
 a seat by his wife's sofa. 
 
 " Pity my poor people, doctor, don't waste your 
 pity on me ; I wouldn't change my lot with an 
 emperor's," and the young man raised his head 
 proudly. " I assure you it is not the work done 
 that kills, it is the work left undone the thought 
 of the sheep astray astray without a shepherd." 
 
 " But even that care, Lawrence, you can lay at 
 the feet of the Good Shepherd ; your sheep can 
 never wander beyond His ken ; He will guide both 
 you and them." 
 
 " I know it, doctor, I know it, and when I look 
 at our streets and alleys with their teeming, toiling 
 masses, that is the thought that keeps me from 
 despair."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 TWILIGHT TALKS. 
 
 jfHE fierce burning July sun had sunk 
 in a blaze of glory, and lights were 
 beginning to twinkle here and there 
 in the old-fashioned casements of " The 
 Knoll," when, supper over, the few "intimates" of 
 Dr. and Mrs. Wilmot who had remained to spend 
 the evening, strolled out through the open windows 
 to the verandah and the lawn. 
 
 Edith, to her delight, found herself pacing the 
 gravelled pathways side by side with Mr. Newton, 
 for dearly she loved a talk with " the Vicar," while 
 he, eagerly solicitous for the welfare of the young 
 members of his flock, gladly welcomed every oppor- 
 tunity of helping them with advice and sympathy. 
 
 " Violet tells me she has asked you for a district, 
 Mr. Newton." 
 
 " Yes, and with her father's consent I have given 
 her a few cottages those facing the Green." 
 
 " Where the Wicks and Widow Smart live," and 
 Edith's face wore a wistful expression.
 
 4o To the End. 
 
 Mr. Newton gazed at her through the darken- 
 ing twilight. He guessed something of what was 
 passing through her mind. 
 
 " Edith, my child, you can work for God as dis- 
 tinctly as Violet does even though your sphere 
 does not extend beyond the limits of home." 
 
 Edith raised her eyes with a new light in them 
 the wistful expression was gone. 
 
 " An eldest daughter and sister has such a wide 
 area of usefulness, I always think, and when she 
 brightly, patiently, and conscientiously takes up 
 her several duties and performs them all to the 
 glory of God, who can tell to what extent her 
 influence may be used, nor how many may be 
 blessed through her bright example ? " 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Newton, you do help one so. Now all 
 this week I have been thinking that perhaps I am 
 drifting too much with circumstances, our home 
 life is such a happy one, and the days fly past so 
 swifty. Mother is not strong, and there are so 
 many little things to do ; but last week there 
 flashed across me the thought that I was not 
 working at all for God that I had no district or 
 Sunday-school class, or anything of that sort, I 
 mean and then I remembered all the Bishop 
 said at our Confirmation about life being a battle 
 and we being soldiers, and I began to be afraid that 
 just perhaps because I was so happy I had been
 
 Rose, Rose, don't talk like that. How many a poor London girl would think 
 your little home a Paradise ! " /. 53.
 
 TiviligJit Talks. 43 
 
 drifting too easily with the tide, that perhaps . . ." 
 and Edith's voice faltered, and her head lowered 
 " I have not been fighting at all." 
 
 " Edith, my child, you would like to have a 
 district ? " 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Newton, I should I should of all 
 things but " 
 
 "But if you took one, some of those 'little 
 things ' to which you alluded so casually would be 
 thrown on the shoulders of your mother (since 
 Joan is still in the school-room), and your mother 
 is not able to bear them." 
 
 " That is just it ; mother is pretty well some 
 days, but other times she can barely lift her head 
 from the pillow." 
 
 " Then rest content. God in His good Provi- 
 dence is shutting the door for you at present to 
 outside work ; your work for Him must be at 
 home, and remember that piety shown at home 
 and requital of parents (we have it on God's own 
 authority) is 'good and acceptable' before Him." 
 
 " Father, the school - mistress wants to see 
 you." 
 
 Mr. Newton turned to obey the summons, and 
 Lawrence Newton took his father's place beside 
 Edith. 
 
 " What a glorious night ! the stars are as bright 
 as diamonds."
 
 44 To the End. 
 
 " Aren't they ? You must enjoy this taste of 
 country, Lawrence, after London." 
 
 " That I do, and not the least part of my enjoy- 
 ment is the seeing of old friends ; it is not the 
 physical atmosphere of London, however, that is 
 so depressing, h is the spiritual and moral the 
 dull, degraded, hopeless depths into which most 
 of the poor (at least the poor around me) have 
 sunk. You find yourself asking wonderingly, 
 1 Can anything that I can say penetrate to brains 
 whose one thought is how to procure the bread for 
 which they are starving ? Can any message that 
 I can bring brighten faces whose eyes are sunk 
 and wan with despair ? ' and then you remember 
 that your message is Divine." 
 
 " Oh, Lawrence, what a sad picture ! " 
 
 "Sad, but true. Why, only the day before 
 yesterday, up in a dingy attic at the top of a long 
 stair, I came across a young girl not much older 
 than you, Edith, and yet a widow (her husband 
 fell from a scaffold some months ago), and there 
 she was toiling for dear life to keep her mother, 
 her two little children and herself from starvation, 
 and what do you think were the munificent wages 
 she was receiving ? " 
 
 o 
 
 " I am sure I don't know." 
 
 "Three-farthings an hour! so if the poor 
 creature could keep on stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! for
 
 Twilight Talks. 45 
 
 twelve hours out of twenty-four, on the Saturday 
 night she would receive four-and-sixpence, out of 
 which she would have to pay for thread and 
 needles, so you can imagine what a princely sum 
 would be left for fuel, food, and shelter." 
 
 " Lawrence, how can they live ? " 
 
 " That is the problem I leave you to solve. Eke 
 out existence somehow they do ; but if the poor little 
 bread-winner were to break down, nothing could lie 
 before them but the workhouse. Yes, truly, as my 
 Vicar said to me the other day, it is not the pleasures 
 and the riches of this world that choke the seed we 
 endeavour to sow ; it is the cares, the sordid grind- 
 ing cares. Thank God, there is a bright side to the 
 picture, however. There is the mission-room with 
 its hearty little services, and oh, how I love to hear 
 the poor people pouring out their hearts to Him 
 who has said, ' Come unto Me, all ye that are 
 weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest ! ' 
 There are the schools, where we trust we are train- 
 ing the children for better and brighter things ; the 
 Band of Hope gatherings, the mothers' meetings 
 all, all so many little focusses of light which we 
 hope in time will radiate out such life-giving beams 
 that the entire face of our parish shall be changed." 
 
 Mr. Newton's talk with the school-mistress over, 
 he joined the party in the drawing-room. Violet 
 IS'orman was singing, but twisting herself round on
 
 46 To the End. 
 
 the music-stool, she suddenly demanded from Frank 
 Newton " a yarn." 
 
 " Oh yes, Frank, a yarn, a yarn ! " shouted Harry 
 and Joan Wilmot, and yielding to the popular 
 demand, Frank led the way to the verandah. 
 
 Mr. Newton and Margaret Scott exchanged 
 amused glances. 
 
 " What a difference there is in character ! " said 
 Mr. Newton, as he drew a stool to his cousin's side 
 and gazed out at the two quiet figures who were 
 pacing so leisurely up and down the lawn. 
 
 " That there is ; Edith is made to be an eldest 
 sister." 
 
 " And yet she thinks she is not doing her duty," 
 and Mr. Newton repeated some of the conversation 
 that had taken place in the garden. 
 
 " Dear child, she is as humble as she is unselfish. 
 Why, all this afternoon she has been battling with 
 her inclinations pouring out tea instead of playing 
 at tennis, talking to her parents' friends instead of 
 talking to her own, playing at ball with the children 
 instead of listening to Violet and Frank singing." 
 
 " Of course she has I noticed all that. Yes, into 
 the warp and woof of everyday life Edith hath 
 begun to weave the golden threads of love and self- 
 sacrifice. One at least of my confirmation candi- 
 dates is, I trust, following in the footsteps of the 
 blessed Master who pleased not Himself."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WAVERERS. 
 
 HE next two years that passed over 
 St. Magna's were uneventful ones (if 
 years can be called uneventful in which 
 habits are being formed, and character 
 is being moulded for eternity). Outwardly how- 
 ever there was nothing to disturb the still tenor of 
 village life. Every Monday morning Mrs. Trueman 
 and Patience were to be seen with sleeves rolled 
 up standing at the wash-tub; every afternoon Mr. 
 Newton was to be met with swift step traversing 
 the parish ; each day and all hours of the day Dr. 
 Wilmot's brougham rolled along with its red- 
 painted wheels. 
 
 Sunday brought the only break to the weekly 
 routine Sunday, and the comings and goings of 
 Frank Newton and Harry Wilmot. Of late these 
 comings and goings of Harry Wilmot's had been 
 much more frequent than usual. On the smallest
 
 48 To the End. 
 
 possible pretext he was always running down to 
 St. Magna's, and Edith (if no one else) began to 
 suspect that Violet Norman was the magnet that 
 drew him so constantly homewards. 
 
 This knowledge gave Edith some compunction, 
 for she feared Violet was only playing with her 
 brother ; nor were her surmises incorrect, for to 
 receive and to be pleased with Harry VVilmot's 
 attentions was in Violet Norman's estimation one 
 thing to marry him and to settle down at St. 
 Magna's quite another. 
 
 "Edith, wish me joy!" was Violet's salutation 
 one bright spring morning as she entered the 
 school-room of the Knoll. " I am going to Paris." 
 
 " To Paris ! " And Edith in her astonishment 
 let fall the work she was so busy over. 
 
 "Yes, to Paris ; Mrs. Richards has asked me to 
 accompany her. At first papa said ' no,' Paris was 
 so far away, and Mrs. Richards well, he doesn't 
 particularly care for her, but I think the truth was, 
 he was afraid of that nephew of hers that read with 
 him some years ago ; but Mrs. Richards assured 
 him we should be quite by ourselves no dangerous 
 articles in the shape of gentlemen anywhere near ; 
 and I I begged and entreated, and so the end of 
 it is, here am I come to ask if I can do any com- 
 missions for you in Paris," and with a mock courtesy 
 Violet pirouetted before Edith.
 
 Waverers. 49 
 
 " Violet, you quite take away my breath; why, 
 whatever will your father do without you ? " 
 
 " Do why, the best he can, and when I return I 
 shall be received with open arms, and Aunt Hester 
 will actually forget to scold for one whole day." 
 
 " Oh, Violet, I am sure your aunt loves you 
 very dearly." 
 
 " Loves me ; perhaps she does, but she takes a 
 peculiar way of showing it. No doubt it is my 
 fault, though, that I am so constantly in her black 
 books. I do so dearly love to shock her. I like to 
 see her peer over her blue goggles and say, ' Violet, 
 do you really mean it ? Well, young girls must be 
 different now to what they were when I was young.' " 
 And Violet drew a long face, and imitated with 
 exaggerated gesture her aunt's demure tones. " But, 
 Edith, I see I am shocking you, and I am not 
 going to stay in the house this beautiful morning 
 talking any more about good prim old Aunt Hester. 
 Throw away that stupid mend ; ng and come out 
 in the garden; Joan must hear my news." 
 
 " Violet, what will you do about your district ? " 
 said Edith, as the two walked together over the 
 sunny lawn. 
 
 " My district. Oh, Mr. Newton must look after 
 that." 
 
 " I wonder if he would let me have it while you 
 are away," and a thoughtful look came into Edith's 
 
 D
 
 5o To the End. 
 
 blue eyes. " Now Joan is out of the school-room 
 mother was only saying yesterday she can spare 
 me for a little parish work." 
 
 " Then do take it, and keep it altogether if you 
 like, for I don't think district-visiting is my voca- 
 tion. I never know what to say to the old bodies, 
 and I am tired to death of Mrs. Wick's incessant 
 grumbling, and Mrs. Brown's laments over the 
 difficulties of making two ends meet." 
 
 " But, Violet, dear," was Edith's gentle remon- 
 strance, " do you think we ought to give up a duty 
 because it is perhaps not quite tasteful to us ? " 
 
 " Now, Edith, pray don't begin sermonizing, I 
 am in no mood for lectures this morning. Paris, 
 beautiful, bright Paris ! I can think of nothing but 
 Paris to-day. Oh, Joan ! where is Joan ? I do so 
 long to tell her I am going ; " and careering along 
 the gravelled pathways, Violet made the old garden 
 re-echo with her calls. 
 
 Edith followed, but with a troubled look on her 
 face. Her thoughts had travelled back to another 
 spring morning bright and beautiful as this one 
 when she and Violet had knelt in the old church 
 at St. Magna's, and sworn allegiance to the same 
 Master. How wrapt in devotion Violet had seemed 
 then, how earnestly she had sung 
 
 " O Jesus, I have promised 
 To serve Thee to the end ! "
 
 Waverers. 5 1 
 
 And now now was she already beginning to waver 
 in that allegiance ? Was she thirsty after waters that 
 seemed more sweet, after pastures that appeared 
 more fair ? Oh, Edith hoped not, she trusted not ; 
 and swiftly to the blue sky was raised a cry for 
 her friend a cry that in after years was answered, 
 but through what trials ? Ah, pretty, foolish Violet, 
 choosing your own way and following the bent 
 of your own inclinations to the narrow path you 
 can only be brought back by the weary road of 
 suffering! 
 
