N HP a 
 
 ^//t+tZtjCtt 
 
 f^£t^C^> 
 
 /fjy 
 
-X I B RAHY 
 
 OF THE 
 UN IVLRSITY 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 
 VA72,5e 
 
 v.l 
 
ETHEL WOODVILLE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 WOMAN'S MINISTRY. 
 
ETHEL WOODYILLE ; 
 
 WOMAN'S MINISTEY. 
 
 % f ale for \\t Wcmts. 
 
 1 La speme de' malvagi 
 Svanisce in un momento, 
 Come spuma in tempesta, o fumo al vento. 
 Ma de' giusti la speme 
 Mai non cangia sembianza ; 
 Ed e 1' istesso Dio la lor speranza." — Metastasio. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HATCHAPJ) AND CO. 187 PICCADILLY. 
 
 MDCCCLIX. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 Printed by G. Barclay, Castle St. Leicester Sq. 
 
f*3 
 
 H7JSa 
 v.l 
 
 ETHEL; 
 
 4. 
 
 WOMAN'S MINISTRY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 4ft 
 
 " May He who erst on Calvary bled, 
 
 With all His love, my daughter, bless thee ; 
 Soft dews of mercy o'er thee shed, 
 
 Sustain thy soul when woes oppress thee ; 
 May His unfading rays illume 
 Life's wilderness of guilt and gloom, 
 Thy star of hope, thy rock of faith, 
 Thy light in darkness, life in death." — Dale. 
 
 " How full of dread, how full of hope, loometh inevitable 
 death : of dread, for all have sinned ; of hope, for One hath 
 saved. Pass along, pilgrim of life, go to thy grave unfearing ; 
 the terrors are but shadows now that haunt the vale of death." 
 — Maetin Tuppee. 
 
 The last golden rays of the winter sun were shining 
 brightly into a dingy-looking though well-furnished, 
 apartment, in a house in the outskirts of the large 
 manufacturing town of Carysford, illuminating for a 
 moment the pale face of a lady, who was reclining on 
 couch near the window. Kneeling at her side was 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 a young girl of about seventeen years of age, whose 
 likeness to the invalid left no doubt as to the relation- 
 ship between them. Her looks spoke, more than words, 
 the anguish of her heart, and tears were fast gather- 
 ing in her dark eyes as she contemplated the wasted 
 form of her dying mother. In one hand she still held 
 the Bible, from which she had recently been reading, 
 and her figure marked the words of holy comfort: 
 " He will be our guide, even unto death." (Ps. xlviii. 
 14.) It was over this passage she was pondering, 
 trying to realise its comfort for her who was fast 
 hastening homeward, and for herself, who would so 
 soon be left to tread the desert of life without her 
 mother. Mrs. Woodville perceived her emotion, and 
 laying her thin hand on her daughter's head said, 
 soothingly : — 
 
 " Ethel, my precious child ! you are grieving for 
 me. Why is this, dearest ? Do you fear to lose 
 me ? Will not our blessed Saviour supply all your 
 need ? Can He not be all in all to you ? To me, 
 my child, death will be gain, indeed ! Oh, how sweet 
 to rest for ever in heaven ! " 
 
 Fondly she stroked her daughter's hair, while she 
 allowed Ethel's tears to flow unrestrainedly for a few 
 moments, until she grew calmer, and then the mother 
 spoke again : — 
 
 " We are not likely to be interrupted this after- 
 noon, and so I will speak of a few things connected 
 with my past life, which it is better now you should 
 know, both as a warning to yourself, and as enabling 
 you to realise more fully how mercifully my heavenly 
 Father is dealing with me, and how calmly, through 
 the Saviour's merits, I can meet death. The verse 
 you have just read to me has often been present to my 
 mind, and God has, indeed, been a guide to me through 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 3 
 
 many bitter trials, and has sweetened, and I trust 
 sanctified, them to me. I thank God he has given me 
 this blessed assurance, that I shall die with the hope 
 that one of my children is ' rooted and built up in the 
 faith ;' and I trust, though it may not be permitted 
 tome to see here any 'further fruits of my fervent 
 prayers for you all, that hereafter it may be granted 
 me to meet my husband and children in heaven." 
 
 Mrs. Woodville paused, and