 Some two weeks later the wicket-gate of one of 
 the cottages in Violet Norman's district was pushed 
 open by Edith Wilmot, and as she walked up the 
 tiny garden she stood for a moment admiring the 
 lilies of the valley and the crocuses with which 
 the little red-tiled path was bordered. 
 
 Angry voices from within warned her that a 
 family altercation was taking place ; so, anxious 
 not to become a listener, Edith hastened her steps. 
 Just as shs reached the porch a man's voice shouted, 
 " Then to London you shan't go ; for once, for all, 
 I forbid it," and the back-door slammed angrily. 
 
 Edith knocked, and light footsteps were heard 
 running quickly up-stairs, while a weak voice in a 
 querulous tone bade the visitor enter. 
 
 " Good afternoon, Mrs. Wicks ; Miss Norman has 
 
 D 2
 
 52 To the End. 
 
 gone away, so I have come to see you instead of 
 her." 
 
 " And has Miss Norman gone away ? Well, miss, 
 I'll make so bold as to say I hope yc'll come a 
 bit more regular than she did, for our club money 
 is that behind I hardly know when last I paid it ; 
 but sit you down, sit you down, and I'll look for 
 my card by and by. But Rose and her father, they 
 have been having one of their upsets again, and 
 their upsets upset me that they do ; my breath 
 is just all nohow;" and Mrs. Wicks undid her 
 cap-strings, and wiped her face with her pocket- 
 handkerchief. 
 
 Edith walked to the window and began remarking 
 on the beauty of some flowers that stood on the 
 sill, for she did not wish to mar her first visit by 
 entering on uncongenial family topics. 
 
 Mrs. Wicks, however, was not to be balked of a 
 grumble when she had the chance of a sympathetic 
 listener, and back again she went to her grievance. 
 
 "You see, miss, it's all along o' that there 
 Lunnon. Rose, she's wild for a sight o' the place, 
 and Wicks, the name of it is enough for him, ever 
 since his sister Jessie that was she that lived down 
 in the hollow. Ah, you won't remember her, but 
 the doctor he would sure the prettiest girl all 
 round the country-side, and as tall and straight 
 as an arrow. Well, as I was a say in', Wicks, he
 
 Wavercrs. 5 3 
 
 can't bide the name of Lunnon ever since Jess 
 pretty Jess took herself there. She came back 
 with a broken heart, and six months saw the last 
 of her. But Rose, she won't listen to such tales ; 
 St. Magna's, it's a deal too dull for her." 
 
 Once again Edith tried to turn the conversation, 
 and this time more successfully. Mrs. Wicks' re- 
 marks were not unnoted though, and when Rose 
 (the traces of tears washed from her pretty eyes) 
 accompanied their visitor to the garden-gate, Edith 
 laid a hand on the young girl's arm. 
 
 " Rose, I always feel that there is a special link 
 between you and me ever since that happy day 
 when we were confirmed together." 
 
 " Yes, miss," said Rose, but her tone was an un- 
 interested one ; " why, that's two year ago come 
 Easter, but it se^ms more like four time goes so 
 slowly in this stupid little place." 
 
 "Don't call St. Magna's stupid, Rose; it is our 
 home, and where God has placed us." 
 
 " Ah, life goes differently to you gentlefolks, miss, 
 to what it does to we poor cottagers. I'm tired to 
 death of being mewed up in our little place, with 
 nothing to listen to but grumbling grumbling 
 grumbling." 
 
 " Rose, Rose, don't talk like that. How many a 
 poor London girl would think your little home a 
 Paradise ! "
 
 54 To tlie End. 
 
 " Ah, some folks like dullness, but I am not one 
 of them," and Rose pulled open the garden-gate 
 with a bang. 
 
 " But a soldier does not choose in battle the post 
 lie likes, he goes where his commander sends him, 
 and, Rose" (and Edith's voice lowered), "you and 
 I promised to be soldiers good soldiers of the 
 Lord Jesus Christ's ! Oh, let us be faithful to 
 Him, and serve Him to the end ! " 
 
 Rose shut the gate with a greater bang than she 
 had opened it, and Edith with a sad heart walked 
 across the green. 
 
 Was Rose too beginning to waver in her alle- 
 giance ? Was she forsaking the living fountains of 
 waters, and hewing out for herself cisterns broken 
 cisterns that could hold no water ? 
 
 With a sigh Edith turned and looked at the 
 little cottage nestling so peacefully among the tall 
 elms ; but remembering the promise, " Be careful 
 for nothing, but in everything by prayer and sup- 
 plication with thanksgiving, let your requests be 
 made known unto God," the sigh was turned into 
 a prayer.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE DARKENED HOME. 
 
 HE Jungfrau in all its snowy loveliness 
 was standing out pure and cool against 
 the deep blue summer's sky, when a 
 party of English tourists (their hands 
 filled with letters) seated themselves on the verandah 
 of the Grand Hotel de Miirren. 
 
 " Now, Miss Norman, don't tell us St. Magna's 
 has a clean bill of health yet, or we shall be having 
 you summoned home." 
 
 The speaker, a tall, dark young man, with a florid 
 (too florid) complexion, gazed into Violet Norman's 
 face with a meaning smile as he spoke. 
 
 Violet bent her head to hide her blushes, and 
 busily employed herself opening her letters. 
 
 " Yes, Lionel, you may thank the fever for giving 
 you Miss Norman as a travelling companion," said 
 Mrs. Richards, from the depth of a rocking-chair, 
 " for I had hard work hadn't I, Violet to persuade
 
 56 To the End. 
 
 your father to allow you to accompany me even 
 as far as Paris ? " 
 
 But Violet was deep in her letters. 
 
 " Mrs. Richards," she said at length, looking up 
 with a startled expression, " what do you think ? 
 Dr. Wilmot has the fever." 
 
 " Dr. Wilmot ? let me see, I don't know much 
 about your local magnates is not that the cheery- 
 faced man that drives about in the brougham 
 with the red wheels ? Ah, I thought so ; is ha a 
 great friend of your father's ? " 
 
 " Yes, and his daughters are great friends of 
 mine," and Violet gazed across at the Jungfrau 
 with a troubled face. 
 
 "Ton my word, Miss Norman, I have half a 
 mind to catch the fever myself, if catching it excites 
 your sympathy so." 
 
 But Lionel Richards' words grated harshly on 
 Violet, and she forgot to blush this time. 
 
 " Does your father say the doctor's is a bad 
 case?" asked Mrs. Richards. 
 
 " Yes, they had sent for a London doctor. Our 
 laundress's little girl, Mary Trucman, died on 
 Wednesday night, and Dr. Wilmot was with her 
 to the last ; on the Thursday he sickened himself, 
 and now, papa says, is lying quite insensible. Poor 
 Mrs. Wilmot, what will she do ? and Edith and 
 Joan they just adored their father."
 
 The Darkened Home. 57 
 
 This was the question all St. Magna's was asking 
 that afternoon too, as with sad faces and tearful 
 eyes they turned away in the bright summer's sun- 
 shine from the doors of the closed Knoll. What 
 would Mrs. Wilmot and the children do? what 
 would they all do ? for their good doctor had been 
 taken away from them. Never again would his quiet, 
 firm step cross the threshold of their dwellings ; 
 never again would his bright, cheerful voice calm and 
 soothe them in their hours of sickness and suffering. 
 
 Yes, St. Magna's felt very desolate that after- 
 noon, though the sky had not a cloud in it, and 
 the larks were warbling out their very little hearts 
 for joy; and if St. Magna's felt sad and desolate, 
 what was the depth of the blank in the hearts of 
 the widow and the orphans ? 
 
 Ah, sorrow such as theirs is not to be dwelt 
 upon, it can only be carried in faith to the feet of 
 Him who says, " I know their sorrows ;" who binds 
 up the broken-hearted and heals their wounds. 
 
 When the blinds of the Knoll were drawn up 
 again and life's duties had once more to be faced, 
 Edith felt as if she was walking the world in a 
 dream. It seemed so strange that the sun should 
 shine, and all the little details of every-day life have 
 to be observed, when he round whom all this home- 
 life circled, who was its earthly mainspring and 
 centre, was gone ; and had it not been for the 

 
 58 To the End. 
 
 strength and the courage drawn from the minutes 
 spent in prayer in her little wainscoted bedroom, 
 Edith hardly knew how those first terrible weeks 
 could have been got through. 
 
 It was such anguish to take down from the pegs 
 in the hall the hats and the coats that had hung 
 there so long, and Edith could hardly see for 
 blinding tears the creases she was smoothing out 
 so reverently, as she carefully folded away each 
 precious article. Then what heart-breaking it was 
 to sit at meals and never, never to hear the sound 
 of the red wheels rolling up the avenue ; never to 
 spring forward to meet the glad welcome ; never to 
 receive the loving smile, to hear the hearty words 
 of commendation with which Dr. Wilmot always 
 greeted every little act of duty performed by " his 
 little bit of home sunshine." 
 
 Yes, the chasm in Edith's life was a terribly 
 yawning one. Every hour, every minute of the 
 day she missed the dear, fatherly love that had 
 always so guarded and guided her ; but the loss 
 of this precious earthly father only drove her to 
 walk more closely with her Heavenly Father, and 
 to seek to lighten by every means in her power 
 the weight of sorrow that rested on her mother 
 her mother whose grief was so much deeper than 
 her own. 
 
 Mrs. Wilmot had made up her mind to leave
 
 Tlie Darkened Home. 59 
 
 St. Magna's, and to make a home in London for 
 her sons ; for Cuthbert, the second boy, was about 
 to enter one of the hospitals as a student, and 
 Harry had not yet taken his degree. The locum 
 tenens was anxious as soon as possible to take 
 possession of the Knoll, so the next few weeks 
 were busy ones ; but prayer and work are the best 
 antidotes to sorrow. 
 
 The last Sunday evening came at length, and as 
 the rays of the setting sun streamed through the 
 painted glass windows of St. Magna's church, 
 tinting the delicate tracery of the nave and arches^ 
 and lighting up the old-fashioned galleries, they 
 rested for a while on the bowed head of Edith 
 Wilmot, as with a heart full of surging emotions she 
 knelt for the last time in her accustomed corner. 
 
 " The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall 
 the cruse of oil fail," was the text chosen, and in 
 a few brief words Mr. Newton sketched the life- 
 history of the lone widow of Zarephath. " This 
 poor woman," he said, " must have been doing in the 
 eyes of the worldly wise a very foolish thing when 
 she took of her handful of meal to make a cake 
 for a stranger ; but she was obeying the voice of 
 the Lord at the hand of His Prophet. God had 
 promised to take care of her future ; she trusted 
 to Him for it. 
 
 "Are any of you, my hearers," said Mr. Newton,
 
 Co To the End. 
 
 " passing through a similar expsrience to this poor 
 woman ? Is the meal in your barrel reduced to a 
 handful ? The oil in your cruse, is it almost wasted ? 
 Learn a lesson from the widow of Zarephath : obey 
 God, trust Him ; the path of obedience must be 
 always the path of blessing. ' Who is among 
 you that feareth the Lord, that obeyeth the voice 
 of His servant, that walksth in darkness and hath 
 no light? let him trust in the name of the Lord, 
 and stay upon his God. The barrel of meal shall 
 not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail.' " 
 
 Edith walked home in the setting sun with a 
 face of chastened calm. Behind her there lay the 
 sunny days of childhood and girlhood, before her 
 stretched an untried future. Not altogether dark 
 was her horizon, however ; upon it there gleamed 
 a sure star of promise " The barrel of meal shall 
 not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ADELBERT TERRACE. 
 
 H, Edith, surely the cabman has made 
 a mistake ! You don't mean to say 
 that this wretched house is to be our 
 home ? " 
 
 It was Joan Wilmot who spoke, and as she 
 peered out of the window of the fly her face ex- 
 pressed the most intense disgust. Edith jumped 
 up and tapped her sister warningly on the foot ; 
 then exclaiming, " Mother dear, here we are," she 
 jumped out of the cab, and proceeded carefully to 
 help her mother out. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Wilmot ! It was with a very heavy 
 heart that she lifted her deep crape veil and gazed 
 at her new home, after the children had left her to 
 .see about the luggage. Blinding tears prevented 
 her seeing much, but what little she did see formed 
 a painful contrast to the brightness and the comfort 
 of the Knoll. It was not the comforts of the Knoll,
 
 62 To the End. 
 
 however, that Mrs. Wilmot's heart was yearning 
 for ; it was its associations the tender associations 
 that clung and clustered round even every article 
 of furniture in her old home the home whose 
 threshold she had first crossed as a young bride. 
 
 " Oh, Edith, how can we ever live here ? " asked 
 Joan, as, the boxes carried up-stairs and the cabman 
 paid, the two girls gazed out of a window of one of 
 the back bedrooms, at the rows upon rows of tall 
 chimneys from which showers of black smuts were 
 falling. " There is not a tree to be seen not a blade 
 of grass not a flower nothing but roofs and 
 chimneys ; I feel stifled already," and burying her 
 face in her hands, Joan burst into a passion of tears. 
 
 Edith's eyes were wet too, but she struggled 
 bravely with her emotion ; then laying a hand on 
 her sister's shoulder she said gently 
 
 "Joan, Joan, don't cry like that, please please 
 don't ; mother will see by your eyes what you have 
 been doing, and we must control ourselves for her 
 sake. I know it is hard work, darling, but do, do 
 think of mother." 
 
 " Edith, I have no patience with you ; you expect 
 people to go along just like machines," and Joan 
 shook her sister's hand angrily from her shoulder. 
 " And as to my not thinking of mother, is it not 
 partly for her I am grieving ? Mother knows how I 
 loved the Knoll, however, and I am sure she docs
 
 Adelbert Terrace. 63 
 
 not expect us to be so hard-hearted as to leave it 
 without a tear. Dear, dear old place ! And here we 
 shall have no pony to ride, and no garden to play 
 tennis in " and burying her face in her hands, 
 Joan's sobs broke forth anew. 
 
 Edith gave a weary little sigh as she took off 
 her hat and placed it on the bed. What different 
 things people yearned for ! The pony and the 
 garden why, she had hardly thought of them ; it 
 was her father's love and the old home feeling for 
 which her heart was so sorely pining. 
 
 Knowing that her sister was tired and dispirited, 
 however, she attempted no further remonstrance, 
 but after folding away her things, she said 
 
 "Joan, dear, I am going down to look after 
 mother, and see about the supper ; come down 
 when you are ready, will you ? I am sure a cup 
 of tea will do you good." 
 
 Before descending to the dining-room, Edith 
 knelt for a few minutes in an unoccupied room on 
 the other side of the passage, and earnestly besought 
 God to bless their new home, and to give to each 
 one grace and strength to take up the duties that 
 lay before them, and to fill to His glory the niche 
 that He had assigned to them ; then with a face 
 of calm quiet peace she went gently down-stairs. 
 
 Settling into a new home to hearts that have 
 any tenacity of affection is not altogether a
 
 64 To tJie End. 
 
 pleasurable occupation, even when the new home is 
 in most respects an improvement on the old ; but 
 when (as in the case of the Wilmots) the new home 
 is not only not superior to the old, but infinitely its 
 inferior, the task is certainly a painful one. 
 
 Every hour of the day, it seemed to Edith, the 
 two maids that had been brought from the Knoll 
 would come running to ask her how they could get 
 along without this thing, or how they could possibly 
 manage without that, and it required considerable 
 skill and ingenuity to devise ways for filling in such 
 a large family party to such close quarters. 
 
 The little ones and their nurse were for the 
 present (through Mrs. Muir's kindness) safely 
 housed at the Home Farm ; Mary and Bertie at 
 the Rectory, and Cuthbert and Harry were striving 
 to gain fresh vigour and energies for their winter 
 studies among the Welsh mountains. All were to 
 assemble under the new family roof-tree, however, 
 in the course of a week or ten days, and Edith 
 determined that Adelbert Terrace should wear its 
 most comfortable aspect to greet them. 
 
 Comforts do not fall into the lap though like ripe 
 apples from a tree in autumn ; time and labour 
 must be expended upon them, or money is required 
 to procure them, and of this latter article Edith was 
 determined not to beg from her mother ; for though 
 Dr. Wilmot had left his family fairly well provided
 
 A delbcrt Terrace. 65 
 
 for, as long as the boys' education formed such a 
 heavy item in the yearly expenditure, there was 
 no surplus cash for luxuries. 
 
 Of the sum devoted to the move, though, there 
 was still a small balance left in hand, and with this 
 Edith procured some cretonnes and chintzes. Then 
 a tour of the house was made ; dingy curtains were 
 pulled down and new substituted, faded arm-chairs 
 were covered, musty bed-hangings were thrown 
 away, and everything that Joan declared " alto- 
 gether too unbearably ugly " was consigned to the 
 top garret. The little room that Mrs. Wilmot had 
 chosen for her own sanctum received special care, 
 most of the precious articles that had been brought 
 from the Knoll going to ornament it ; but about 
 the large top room, which was designed for the 
 nursery, Edith was almost in despair. What could 
 make the sickly paper look less bare, or the light 
 woodwork more bright ? Joan, however, who had 
 something of the eye of an artist, here came to the 
 rescue. Why not have some of the pictures from 
 their old Christmas annuals cheaply framed and 
 hung up ? And if Edith could produce some scraps, 
 she would paste them on the panels of the door 
 and varnish them ; then the chimney-piece could 
 bs covered with red cloth, and the faded carpet 
 covered with a bright drugget. 
 
 " Splendid suggestions," said Edith, and she 
 
 E
 
 66 To the End. 
 
 proceeded immediately to act upon them, for poor 
 little Bertie and "the flowerets" would miss sorely 
 the fields and the lanes, and they would now have 
 no long corridors and large garden to play in. 
 
 Edith's last touches of decoration were just being 
 put to Adelbert Terrace when the cab containing 
 Harry and Cuthbert rolled up to the door, and 
 with a back that ached with stooping, and eyes that 
 were weak with working, she ran down to welcome 
 them. All sense of fatigue was forgotten, though, 
 some two hours later, when, turning to his mother, 
 Harry said 
 
 " Well, mother, I don't know whether I was in 
 the blues the last time I saw Adelbert Terrace, but 
 certainly I thought it the dullest little hole imagin- 
 able, but now it looks quite transformed. Is it your 
 presence that has cast such a glamour over it ? " 
 
 " Edie and Joan are the magicians that have 
 worked the transformation," said Mrs. Wilmot, and 
 her loving look of thanks more than repaid Edith 
 for all her toil.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 TAKE UP THE CROSS. 
 
 UMMER had come and gone, and a 
 bright log fire was crackling and blaz- 
 ing on the hearth of the parlour at the 
 Home Farm. The parlour was a very 
 cheery room, as what room was not where Mrs. 
 Muir reigned supreme ? The deep, old-fashioned 
 bow windows were cosily draped with warm red 
 hangings, and in the embrasures stood large blue 
 pots of bright-coloured chrysanthemums. Round 
 the delicately-tinted walls ran a dark oak wain- 
 scoting, and the oval mirrors reflected tables 
 covered with books and work, and low cosy chairs 
 that seemed to invite you to rest in them. 
 
 Ruth's couch was drawn up to the fire, and 
 beside it stood a large basket filled with work ; 
 her fingers did not seem in a very busy mood, 
 though, to-night, and Mrs. Muir kept gazing across 
 from her writing at her niece, wondering why the 
 
 E 2
 
 68 To the End. 
 
 knitting was laid down so often, and why the gray 
 eyes gazed so gravely into the fire. 
 
 " Ruthie, my bairnie," at last she ventured to 
 say, "is your back troubling you to-night ?" 
 
 " No, auntie dearie ; " but the heavily-fringed 
 eyelids drooped, and the knitting was seized upon 
 with avidity. 
 
 Something was ailing the child, what could it 
 be ? Never mind, it would come out presently. 
 
 Tea over, Mrs. Muir proceeded to unpack a 
 large parcel of wool that had arrived from the 
 north that morning, then drawing a stool to 
 Ruth's couch, she began winding the pretty, 
 heathery mixtures. 
 
 " Mrs. Gillespie has sent us a fine collection this 
 time, hasn't she, Ruthie ? See what a delicate 
 gray yon Shetland is, and how prettily speckled 
 is that Alloa yarn, and do you know what I was 
 thinking, childie ? that you might make a cloud 
 for Edith Wilmot." 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Janie, that would be nice," and the 
 grave eyes became bright again. 
 
 " Set to work, my bairnie, then, and I'll try and 
 make a few things for the bit Iambics ; it will be 
 a sorry Christmas for them all this year, and I 
 should like them to think there are some real 
 hearts at St. Magna's that aye remember them." 
 
 " Violet says that Joan can't bear the life in
 
 Take up the Cross. 69 
 
 Londoq. Sheets after sheets she writes to her 
 full of complaints." 
 
 " And how much better it would be for the poor 
 lassie if the time she took in writing those sheets 
 were spent in telling the Lord Jesus her troubles. 
 He can help her, but Violet can't. No, Ruthie, 
 there's no good in kicking at the Cross ; we must 
 aye pray for grace and strength to take it Jip, and 
 to follow the Blessed Master wherever He leads. 
 It's a lesson we take years to spell out, and that 
 we're over and over again turned in, but it's a 
 lesson once harnt that brings peace and happiness." 
 
 Silence was only broken by the spluttering of 
 the wooden logs and the click of Ruth's needles. 
 
 " Has Violet been here to-day?" asked Mrs. Muir. 
 
 "Yes, auntie, didn't you see her? She went 
 out to the garden to look for you." 
 
 " No, childie, but perhaps I was in the orchard 
 the pippins are fine this year, and I went up to 
 see about the storing of them." 
 
 Another silence. Mrs. Muir was thinking could 
 this visit have had anything to do with Ruth's fit 
 of absorption ? 
 
 Violet was fond of coming to the Home Farm, 
 and lately Mrs. Muir had encouraged her, for Ruth 
 missed Edith Wilmot sorely, and she thought it 
 would do the child good to hear Violet's foreign 
 experiences. A breath of Swiss air, even at second-
 
 70 To the End. 
 
 hand, sometimes conveys a tonic to a poor shut- 
 up invalid. These visits had not had the exhilar- 
 ating effect upon Ruth, though, that Mrs. Muir 
 had hoped for ; in fact, after them she seemed more 
 quiet and grave ; while after a talk with Edith her 
 whole face would sparkle with sunshine. Into the 
 shut-up restricted life Violet never seemed to 
 infuse any brightness or ozone, but only, somehow 
 or other, to impress the invalid with a sense of 
 how much she missed, and of her lack of power. 
 
 Ah, what a subtle thing influence is ! and how 
 easy it is to make others look out on life through 
 our own jaundiced spectacles. Envy, dissatisfac- 
 tion, restlessness, how easily they can be communi- 
 cated, while who among us does not know the 
 impetus, thank God, that can be given to us by 
 the strong faith of a friend ? 
 
 Violet never succeeded though in making Ruth 
 discontented with her lot ; the patient quiet girl 
 followed her Saviour too closely for that ; but 
 what she did was, by useless bemoanings over the 
 invalid's lack of power, and frequent allusions to 
 all that she missed, thoroughly to depress the poor 
 girl with the sense of her own uselessness. 
 
 This was the thought that was weighing so 
 heavily on Ruth to-ni^ht. How she longed to be 
 up and doing, breaking her alabaster box at the 
 feet of the Master !
 
 Take up the Cross. 71 
 
 " Auntie," she said at length, " I have been think- 
 ing over what you said just now about kicking at 
 the Cross, and I think I have been kicking at 
 mine to-day." 
 
 " Have you, dearie how ? " 
 
 The pale face flushed, and the gray eyes hid 
 themselves beneath their long lashes as with a 
 slight tremor in her voice Ruth said, " I have 
 been so longing to be up and doing ; all the after- 
 noon I have been thinking thinking thinking of 
 all that I might do if only I was strong and 
 active." 
 
 The firelight flickered on the walls, but Mrs. 
 Muir made no answer. 
 
 " Have I been wrong, auntie ? " 
 
 " Yes, Ruthie, I think you have, but I don't feel 
 as if I could say a word to you, it is a temptation 
 I have so often given in to." 
 
 " You, auntie ? How ? " 
 
 " Why, dearie, after I left South Africa oh ! 
 the hours and the days I have spent in thinking 
 thinking thinking of all that might have been 
 of the work that might have been accomplished 
 of the good that might have been done, if only 
 your uncle had been spared. It is such a plausible 
 temptation to imagine we only wish our lives to be 
 different out of regard to the glory of the Master; 
 but Satan is tempting us then, transformed into
 
 72 To the End. 
 
 an angel of light. He is seeking to instil into 
 our hearts poisoned shafts of mistrust of our 
 Heavenly Father's wisdom, and we must resist 
 him from the outset, Ruthie, we must say like 
 the Blessed Master, " Get thee behind me, Satan." 
 "The cup which my Father hath given Me, 
 shall I not drink it ? " Besides, the reins once 
 thrown on the necks of our desires, bairnie, believe 
 me there is no further peace for our souls. We 
 think in our short-sightedness the one thing we 
 are longing for granted, we should want nothing 
 more ; but Satan would soon set our desires at 
 work again. They must be restricted by some- 
 thing, and that something must be the will of God, 
 Pray, dearie, by all means pray for increased 
 health and strength God knows it is what I ask 
 for you every day but o'.i ! to our prayers let us 
 add the petition, " Father, not my will, but Thine 
 be done." 
 
 " Oh, auntie, I have been wrong very wrong," 
 said Ruth, after a pause, during which the gray 
 eyes had been gazing meditatively into the fire. 
 " I see I have been listening to the whispers of 
 Satan what a real enemy he is, and he knows so 
 exactly where to tempt us." 
 
 " Yes, Ruthie, and our danger lies in parleying 
 with him ; resist him, and he will flee from us, for 
 greater is He that is for us, than all that are against
 
 Take up the Cross. 73 
 
 us. Don't you remember what your confirmation 
 hymn says ? 
 
 ' I shall not fear tbe battle, 
 If Thou art by my side.' 
 
 Trusting to Jesus, holding up the shield of faith, 
 we shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of 
 the wicked. Shall I read to you, Ruthic, some lines 
 your uncle wrote when laid by once for a long 
 time by the effects of a severe attack of fever - 
 he had to fight the same battle you are now 
 fighting ?" 
 
 " Yes, auntie, do." 
 
 Fetching from her desk some faded sheets of 
 yellow paper, Mrs. Muir bent forward in the fire- 
 light, and read 
 
 " I stood 'mid the corn one morning, 
 
 The golden ears hung low, 
 The sun was high in the heavens, 
 The birds flew to and fro. 
 
 The reapers they were not many, 
 
 The fields were thick with grain ; 
 Oh ! how could the crop be gather' d, 
 
 Ere day began to wane ? 
 
 I plied my reap-hook swiftly ; 
 
 I heeded not the sun ; 
 For I thought of the Master's smile, 
 
 When the day's work was done. 
 
 I sighed as I watched the reapers 
 
 Who idled in the shade, 
 Busily wreathing wild flowers, 
 
 That all too soon did fade.
 
 74 To the End. 
 
 And the golden grain around them 
 
 Hung ripe beneath the sky ; 
 It would die were it not garner'd, 
 
 Ere winter storms drew nigh. 
 
 And my reap-hook flew the swifter, 
 
 As I look'd on the wheat ; 
 My sheaves with what joy I'd lay them 
 
 Low at the Master's feet. 
 
 Alas ! as the sun wax'd hotter, 
 
 My strength soon died away ; 
 And when the scorching noon arose, 
 
 Faint on the ground I lay. 
 
 They bore me to the shady bank, 
 
 Where th' idlers dreaming lay ; 
 My sad tears fast they fell: 
 
 Useless I was as they. 
 
 I press' d my cheek against the sward, 
 
 The burning tears fell fast : 
 My sheaves my sheaves, who'd lay them now, 
 
 The Master's feet at last ? 
 
 When lo ! I felt myself enclos'd 
 
 In arms of tender grace ; 
 And loving hands did wipe the tears 
 
 From off my fever'd face. 
 
 And then I heard a gentle voice, 
 
 Asking in accents mild, 
 In tones as soft as passing breeze, 
 
 Why weepest thou, My child ? 
 
 My dew-dimm'd eyes I lifted then 
 
 To the dear Master's face, 
 And told of sheaves I'd fain have bound, 
 
 His harvest-home to grace. 
 
 Again my tears were gently dried, 
 
 Again those tones so sweet 
 ' Child of my love, there is a sheaf 
 
 Thou canst lay at My feet.
 
 . Take lip tlie Cross. 75 
 
 ' It is the sheaf of thy self-will, 
 
 More precious in My sight 
 Than all the toil of busy years, 
 
 Or golden off'ring bright. 
 
 ' Fret not thyself about the grain, 
 
 The golden ears are Mine, 
 And other hands will bind the sheaves 
 
 Thou didst for me design. 
 
 ' And thou canst for the reapers raise 
 
 Thy voice in earnest pray'r ; 
 And thus can help them in their toil, 
 
 And in their harvest share.' 
 
 So now in calm content I lie, 
 
 Hushing each fear to rest : 
 T obey is more than sacrifice, 
 
 The Master's will is best." 
 
 That was the first time that Mrs. Muir had ever 
 heard Ruth allude with anything like murmuring 
 to her ill-health, and it was the last. 
 
 Heavily though no doubt her cross of helpless- 
 ness pressed in the future, she never spoke of it, 
 save to One He who gave her grace patiently to 
 take up and to carry it.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A LUNCHEON PARTY. 
 
 S Edith sat looking at the few budding 
 limes that adorned the narrow strip of 
 garden in front of Adelbert Terrace, 
 she could hardly realize that nearly a 
 year had passed since last she had seen the Knoll. 
 In one sense it seemed a very long year ; in another 
 the months seem to have rolled by .at a gallop ; 
 for though, through constantly thinking of the 
 St. Magna's days, the old home-life seemed quite 
 near, still the London life had been such a busy 
 one, and so much had taken place in the interven- 
 ing days, that looking back through the vista of 
 work and events, that summer's morning seemed 
 quite distant when mournfully she had listened to 
 the shriek of the train that carried her away from 
 the scenes of her childhood. 
 
 Changes had taken place, too, in the quiet little 
 village of Wych. The pulse of still country life 
 had been excited by a wedding the wedding of 
 Violet Norman with Lionel Richards. 
 
 Mr. Norman had used every means in his power
 
 A Luncheon Party. 77 
 
 to resist this wedding, for the short time that 
 Lionel had passed as a pupil at St. Magna's had 
 not prepossessed him in favour of his future son-in- 
 law. Persuasion was in vain though, Violet had 
 made up her mind; so to avoid further "scenes" 
 Mr. Norman gave an unwilling consent, and the 
 wedding had taken place some three months 
 previously. 
 
 The news of the engagement had been conveyed 
 to the Wilmots by Harry, who was spending part 
 of his Christmas vacation with the Newtons, and 
 in a postscript he begged that his knapsack might 
 be forwarded to him, as he intended to spend the 
 rest of his holidays in Scotland. A month later 
 he returned to Adelbcrt Terrace looking some 
 three years older than when he started, and when 
 his name came out among the first in the examina- 
 tion list, he confided to his mother the impossi- 
 bility of his (at present) settling at St. Magna's, 
 and May saw him starting as a doctor on board an 
 Australian steamer. The house seemed very dull 
 without Harry's merry laugh to brighten it ; and 
 banish the thought as she would, Edith could never 
 meet Violet without the remembrance of her brother 
 flashing across her tossing on the wide blue sea. 
 
 The Richards had taken a house at South 
 Kensington, for Lionel's purse was a comfortably 
 lined one, though it was not as heavy as it would
 
 78 To the End. 
 
 ultimately become, for he was heir to his aunt's 
 estate at Great St. Magna's. 
 
 Joan's friendship with Violet had been renewed 
 with greater vigour than ever, and Edith saw but 
 little of her sister now that this loophole into a 
 new life had been opened up to her. It was no 
 wonder, though, thought Edith, that Joan wished 
 her horizon to be extended ; she was so young and 
 bright, and shone so prettily in society, while she 
 he was only an old tame tabby, never happier 
 than when purring at her own fireside. 
 
 How pretty Joan looked now, to be sure, as 
 dashing round the corner in Violet Richards' smart 
 Victoria she waved her hand merrily to her sister. 
 Why had she come home so soon ? In an instant 
 the problem was solved. 
 
 " Edith, you are to come back with me at once. 
 Violet says you nmst come she has a spare ticket 
 for the concert this afternoon ; Lionel says he 
 won't go." 
 
 " Joan, how can I ? I have no dress to go in." 
 
 "Oh, yes put on your black silk I will lend 
 you my lace fichu to tie over it ; but make haste, 
 for the carriage is waiting, and the lunch is punc- 
 tually at one o'clock." 
 
 " But mother" 
 
 " But mothe* well, here is mother to answer for 
 herself. Mother dear, Violet wants Edith to go
 
 A Luncheon Party. 79 
 
 with us to the concert this afternoon you can 
 spare her, can't you ? " 
 
 It is needless to repeat Mrs. Wilmot's answer. 
 Not only could she spare Edith, but she was most 
 anxious she should not forego such an unwonted 
 pleasure, so a quarter of an hour saw the two girls 
 rolling away to South Kensington. 
 
 Seated at the head of her well-appointed table, 
 in the most becoming of costumes, Violet made 
 the prettiest of hostesses ; thoroughly in her 
 element, her face sparkled with sunshine, and her 
 laugh was low and rippling. 
 
 Ah, how easy it is to wreath our faces with 
 smiles when the blue sky is above and around us ! 
 How lovingly does our human nature stretch itself 
 in the sunshine of worldly prosperity ! Yet the 
 Prophet Habakkuk said, " 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" He had set his affections 
 on things above, not on things beloiv. His treasure 
 was " where rust and moth doth not corrupt ; 
 where thieves do not break through and steal." 
 
 " Edith, luncheon is not the time for a brown- 
 study. Mr. Rollo has twice offered you strawberries." 
 
 Edith turned and apologized smilingly to her
 
 8o To the End. 
 
 next-door neighbour, a tall, broad-shouldered 
 man, with streaks of gray here and there amid his 
 chestnut hair. 
 
 " To think of Edith's turning a deaf ear to straw- 
 berries ! " said Joan ; " why the other day she told 
 me it made her heart lighter even to hear them 
 called about the streets ! " 
 
 "Violet, I must defend my character. I cannot 
 let you think I have become so degenerate as to 
 base my happiness on strawberries. Joan knows 
 it was not the love of the fruit that stirred my 
 heart, it was the breath they brought with them of 
 the country." 
 
 " Mr. Rollo, would you believe it ? " said Violet, 
 as lifting her daintily embroidered handkerchief to 
 her lips she tried to stifle her laughter. " Miss 
 Wilmot's idea of happiness is the life of a dairy- 
 maid's clattering about in pattens and making 
 cheese and butter." 
 
 " Not a bad life either ; and decidedly a more 
 healthy one than that of many of the young ladies 
 who are rolling along in the Park yonder. They 
 droop like flowers in heated assemblies, while the 
 dairymaid threads the fields as fresh as the daisies, 
 and they retire to rest when she is brushing the 
 dew from the clover; but joking apart, Miss Wil- 
 mot, have you really spent nearly a year in London 
 without its charms having effaced the country from 
 your affections ? "
 
 A Luncheon Party. 81 
 
 " My home was in the country for twenty years," 
 said Edith, and as her blue eyes sought to hide 
 themselves Mr. Rollo saw they were dim with tears. 
 ***** 
 
 " Mother, congratulate mz ; I have met a little 
 maiden to-day who has not yet been schooled by 
 the world into the lesson that it is not etiquette to 
 have a heart," was Mr. Rollo's salutation to his 
 mother that night. 
 
 " Archie, don't pretend to be a cynic. I can quite 
 understand that you don't meet every day with 
 hearts as warm and genuine as your own, but you 
 know that many true ones do beat even under the 
 well-cut garments of society." 
 
 Mrs. Rollo, in her velvet-lined chair, and with her 
 ermine cloak around her, was the very picture of 
 an old lady, and it was easy to see at a glance that 
 before the chestnut hair had silvered and the deli- 
 cate peach-bloom had faded she must have been 
 remarkable for her beauty. 
 
 Tenderly cherished by a devoted husband, and 
 now the object of a loving son's care, Mrs. Rollo's 
 life had been a peaceful and a sheltered one ; of a 
 soft and yielding disposition, and with few angles to 
 rub up against, she was the centre of a large circle 
 of friends, and the red-tiled Elizabethan house at 
 Chelsea was the scene of many a social gathering. 
 
 An enthusiastic lover of the fine arts, Archibald 
 
 F
 
 82 To the End. 
 
 Rollo dabbled in all of them, and was a proficient 
 in none, though it was in the studio or music-room 
 of " the Red House " that he was most generally 
 to be found. 
 
 Neither of these rooms though did he frequent 
 to-night, but sipped his coffee meditatively by his 
 mother's side. 
 
 " Archie, what are you thinking about ? " 
 
 "The little maiden with the heart. I wish I 
 could get her to sit to me for a picture." 
 
 " Was she so very pretty then ? " 
 
 " Pretty ? No, I don't think that is the word to 
 apply to her. Mrs. Richards and her sister are, 
 strictly speaking, I suppose, prettier than she is ; 
 but her face was so peaceful and pure it seemed to 
 calm you to look at her. If I were to take her 
 portrait now, I should paint her kneeling in some 
 old cathedral, with hands clasped in prayer that 
 is the scene her face irresistibly brings before you. 
 Mother, you must cultivate her, if it is only for the 
 sake of the picture." 
 
 " Archie, I am at your service ; but remember 
 maidens with hearts are not toys to be trifled with. 
 Suppose she loses hers with you, are you prepared 
 to give her yours in exchange ? " 
 
 " Mother, with your leave I will think out that 
 question with my cigar on the verandah."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 
 HE snow was still lying on the ground, 
 and cold March winds were blowing 
 over the heads of the drooping snow- 
 drops, when another little flower opened 
 its eyes on the wintry earth a baby-boy came to 
 gladden the heart of Violet Richards. 
 
 It was a pretty sight to see the young mother and 
 her child together ; never had there been such a 
 baby before of that she was confident. 
 
 The christening took place at St. Magna's, and 
 when some three weeks later Edith entered the 
 nursery at South Kensington, she was surprised to 
 see there sitting a well-known girlish figure. 
 
 " Rose, you here ! I am astonished. Did Mrs. 
 Richards bring you back with her ? " 
 " Yes, miss. Didn't mistress tell you ? " 
 " I haven't seen Mrs. Richards. Pollok tells me 
 she is out driving. I thought I would just run up 
 
 F 2
 
 84 To the End. 
 
 though and have a peep at the baby. The darling ! 
 how he has grown ! And oh, Rose, now his eyes are 
 wide open, do let me have a good look at them. 
 Oh, baby, your eyes are going to be brown ; you 
 perverse little fellow, mother did so want them to 
 be blue, but I was afraid they would grow darker. 
 Well, brown eyes or not, you are a sweet baby-boy 
 isn't he, Rose ? And I am sure grandpapa thought 
 so," and kissing the mottled face fondly, Edith laid 
 the baby in his bassinette. " Well, Rose, it is nice 
 to see a face from St. Magna's ; and how is the dear 
 old place, and everybody in it ? " 
 
 " Oh, much the same as usual, miss ; nothing 
 ever happens at St.- Magna's." 
 
 " And your father and mother ? I hope they are 
 quite well." 
 
 " Father's as hearty as ever, thank you, miss ; but 
 mother, you know, she's always ailing, and she 
 fretted a deal about my leaving." 
 
 " I dare say, but I thought that it was your 
 father that objected most to your coming to 
 London." 
 
 " So he did," and Rose hung her head and busied 
 herself in tucking baby into the bassinette, as the 
 recollection of the conversation with Edith at the 
 wicket-gate flashed across her ; " but father, he 
 knows as ever since I've been a little girl, when I 
 sets my heart on a thing I always gets it in the
 
 It was a pretty sight to see the young mother and her child together ; never had 
 there been such a baby before of that she was confident./*. 83.
 
 , Temptation. 87 
 
 long run," and the pretty girl looked up with a 
 wilful smile ; " so you see, miss, he thought it best 
 to give in, I expect, when I got a chance of com- 
 ing along with Miss Violet (Mrs. Richards, I 
 mean)." 
 
 Edith sighed, but said nothing. 
 
 " And lor, miss, what a grand place London is ! " 
 continued Rose. "Mistress took baby and me 
 in the carriage in the Park yesterday, and the sight 
 of carriages well-nigh turned my head, and the 
 beautifully dressed ladies " 
 
 " Yes, Rose, but all is not gold that glitters, and 
 the Park is not the whole of London, nor the rich 
 people that roll along its only inhabitants (though 
 to hear some people talk you would think they 
 were). There are dens and alleys in the East 
 End hardly fit for human habitation, where Mr. 
 Lawrence Newton told me poor women slave with 
 their needle for three-farthings an hour ! " 
 
 " To think of that, miss ! and fancy Mr. 
 Lawrence choosing to live among them ! " 
 
 " The Lord Jesus chose to leave Heaven and live 
 on earth for our sakes," said Edith, in a low voice, 
 as she caressed gently one of the tiny pink and 
 white hands that lay outstretched from the bassi- 
 nette. " But, Rose, I must be going now ; you must 
 ask your mistress to spare you to come over and 
 spend an afternoon with us some day. Sarah and
 
 88 To the End. 
 
 Susan will be delighted to see a face from St. 
 Magna's." 
 
 The invitation thus given was at first accepted 
 with cordiality ; whenever Rose had a holiday she 
 always found her way to Adelbert Terrace, and 
 Mrs. Wilmot and Edith, glad of these opportunities 
 of befriending the young girl, made her most heartily 
 welcome. 
 
 In the course of a few months though, these 
 visits became fewer and fewer, and towards Christ- 
 mas they ceased altogether. 
 
 " Violet, does Rose have less leave than usual ? " 
 asked Edith, one wintry afternoon, " for she never 
 comes to Adelbert Terrace now." 
 
 "No; she has just the same as when she first 
 came one afternoon in the fortnight ; but oh, I 
 dare say she is tired of Susan and Sarah's company, 
 and likes spending her holiday in some more ex- 
 citing way than sipping tea with maids in a kitchen. 
 A pretty girl like that is sure to have followers," 
 and Violet gave a meaning smile. 
 
 " I hope they are desirable ones then," said 
 Edith; "a young girl in that position away from 
 her parents always seems to me so unguarded." 
 
 Violet leant back in her chair laughing merrily. 
 " Really, Edith, with a large pair of spectacles and 
 a large mob-cap, you might pass for a grand- 
 mother. Don't think it necessary though to apos-
 
 Temptation. 89 
 
 trophize me on my duties as a mistress, for no one 
 will ever induce me to pry into a servant's private 
 affairs. If they are old enough to leave their 
 parents, I consider they are old enough to take 
 care of themselves. Why, I was younger than 
 Rose when I married," and Violet bridled her neck 
 with dignity. 
 
 " Violet, dear, you are only joking ; you know I 
 would not take such an unwarrantable liberty as to 
 attempt to interfere in the management of your 
 household ; but coming as Rose does, from St. 
 Magna's, you can understand what a special 
 interest we take in her, and then we were all 
 confirmed together." 
 
 " So we were, I had forgotten it ; but we have 
 talked enough about Rose. Edith, I want you 
 and Joan to come and lunch with Mrs. Rollo 
 to-morrow." 
 
 With a woman's quick perception, Violet had 
 noted the special interest Mr. Rollo took in her 
 friends, and this interest she resolved to fan into a 
 more ardent feeling, for it would be pleasant to 
 have Joan settled near her (and Joan it was of 
 course who had kindled the interest), and then to 
 herself would accrue a certain amount of credit in 
 having so well established her friend. 
 
 At Violet's house, therefore, Mr. Rollo was con- 
 stantly meeting Joan, but, alas ! to his chagrin,
 
 go To tJie End. 
 
 seldom accompanied by Edith, for the heat and 
 close confinement of town life were beginning to 
 tell sadly upon Mrs. Wilmot, and Edith was more 
 than ever tied to Adelbert Terrace now that her 
 mother's headaches were bidding fair to become 
 chronic. 
 
 Repeated persuasion at last induced Mrs. Wilmot 
 to accept an invitation from the Miss Scotts, and 
 it was with a thankful heart Edith saw her mother 
 start for St. Magna's, accompanied by little Mary. 
 The days that followed would have been lonely 
 ones to Edith, had it not been for the children, for 
 Joan and Cuthbert were little at home ; in fact 
 Cuthbert's "engagements" were so numerous that 
 they began to give Edith some cause for anxiety ; 
 but he refused to give any account of himself, and 
 steadily resented what he called "all girls' meddling 
 with his private affairs." 
 
 How Edith longed at this time for Mr. Newton's 
 wise counsel, and how sorely she missed the helpful 
 services at St. Magna's ! earth and its cares and 
 worries seemed to have such a hold upon her. 
 Heaven appeared so dim, so far away. 
 
 Yes ; a film had crept over Edith's spiritual life, 
 and she was conscious of it. No longer could she 
 take her burdens in trustful faith to the feet of the 
 Master, and leave them there. No longer could 
 she realize with happy assurance that "All things
 
 Temptation. 91 
 
 work together for good to them that love God." 
 No doubt this was partly owing to physical causes, 
 for jaded, exhausted nerves tell on mind as well as 
 body (and Edith had fallen into a wearied state as 
 well as her mother) ; but principally it was due to 
 the murmuring, unbelieving thoughts which Edith 
 knew she had given place to. How often she had 
 envied Violet her large house and comparative 
 leisure ! How many times she had listened to the 
 devil's suggestion that people who make only a 
 profession of religion seem to get along just as 
 well or better than people who are at the pains to 
 act out what they believe. 
 
 What was the good of getting into hot water 
 with Joan for urging her to some neglected duty ? 
 or for falling into disgrace with Cuthbert for trying 
 to counsel him lovingly. Why swim further against 
 the tide ? It was hard work, and you made but little 
 progress. Do as others do, or at all events for a 
 time fold your arms and float at leisure. 
 
 These were the evil suggestions of the Tempter, 
 and Edith had not turned a deaf ear to them. 
 She did not realize that there is no such thing as 
 inaction in the spiritual life ; that floating with the 
 tide means progress onward progress to the dark 
 rapids of danger and death.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CONQUEST. 
 
 UST at this time, when Edith's better 
 judgment was warped by her loose 
 hold of Him Who giveth to all men 
 wisdom liberally, and upbraideth not, 
 there came a letter to her a letter from Mr. Rollo. 
 At first its contents completely startled Edith, 
 for she (like Violet) had always imagined that if 
 Mr. Rollo admired any one, it was Joan, and it 
 was some time before she could realize that the 
 passionate words of devotion she had just read 
 were addressed to herself. 
 
 Astonishment in time, though, became only 
 pleased surprise, and eagerly she began to question 
 herself. Why did she first feel sorry that Mr. 
 Rollo had written such a letter ? Why did she 
 jump to the conclusion that "no" was the only 
 answer to be given ? Mr. Rollo was a gentleman; 
 a kind man and a cultivated ; he could offer her a
 
 Conquest. 93 
 
 comfortable home ; he was a good son, and filled a 
 certain position in society. It was true she would 
 have to leave her mother, but Mary was growing 
 up to be a nice little companion to her now, and 
 as a married sister she would have much more 
 influence and weight with Joan and Cuthbcrt. 
 Ah, Edith, Edith, why do you try to settle this 
 question without bending on your knees to ask 
 direction from above ? Why not consider what 
 your mother, your father, would have advised ? 
 Why not listen to the promptings of your own 
 better nature ? Two questions had all day long 
 been ringing in Edith's ears, but she refused to 
 answer them. " Do I love this man ? " " Is he a 
 Christian ? " 
 
 In the stillness of the night, though, the still 
 small voice of conscience sometimes makes itself 
 heard, and matters which we thrust from us in the 
 light come face to face with us in the darkness. 
 
 Lying restless on her pillow, these two questions 
 seemed to thunder themselves in Edith's ears, and 
 unable to forget them in sleep, she rose and drew 
 a chair to the window. 
 
 " Did she love Mr. Rollo ? " No ; she couldn't 
 say she did, but she liked him, and liking surely in 
 time would soon change itself into love. " Was he 
 a Christian ? " Ah ! this was a harder question to 
 answer. She had never heard him allude to religion
 
 94 To the End. 
 
 save once in her presence, and then certainly it was 
 in rather a bantering tone ; but he went to church 
 every Sunday morning, carrying his mother's velvet 
 Prayer-book for her. Then does not the Bible say, 
 "Judge not, that ye be not judged ?" Ah ! but it 
 also adds, "Be ye not unequally yoked together 
 with unbelievers." "She is at liberty to be married 
 to whom she will ; only in the Lord." 
 
 Tired with her restless night, Edith was only 
 awakened by the breakfast-bell, and though her 
 toilet was a hasty one, she only arrived down-stairs 
 in time to hear the clang of the front-door as it 
 closed on Cuthbert. She was sorry, for his break- 
 fast had been a solitary one, Joan having dined 
 and spent the night with the Richards. 
 
 Mr. Rollo had begged Edith to take twenty-four 
 hours to consider her decision, for he felt sure the 
 contents of his letter would surprise her ; but feel- 
 ing convinced that if " no " had to be said, the 
 sooner it was done the better, Edith put on her 
 hat and started for a walk, resolved to decide 
 the matter. One minute she was assailed with 
 weary doubt ; another tempted with pleasurable 
 visions of the future. How pleasant it would be 
 to turn her back on care and worry, and to have 
 some one to care for and guard her ! Edith's 
 mind was a battlefield of conflicting emotions, 
 and unable to decide the contest, she wearily
 
 Conquest. 95 
 
 pushed back her hat from her throbbing temples, 
 and longed for fresh air both mentally and bodily. 
 Just at this minute she came upon a church hidden 
 among the houses ; its doorway was crowded, and 
 people were passing into it. 
 
 Was it a wedding or a confirmation ? A con- 
 firmation ; and as Edith gazed at the young girls 
 in white her thoughts were carried away to St. 
 Magna's, to the parish church, and the bright day 
 in which she had stood and vowed to serve her 
 God in it. How she would like to hear this con- 
 firmation address ! She wondered if she could gain 
 admittance ; yes, strangers were allowed in the 
 gallery, and in two minutes Edith was seated in it. 
 
 Ah, ye servants of God, when rising to the re- 
 sponsibilities of your sacred calling, ye resist the 
 blandishments of the world and self, and speak 
 only what God the Holy Spirit hath taught you, 
 what a mighty influence ye wield over your hearers ! 
 Your message becomes a supernatural one, a lever 
 to lift burdened souls from the depth and darkness 
 of temptation a glass in which they view not the 
 things which are seen and temporal, but the things 
 which are unseen and eternal a power a power 
 which is mighty, through God, to the pulling down 
 of strongholds, and which bringeth into subjection 
 every thought to the obedience of Christ. 
 
 The day was a dull one, and in the subdued light
 
 96 To the End. 
 
 that streamed through painted windows but few 
 noticed the young girl in a back seat of the gallery, 
 who with flushed cheeks and parted lips leant 
 forward so eagerly to listen ; but One above did 
 One whose heart of love was yearning over her 
 One Who knew all the circumstances of her life 
 all the trial, the temptation of the present hour 
 One Who Himself had suffered, being tempted, 
 and Who is able to succour them that are tempted. 
 " I beseech you, therefore, that ye receive not the 
 grace of God in vain," was the theme of the Bishop's 
 address, and as Edith listened, life and the things 
 of this life seemed to lose their hold upon her ; 
 the film that hid Heaven from earth to roll up 
 and fade away. What a speck of time this life 
 looked when viewed beside the life that lasts for 
 ever and ever ! how insignificant seemed its events, 
 save as they influenced for eternity ! 
 
 As if revealed by a flash of light from Heaven, 
 Edith saw the danger in which she stood, the pre- 
 cipice to which Satan blindfold had led her. She 
 knew by past experience how weak her heart was ; 
 how easily she was influenced by those around 
 her ; how difficult it was to realize that one thing 
 was needful. How then could she ever have thought 
 of placing her hand for the journey of life in the 
 hand of any but a Christian ? one who humbly, yet 
 fearlessly, had taken his stand on the side of the
 
 Conquest. 97 
 
 Master who would bz a help and not a hindrance 
 to her on her journey heavenwards. 
 
 Yes, Edith was indeed thankful that she had 
 been guided to hear the words that had been 
 spoken that morning ; earnestly did she kneel and 
 beseech help both for herself and the young soldiers 
 who were starting forth to do battle under the 
 same flag as herself that day, and tremulously did 
 she plead rather than sing the words 
 
 "O let me feel Thee near me : 
 
 The world is ever near ; 
 I see the sights that dazzle, 
 The tempting sounds I hear ; 
 
 My foes are ever near me, 
 
 Around me and within ; 
 But, Jesus, draw Thou nearer, 
 
 And shield my soul from sin." 
 
 G
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MARRIAGE BELLS. 
 
 OOD evening, Miss Scott. What a 
 wild night for you to be out in ! " 
 
 It was Frank Newton who spoke, 
 and as he attempted to raise his hat, 
 the wind took possession of his umbrella, and 
 nearly carried it into an adjoining field. 
 
 "The elements are not inclined to be civil to- 
 night are they ? but I heard such a bad account 
 of Mrs. Wicks, I determined to go and see her ; 
 she is fretting so dreadfully about her daughter 
 Rose." 
 
 " Rose ! let me see ; that was the pretty girl with 
 the high colour that used to come to mother's 
 bible class, wasn't it ? " 
 
 " Yes. Well, Violet Richards took her to be nurse 
 to poor little Lion, you know, and when he caught 
 that fatal chill she was dismissed at once. Violet 
 seemed to think she was in some way to blame
 
 Marriage Bells. 99 
 
 for the poor little fellow catching cold, and Rose 
 not liking to return to St. Magna's with a slur upon 
 her character, accepted at once a situation as maid 
 to a family who were starting to travel on the 
 continent, and her parents have only heard from 
 her once since." 
 
 " Dear, dear, that is a sad state of things ; and 
 Rose was an only child, wasn't she ? " 
 
 " Yes, and her parents' idol though they showed 
 their affection in a funny way sometimes; but for 
 their pretty girl to be travelling about with strangers 
 in ' foreign parts ' is almost more than their hearts 
 can bear." 
 
 " I wonder they let her leave St. Magna's at all." 
 
 "Well, her father did stand out against it for a 
 long time ; but the girl's heart was set upon a 
 change, and when this opportunity opened up to 
 her of going to London as nurse to little Lion, 
 I suppose her parents thought it was better for 
 her to be with Violet than with strangers." 
 
 " How could Violet then dismiss her so sum- 
 marily ? But I suppose, poor thing, she was dis- 
 tracted with grief." 
 
 " Distracted ! Miss Norman told me that when 
 she and her brother arrived in London that sad 
 night they were telegraphed for, they found Violet 
 almost in a frenzy, beseeching the doctor to save 
 her child, and when their worst fears were realized, 
 
 G 2
 
 ioo To the End. 
 
 her grief seemed to find no natural outlet ; but up 
 and down the room she would pace, torturing her- 
 self almost to madness over second causes How 
 had her darling got cold ? Where could he have 
 taken such a dreadful chill ? And when she found 
 out accidentally that Rose had been seen one chilly 
 day in the Park, with little Lion in the perambu- 
 lator, standing still talking to a friend, to the 
 nursery she flew at once, and in a few frenzied 
 words Rose was dismissed from the house." 
 
 " And do you think the poor girl was really to 
 blame ? " 
 
 " Well, Miss Norman says if any blame does 
 attach to her, it was not from want of heart, but 
 from want of head. Rose was devoted to her little 
 charge ; but she was never thoughtful and careful 
 enough to make a good nursemaid." 
 
 " Where are the Richards now ? " 
 
 "Still travelling on the continent. Joan Wilmot 
 is with them, and we hope to beguile Edith down 
 here some time before Christmas." 
 
 " That will be jolly ; the place does not seem 
 like itself since the Wilmots left." 
 
 Frank Newton was not the only one who held 
 that opinion, and many a face brightened and 
 many a heart cheered when Edith Wilmot was 
 once more to be met walking about St. Magna's. 
 As for Edith, she could hardly realize that nearly
 
 Marriage Bells. 101 
 
 four years had crept away since last she had re- 
 visited the old scenes ; and every green lane 
 seemed to revive some memory of the past, every 
 grassy nook to whisper a message to her. How 
 delightful it was too, to stand once more in the 
 dear old parish church to listen again to Mr. 
 Newton's well-known voice to his loving words of 
 counsel ! Lawrence was at home now enjoying a 
 well-earned holiday. His health had broken down 
 soon after the Wilmots had settled in London, 
 and he had been compelled to seek a curacy in the 
 country ; but with restored health and vigour, he 
 was now looking forward to returning as vicar to 
 the East End London parish where formerly he 
 had laboured as curate. 
 
 Surrounded by so many kind friends, Edith's 
 visit flew past only too swiftly, and though Mrs. 
 Newton and Mrs. Muir would fain have taken 
 possession of her, she was determined to return 
 home by Christmas. 
 
 The winter was a severe one, and many an 
 afternoon Lawrence and Frank Newton carried 
 Edith off to skate on the pond at the Home Farm, 
 and then when the cheery wood fire was sputtering 
 and blazing, and sending rosy tongues of light 
 across the wainscoted walls, they would gather 
 round Ruth's couch for tea, and s:ich talks as 
 Edith had not enjoyed for many a long day.
 
 IO2 To the End. 
 
 "Mother," said Frank one day to Mrs. Newton, 
 "doesn't it strike you that Lawrence and Edith 
 have a good deal in common ? They are too un- 
 selfish to make me feel de trap on our walks to 
 the Home Farm, but I can't help noticing how 
 much more confidential their tones become when 
 they start off for a skate together." 
 
 " Silly boy," said Mrs. Newton, as she stroked 
 her son's face fondly, " sailors are proverbially fond 
 of love-making, but I didn't know they were also 
 match-makers. Lawrence and Edith are just like 
 brother and sister, and they have many tastes in 
 common." 
 
 " Now, madre mia, isn't that just what I said ? 
 ' they have very much in common.' Yes, mark 
 my words, if all goes merrily as a marriage bell, 
 you will soon greet Edith as a daughter." 
 
 "Well, Frank, your father and I could never 
 receive any one we should love better. Edith is 
 to us already a daughter in all but name ; but in 
 such an important a matter as marriage we should 
 not like to bias Lawrence ; he can safely be trusted 
 to choose wisely for himself." 
 
 And Lawrence did choose wisely, but Frank 
 was quite right Edith was the object of his choice. 
 Day by day her pure Christianity, her loving un- 
 selfishness, her high tone of character, had become 
 better known to him, and with the knowledge had
 
 Marriage Bells. 103 
 
 grown up for her a love a love which was founded 
 on respect, and on the thought that they were one 
 in Christ Jesus heirs together of the grace of God 
 fellow-pilgrims to the Heavenly city. 
 
 And what of Edith ? Well, Edith knew that her 
 visit to St. Magna's had been a most enjoyable 
 one, and that, strange to say for such a home-bird 
 as herself, she was not looking forward with the 
 same amount cf eagerness as usual to returning 
 to Adclbert Terrace ; but not till one frosty night 
 when beneath the stars Lawrence told her the 
 story of his love, did she divine the reason why 
 that her heart was not in her own keeping. 
 Lawrence's earnest burning words, though, soon 
 
 o o * 
 
 tore the film from her eyes. She had no hesitating 
 doubts now, no tormenting fears as she had about 
 Mr. Rollo. The love that had, almost imperceptibly 
 to herself, grown up within her from childhood for 
 Lawrence, burst the barriers that surrounded it, 
 and made itself felt at last ; and with a heart of 
 happy thankfulness and eyes of shy satisfied trust, 
 Edith looked up into the grave tender face that 
 was bending over her and promised Lawrence all 
 that he asked.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A CHANCE MEETING. 
 
 HE purple hills of the Clyde were wrap- 
 ping themselves in shadow, and the 
 gorgeous tints of sunset were giving 
 place to the deep blue of twilight, 
 when the lona drew up one autumnal evening 
 at one of its customary landing-places. 
 
 " My dear, if you are going to be all night getting 
 on board, perhaps you will allow me to get ahead 
 of you," was the gruff remark which one of the 
 new passengers was heard to make to his wife 
 as he angrily pushed his way up the gangway. 
 Then stamping on board in an irascible manner, 
 he began wrangling with the porters about his 
 luggage, finally subsiding into a corner with a 
 plaid round his shoulders, over a pipe and a 
 " brandy-and-soda," muttering maledictions at the 
 climate, and vowing he would never come to 
 these plaguey northern latitudes again. 
 
 Two quiet figures were standing in the stern
 
 A CJiance Meeting. 105 
 
 of the steamer watching the mists creeping down 
 the mountains, when turning at the gentleman's 
 loud tones the lady exclaimed 
 
 " Why, Lawrence, surely I know that voice yes, 
 it is Mr. Richards." 
 
 " Is it ? Poor Violet, then she has tied herself to 
 a pepper-box." 
 
 " Joan always told me he was very hot-tempered ; 
 but I had no idea he was so uncontrolled as that. 
 But see, there is Violet ; Lawrence, I must go and 
 speak to her." 
 
 The closely-veiled figure, however, that had been 
 standing motionless watching her husband, now 
 placed her hand within her maid's arm, and turning, 
 pointed to the cabin staircase, and Edith with a 
 sigh rejoined her husband. 
 
 " Oh, Lawrence, isn't it sad that such a peaceful 
 scene as this should be marred by such ill-temper ? 
 Look at that lovely moon turning everything into 
 silver ! wouldn't you think it would calm any one 
 to look at it ? " 
 
 Lawrence and Edith had been married four 
 years, and despite the cares and the anxieties 
 which are incidental to the happiest married life, 
 the time had passed to them like one long summer's 
 day. Week by week Ed'th had learnt to know 
 and appreciate more the depth and true nobility of 
 her husband's character. Unmoved by opposition 
 and undaunted by difficulties, day by day he spent
 
 io6 To the End. 
 
 himself and was spent in the service of his Master, 
 and often and often did Edith's heart go up with 
 happy thankfulness for the love and the guidance 
 of such a husband. 
 
 A little girl of three years old and a baby boy 
 of sixteen months had been left behind in the 
 nursery of the East End vicarage Mrs. Wilmot 
 being ostensibly in charge though with such a 
 careful, trustworthy nurse as Patience Trueman to 
 look after her darlings, Edith knew no other care 
 was needed. 
 
 Yes, Mrs. Trueman had been persuaded at last 
 to give up her " indispensable Patience." But how 
 could she refuse anything to " Miss Edith," the 
 daughter of kind Dr. Wilmot, who had so tenderly 
 and so skilfully ministered to her little Mary in her 
 last illness, and who had only left her death-bed 
 to lie down on his own? 
 
 Mrs. Wilmot's stay in London was only a 
 temporary one, for she was residing now at St. 
 Magna's, Harry being at last settled at the Knoll 
 with a sweet young wife, and bidding fair to 
 become as great a favourite as did his father. 
 Cuthbert too had been taken into partnership, 
 and under the steadying influence of his elder 
 brother was sobering wonderfully, and Mrs. Wilmot 
 had taken a house near the Rectory to make a 
 home for him and her younger children. Joan 
 was married to an officer, and gone to India,
 
 A Chance Meeting. 107 
 
 but Mary made a capital elder sister, and Bertie 
 and "the flowerets" were never tired of exclama- 
 tions of how much nicer the country was than 
 London. 
 
 It was not often that Lawrence and Edith took 
 a holiday so far away from home ; but seeing her 
 husband's strength flagging, Edith resolved to 
 steel her motherly heart, and to urge Lawrence to 
 start for regions where, with God's blessing, he 
 might hope to regain elasticity and vigour. 
 
 Darkness had set in by the time the lona 
 had reached its last landing-place ; but by the 
 flickering glare of the gas-lamps the Newtons saw 
 that the Richards were making for the same hotel 
 as themselves. 
 
 " We had better wait to speak to them till table 
 d'hote" said Edith, " the luggage question is agi- 
 tating Mr. Richards now ; but perhaps by dinner- 
 time he will have forgotten his grievances." 
 
 Vain hope ; table d'hote came, and with it Mr. 
 Richards (though without Violet), but the Newtons 
 were glad the length of the table separated them, 
 for he did nothing but storm at the waiters and 
 grumble at the dishes. 
 
 " Poor Violet, it is not to be wondered at that 
 she prefers dining up-stairs ! Lawrence, I must 
 go and see her." 
 
 " Do, dear, and I will go to the reading-room." 
 
 Finding out from a waiter the number of the
 
 loS To the End. 
 
 Richards' s'.tting-room, Edith was soon on her 
 way thither, and in response to her tap, a tired 
 voice bade her enter. 
 
 It was quite two years since Violet and Edith 
 had met, for the Richards spent much of their time 
 abroad, and though from Joan's description Edith 
 was prepared to find her friend altered, she could 
 hardly realize that the worn, faded woman that 
 rose from the sofa to greet her was the sparkling, 
 brilliant Violet of former days. What Violet had 
 lost in appearance, though, she had gained in man- 
 ner. There was a depth and a genuineness about 
 her welcome now which meetings of other days 
 had always seemed to lack ; and Violet's pleasure 
 at this unexpected visit was so pure and unaffected 
 that Edith had not the heart to tear herself away. 
 
 When the clock on the mantelpiece struck the 
 half-hour, though, she started up. 
 
 " Half-past nine ; I had no idea it was so late ! 
 Violet, I must be running away ; Lawrence will be 
 wondering what has become of me." 
 
 " Late ! do you call this late ? I dare say I shall 
 be waiting up for Lionel till half-past twelve or 
 one." 
 
 " Oh, Violet, such hours must be very bad for 
 you ! " and Edith gazed with compassion at the 
 worn, pale face before her. " Go and have a rest 
 now, you must be so tired after your day's travelling." 
 
 " Tired ! I am always tired," and Violet heaved
 
 A Chance Meeting. 109 
 
 a weary sigh. " But I shall only rest here ; it is 
 better that I should be up when Lionel comes in. 
 Do stay a little longer," she added, piteously, " the 
 evenings seem so long ; they never were when my 
 little darling was with me, for when I hadn't friends 
 I always sat in the nursery. I loved to watch my 
 baby boy he never looked prettier than when he 
 was asleep ; and then I used to make his pretty 
 things his little frocks and pinafores ; but now all 
 my interest in life is gone ; I have nothing left to 
 look forward to " and burying her face in her hands 
 Violet burst into a paroxysm of tears. 
 
 Edith let Violet cry in silence, for she knew it 
 was better the long pent-up emotion should find 
 an outlet, but when the sobs became less convulsive 
 she whispered 
 
 " Violet, dear, I am so very, very sorry for you. 
 I know by the love I bear my own little ones 
 how terribly hard it must have been for you to 
 give up your darling ; but he is safe at home now 
 in the arms of the Good Shepherd." 
 
 " Don't talk religion to me, Edith, it gives me 
 no comfort how I wish it did ! How I wish I had 
 strong faith like you, and could picture my darling 
 happy happy and look forward to meeting him 
 one day again ! Life would become peaceful then, 
 if not happy. But I cannot raise my thoughts to 
 things above ; my heart is so dead so cold. I am 
 a different being from the girl that knelt with you
 
 no To the End. 
 
 at St. Magna's when we were confirmed together. 
 I did then realize something about heaven and 
 things unseen, but now I cannot I cannot. I care 
 
 O ' 
 
 only for what I can see, and handle, and touch. 
 It is my fault, I know my fault entirely. I 
 quenched the light that was glimmering within 
 me, and chose earth and its unsatisfying pleasures 
 for my portion, and now I cannot raise my heart 
 above it." 
 
 " God can, though, dear Violet," said Edith ; 
 "perhaps with your little Lionel's hands He is 
 beckoning you once more heavenwards." 
 
 " Oh, that I could believe it ! Oh, that I could 
 believe it ! " said poor, weary Violet, as she bent 
 her head on her clasped hands. " In my dreams 
 I see my little Lion ; but there is always a wide 
 gulf between us, and in stretching across to grasp 
 my darling I wake wake with e-mpty hands. 
 Pray for me, Edith ; pray that this may not be a 
 foreshadowing of the future. I cannot pray for 
 myself. I once prayed earnestly enough, but it was 
 for wealth, and position, and pleasure. God has 
 granted me my request, but sent leanness into my 
 soul." 
 
 Despite the early hour at which Lawrence and 
 Edith started the next morning, Violet was down 
 to say good-bye to them, and her last-whispered 
 words were, " Edith, pray for me pray for me ! "
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A SAD RETURN. 
 
 NOTHER year had rolled away, and 
 autumn had touched the woods around 
 the Home Farm with its red and golden 
 fingers the apples were hanging russet 
 on the boughs, and the pears seemed to invite you 
 to pick them. 
 
 A happy party were gathered in the orchard, 
 where the work of despoiling the heavily-laden 
 trees was going busily on, Tom Trueman's sun- 
 burnt hands gathering quickly the golden fruit, 
 while Robin (a most picturesque figure in his sun- 
 hat) stood with a basket below ready to receive 
 them. Bertie Wilmot too was perched on the 
 topmost branches, doing his best to shake the 
 yellow pippins into the outstretched aprons of 
 Daisy, Pansy, and another little flaxen-haired 
 maiden who were capering wildly beneath. 
 
 Mrs. Muir was busy pouring out the tea which
 
 ii2 To the End. 
 
 old Elspeth had just brought out, and Ruth with 
 her sweet gray eyes was gazing smilingly at the 
 children. 
 
 "How little Eva is enjoying herself! this is a 
 novel experience for her." 
 
 " Wee lambie, her cheeks are getting quite sun- 
 burnt. I wish her father could see her." 
 
 Eva Muir was Mrs. Muir's niece by marriage ; 
 her father, like her uncle, being a medical mission- 
 ary in Africa ; but since the death of her mother, 
 Mrs. Muir had taken charge of her. 
 
 Round the winsome loving litt'e Eva the tendrils 
 of Ruth's heart soon twined themselves, and her 
 invalid life was indeed brightened by the presence 
 of the little child. Her education, too, Ruth had 
 begged to take charge of; and Mrs. Muir had 
 consented gladly, for she knew the occupation 
 would be good alike for pupil and teacher. 
 
 Just as tea was over, a figure was seen crossing 
 the lawn. It was Mr. Newton no one could 
 mistake that rapid, swinging gait and in an 
 instant the children were up and bounding off to 
 meet him. 
 
 With Eva on his shoulder, and Daisy and Pansy 
 in each hand, he was soon under the apple-trees, 
 and old Robin's puckered face broke into a smile, 
 and Tom Trueman's brown hands went the faster 
 for the presence and encouiagement of the Vicar.
 
 A Sad Return. 1 1 3 
 
 When the sun began to sink, though, and the 
 children had scampered off with Robin and Tom 
 to give the cows their supper, Mr. Newton pro- 
 duced a letter from his pocket, and drawing a 
 chair beside Mrs. Muir and Ruth, proceeded to 
 read it aloud. It was from Edith, unfolding a 
 plan that had long lain near her heart. 
 
 Would Ruth come up to London to see a far- 
 famed doctor? A similar case to hers (humanly 
 speaking) he had been the means of curing. 
 Lawrence and she \vere most anxious the effort 
 should be made, and w r ould give Ruth the warmest 
 welcome ; and if Mrs. Muir could not remain the 
 whole time, they would take every possible care of 
 her. Would Mr. Newton go to the Home Farm 
 and use his best powers of persuasion ? 
 
 Ruth's pretty colour came and went fitfully 
 during the reading of the letter. Like stars in the 
 summer's sky there had sprung up within her a 
 sweet hope. Was it oh, was it possible that she 
 was not always to remain an invalid ? But when 
 Mr. Newton had finished, she lay quite peacefully, 
 with hands crossed, gazing up at the white-flecked 
 sky. God had taken care of her in the past He 
 would in the future His will would be best for 
 her whether in sickness or prosperity. 
 
 " Well, Ruthie, dear, what is your answer ? " and 
 Mrs. Muir stroked fondly her niece's nutbrown hair 
 
 H
 
 H4 To the End. 
 
 " That you shall decide for me, dear auntie," and 
 the gray eyes shone with strange beauty. 
 
 "Then, dearest, we will go," and Mrs. Muir bent 
 and kissed her niece fondly. 
 
 " And may God's blessing go with you ! " said 
 Mr. Newton. 
 
 "Amen !" whispered Ruth and Mrs. Muir softly. 
 ***** 
 
 Christmas had come and gone, and Ruth's visit 
 to London was nearly over. It had more than 
 fulfilled her friends' highest anticipations ; through 
 God's mercy the treatment used had been so 
 blessed that by the autumn she hoped to walk 
 again, and with care the doctors averred she might 
 one day lead as active a life as her neighbours. 
 
 How Ruth's heart bounded with joy, and how 
 fervently she clasped her hands in praise, when 
 she heard this verdict, who shall say ? God was 
 holding out to her the prospect of renewed health 
 and strength by His grace the life thus restored 
 should be dedicated more than ever to His glory. 
 
 Leaning back in the firelight now, with Edith's 
 golden-haired little Marjorie in her arms, Ruth 
 made a pretty picture her cheeks rosy with re- 
 turning health, and her sweet eyes sparkling with 
 new vigour. 
 
 The nursery at this hour was her favourite 
 resort. Never was she tired of telling Marjorie
 
 A Sad Return. 1 1 5 
 
 and little Lawrence stories, or of watching Patience 
 bathe the baby. 
 
 It was a wild night, and every now and then, as 
 the rain dashed against the casements and the 
 wind howled in the chimney, Edith looked up 
 anxiously from her sewing. 
 
 " What a dreadful night to be out in ! how I 
 wish Lawrence would come in ! " 
 
 " I did hear a bell," said Ruth. 
 
 " Oh, but master always uses a latch-key," and 
 Patience looked up smilingly as she drew one of 
 baby's dimpled arms through the sleeve of his 
 little night-dress. 
 
 The years that had rolled over Patience's head 
 had dealt kindly with her ; she was a trifle stouter, 
 perhaps, but her face was as round and as ruddy 
 as when she had played in the lanes at St. Magna's. 
 To Edith she was invaluable always bright and 
 always to be relied on ; and busy as a clergyman's 
 wife's life must always be, Edith was thankful 
 to have such a mainstay to fall back upon. The 
 experience Patience had gained too in the care 
 of her little brothers and sisters was of great ser- 
 vice in the Vicarage nursery ; but her reign there 
 did not promise to be a long one, for a respectable 
 young carpenter at St. Magna's had discerned her 
 many virtues ; and one day when her mistress 
 could spare her she had promised to marry him. 
 
 H 2
 
 1 1 6 To the End. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The bell that Ruth's quick cars had heard was 
 such a faint one that it had to be pulled again ere 
 the parlour-maid, who was washing her crockery, 
 took her hands from the bowl, and proceeded 
 up-stairs to answer it. 
 
 " Is Mrs. Lawrence Newton at home ? " 
 
 The question was interrupted by fits of coughing, 
 and when it was done, the poor thing who had 
 asked it leant against the wall as though perfectly 
 exhausted. 
 
 " Yes, she is. I would be sorry if she were out 
 in such a night as this ; but come in, ma'am, will 
 you ? for the hats will be blowing into the road, 
 and my cap will be following them, I'm thinking," 
 and the parlour-maid as she spoke held on tightly 
 to her well-starched head-gear. 
 
 " It is a dreadful night," came between short 
 dry coughs. 
 
 " Dreadful, and one not fit for the likes of you to 
 be out in ; but come this way, and I'll tell the 
 mistress ; she's up-stairs in the nursery." 
 
 The parlour-maid as she spoke threw open the 
 study door, and drawing a chair forward poked the 
 fire into a blaze. 
 
 " Thank you," was all the poor woman could 
 ejaculate as she sank into the depths of the 
 proffered seat.
 
 A Sad Return. 1 1 7 
 
 " Shall I give any name ? " 
 
 "No no Mrs. Newton wouldn't know it; 
 just say please some one would like to speak 
 to her." 
 
 When the servant had gone, the stranger stretched 
 out her thin hands over the fire, as though it were 
 an unwonted luxury, and raising her thick veil 
 gazed wistfully round the apartment. How com- 
 fortable it all looked, to be sure the well-filled 
 book-shelves, the thick red curtains, the firelight 
 flickering on the wall, and the sound of the rain 
 pattering on the windows and the wind howling 
 up the chimney only made such a retreat seem the 
 cosier. 
 
 Through the half-open door too came the sound 
 of happy laughter, the snatches of the hymn that 
 Patience was singing her baby to sleep with, and 
 the sweet music of childish prattle. 
 
 The poor woman sighed heavily, and turning 
 once more to the fire, stretched her poor worn 
 fingers over it. 
 
 " Good evening," said Edith, as she pushed open 
 the study door. 
 
 " Good evening, ma'am," and the stranger rose 
 and curtseyed as she spoke, but she did not seem 
 to find any further words wherewith to explain her 
 visit. 
 
 " Are you one of our parishioners ? "
 
 ii8 To the End. 
 
 "No, ma'am, no" then burying her face in her 
 hands the poor woman burst into tears. 
 
 " You are in trouble," said Edith, gently ; " do 
 you mind telling me what it is perhaps I can help 
 you?" 
 
 No answer only sharp catches of the breath, and 
 a convulsive fit of coughing. 
 
 Edith stood by distressed, hardly knowing what 
 to suggest, then hearing the rattle of cups in the 
 next room, she said 
 
 " Lean back in your chair ; I will send you in a 
 cup of tea ; you will feel better after it, then 
 perhaps you will be able to talk to me." 
 
 " No, Miss Edith, no please don't trouble " 
 
 The mention of her maiden name and something 
 in the tones of the woman's voice caused Edith 
 to approach a step nearer. Surely she knew those 
 brown eyes, they seemed to speak to her out of 
 the past. 
 
 " You don't know me, miss ? " 
 
 " No, and yet and yet " 
 
 " Rose I was once Rose Wicks." 
 
 "Rose Wicks!" Edith was too much shocked 
 to hide her pained surprise. Could it be possible ? 
 Was it really true that this worn, faded creature, 
 this hollow-cheeked, emaciated woman was the 
 bright, the beautiful Rose that she had known 
 at St. Magna's ? " Rose, I am indeed sorry to see
 
 A Sad Return. 119 
 
 you looking so ill," and drawing a chair near to 
 her visitor, Edith took one of the thin hands in 
 hers. 
 
 The gentle touch and the sympathetic voice 
 completely broke down pocr Rose, and it was 
 some minutes before she could recover herself 
 sufficiently to tell her sad history. 
 
 When travelling as a maid on the continent she 
 had become engaged to a gentleman's valet who 
 was staying at the same hotel with herself. She 
 had believed him to be respectable, and he had 
 given her to understand that he had saved enough 
 for them to live on in comfort. After their marriage, 
 though, she had found all these representations 
 to be false ; and out of his situation as valet he 
 had been turned when it was discovered he had 
 obtained it through a false character. Lower and 
 lower they had sunk in the social scale, and latterly 
 her husband had been acting as billiard-marker 
 at a small tavern. He had taken to drinking and 
 gambling, though, and but little of his earnings did 
 Rose ever receive. Her twin babies had died 
 some months ago from want of proper food and 
 privation, and now her husband had left her. She 
 could obtain no clue to his whereabouts ; food had 
 not passed her lips for twenty-four hours ; and she 
 was absolutely without a penny. Terrible fits of 
 coughing interrupted this sad history, and when
 
 I2O To the End. 
 
 it was done, poor worn Rose leant back in her 
 chair with eyes closed, perfectly exhausted, and 
 Edith with a sorrowful face hurried away to fetch 
 her some supper. 
 
 Lawrence and Ruth were deeply distressed at 
 Edith's sad account of Rose, and fearful of over- 
 excitement they resolved not to see her until the 
 morning. Patience, though, could not be kept 
 back from her old friend, and it was Patience's 
 eager hands that lit the fire and made cosy the 
 little room next the nursery, and it was on Patience's 
 strong arm that poor Rose clambered the staircase 
 to it. 
 
 The next morning she was too ill to rise ; pains 
 like knives were darting through her chest, and 
 her cough was almost incessant. The doctor pro- 
 nounced it to be inflammation, induced no doubt 
 by the previous night's exposure. With care, he 
 said, she might weather it. But down-stairs he told 
 Edith that even if Rose got over this attack, her 
 days were numbered ; her lungs were extensively 
 diseased ; consumption had already marked her 
 for its victim. 
 
 In ten days Rose was able to sit up again, and 
 her one wish was to return to St. Magna's. 
 
 It was with a sad heart Edith took up her pen 
 to write to the old parents in the little cottage 
 under the tall elms, the cottage from which Rose
 
 A Sad Return. 121 
 
 was so eager to depart, and to which now she was 
 so anxious to return ; and almost irresistibly there 
 flashed across Edith's mind the remembrance of 
 the conversation which she and Rose had held 
 at the wicket-gate that summer evening now so 
 long ago. Could it be possible that the bright, the 
 beautiful girl who had then spoken so wilfully, was 
 the wan, faded invalid who, propped up with cushions 
 by the fire with a bright hectic spot in each cheek, 
 was now gasping for breath ? Ah, when will we learn 
 that God's choice for us is best that the lives that 
 He plans for us are far, far better than any that we 
 can map out for ourselves that His love is un- 
 fathomable that His wisdom is unerring that He 
 can safely be trusted to guide the sheep that follow 
 Him by the safest, the surest way home ? Poor 
 self-willed Rose, walking in the ways of her heart, 
 and in the sight of her eyes ! of these things she 
 was now reaping the bitter fruit. 
 
 Edith's two visitors returned together in the same 
 train to St. Magna's the patient invalid, Ruth, 
 who had taken up her cross of suffering and ac- 
 cepted God's will in it, to a life of new health and 
 vigour ; while the strong, ruddy, self-willed Rose 
 lay prostrate on the cushions opposite, with a face 
 white as the pillows against which she rested. 
 
 The pretty cottage beneath the elms, how peace- 
 ful it looked in the setting sun ! But the meeting
 
 122 To the End. 
 
 between Rose and her parents was a very sad one. 
 Mrs. Wicks threw her apron over her head and 
 went into loud hysterics, and though Mr. Wicks 
 controlled himself sufficiently to assist in carrying 
 his daughter to her old little room beneath the 
 eaves, his lips twitched with pain and his face 
 worked convulsively ; and when once more down- 
 stairs, he leant his head upon his hands, and through 
 his brown, horny fingers there trickled such tears 
 as only strong men weep, while with a voice that 
 was broken with emotion he murmured 
 
 " My pretty girl my pretty girl didn't I say as 
 Lunnon would be the ruin of ye ? Ye're going fast, 
 like your pretty aunt Jess ; we'll soon have to lay 
 ye beside her."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 CONFIRMATION BELLS. 
 
 EN changing years have come and gone, 
 and once more it is confirmation day 
 at St. Magna's. 
 
 The sky is just as blue and the sun 
 is shining just as brightly as it did the day Edith, 
 Ruth, Violet, Patience, and Rose were confirmed 
 together ; and Violet, as she steps into her carriage 
 at the Hall at Great St. Magna's, sighs regretfully 
 as she thinks of that bright spring morning. What 
 record have the twenty intervening years of her 
 life carried up of themselves to God ? Ah, surely, 
 surely, not as fair as might have been ! 
 
 Violet is a widow ; in solitary grandeur she reigns 
 at the Hall. Wealth, position, ease, independence 
 all the things she trusted life might yield her are 
 hers now, and yet she is not satisfied. Her poor 
 hungry heart is craving craving ; the food it re- 
 quires is love love to God and love to man.
 
 124 To the End. 
 
 Owing to illness Mr. Newton has had to give up his 
 pastoral duty, and Lawrence is now Vicar of St. 
 Magna's. Often and often Violet drives over to 
 spend an afternoon with Edith, though the Hall 
 seems stiller and emptier than ever after a visit to 
 the full and happy Vicarage. 
 
 Lawrence and Edith always hope, though, that 
 Violet's sorrows and loneliness will draw her 
 nearer to God, and that living to Him and her 
 neighbour, her life will not one day be a dull or 
 a sad one. 
 
 Ruth Hope is Ruth Hope no longer. Little Eva's 
 father came back invalided to the Home Farm 
 some two years after Ruth's visit to London, and 
 the quiet gentle girl to whom his child clung so 
 fondly soon made a deep impression upon him. 
 Mrs. Muir refused to part with her niece, though, 
 and Dr. Muir's health forbade him thinking of 
 returning to Africa again, so Ruth has not been 
 called upon to leave the home of her girlhood, nor 
 the aunt she loves so well. Dr. Muir still devotes 
 all the time and the energy (that his health will 
 permit) to the furtherance at home of the mission- 
 ary work which lies so near his heart, and Ruth 
 in this as in every other good work is a true 
 helpmeet to him. 
 
 Patience Trueman some five years past made 
 happy the honest carpenter who had waited for
 
 Confirmation Bells. 125 
 
 her so long, and her cottage is the neatest and 
 prettiest in St. Magna's ; in fact her husband thinks 
 that no man in England has a better wife, finer 
 children, and a happier home than he has. 
 
 And what of Rose Wicks ? Ah ! Rose pretty 
 Rose is sleeping beside her aunt in the cemetery 
 on the hill-side. What passed between her soul and 
 God during her last illness who can say ? Mr. and 
 Mrs. Newton, Mrs. Muir and Ruth, and the Miss 
 Scotts were her constant visitors, and she would 
 lie very still, with hands clasped, and a thoughtful 
 look in her beautiful bright eyes, while they read 
 and prayed with her ; but she never said much, 
 though they always hoped that in her weakness 
 and suffering she crept to the feet of her Saviour, 
 and that those outstretched arms of love, which 
 she had so long turned her back upon, were her 
 support in the shaded valley. 
 
 But oh ! it is a terrible risk to run, to leave the 
 all-important matter of making our peace with 
 God to the last hour of mortal weakness, when flesh 
 and heart are failing ; and it seems almost an insult 
 to offer to the Saviour, who has died for us, the 
 few remaining sands of a fast-ebbing life. 
 
 Edith was thinking of all these things of her 
 own past life of the lives of four girls who had been 
 confirmed with her, as, the bells pealing sweet and 
 clear, she crossed the Vicarage lawn. How vividly
 
 126 To the End. 
 
 her own confirmation rose up before her ! how 
 timidly she remembered she had sung the words 
 
 " O Jesus, I have promised 
 
 To serve Thee to the end ! " 
 
 And yet how graciously God's Hand had been 
 over her ; how tenderly God the Holy Spirit had 
 guided her in the days that were past ! Through all 
 the trials and temptations of the way He had pre- 
 served her to this hour, and with what earthly 
 blessings had He not crowned her ? And Edith's 
 eyes, as she walked up the aisle, wandered gratefully 
 to her husband's white-robed figure in the chancel, 
 to her little Marjorie in her confirmation dress, 
 kneeling, with hands clasped and a face of rapt 
 devotion, in the same pew where she herself had 
 knelt just twenty years before to the bevy of 
 bright boys and girls around her. 
 
 Truly her " barrel of meal had not wasted, her 
 cruse of oil had not failed." " Goodness and mercy 
 had followed her all the days of her life ; she would 
 dwell in the House of the Lord for ever." 
 
 " He that endureth to the end, the same shall be 
 saved," was the theme of the address. " But how are 
 you to endure to the end ? " asked the Bishop ; " your 
 hearts are so treacherous your passions are so 
 blinding your temptations are so strong. Well, you 
 must ask your Heavenly Father, Who has called
 
 Confirmation Bells. 127 
 
 you, to give you strength to overcome ; you must 
 seek from the Lord Jesus, Who has redeemed you, 
 for patience to persevere ; you must watch ; you 
 must pray ; you must fix your eyes, not on the 
 things which are seen and temporal, but on the 
 things which are unseen and eternal. Like Moses, 
 you must have respect unto the recompense of 
 the reward, esteeming the reproach of Christ greater 
 riches than the treasures of Egypt. You must 
 endure as seeing Him Who is invisible. Like 
 Timothy, you must endure hardness as good 
 soldiers of Jesus Christ's ; like the Blessed Master, 
 you must endure the Cross for the joy that is set 
 before you ; and thus pardoned, guided, sanctified, 
 kept faithful to the end, He will present you 
 faultless before the presence of His glory with 
 exceeding joy. You shall see His face ; you will 
 walk with Him in white ; for for His dear sake God 
 will account you worthy ; you shall eat of the tree 
 of life that is in the midst of the Paradise of God." 
 
 " He that shall endure unto the end, the same 
 shall be saved." " Be thou faithful unto death, and 
 I will give thee a crown of life." 
 
 The sun that shone so brightly through the 
 church windows of St. Magna's rested for a minute 
 on Violet's bowed head, gleamed among Ruth's 
 auburn hair, lit up Patience's honest face, and 
 tinted Edith's sweet eyes as once more she sang
 
 128 To the End. 
 
 " O Jesus, Thou hast promised 
 
 To all who follow Thee, 
 That where Thou art in glory, 
 
 There shalt thy servant be ; 
 And, Jesus, I have promised 
 
 To serve Thee to the end ; 
 O give me grace to follow 
 
 My Master and my Friend. 
 
 O let me see Thy footmarks, 
 
 And in them plant mine own : 
 My hope to follow duly 
 
 Is in Thy strength alone. 
 O guide me, call me, draw me, 
 
 Uphold me to the end ; 
 And then in Heaven receive me, 
 
 My Saviour and my Friend." 
 
 THE END.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 
 1* 
 
 ^&>^j* *^j^^^^^^^A>-^^/r^!j% 
 
 THT^ J.*"7?A'RY 
 
 UNlVEItt (,-;. c LIFORNIA 
 * I LOS ANGELES
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 PZ7 
 
 "lorHnn - 
 
 G63t To the end 
 
 AA 000481416 6 
 
 ^^1 
 
 2s.*r* ;<# 
 
 # %L .< _ * & & ixL ji .. 
 
 %*a8Lr 
 
 jr&pjf.-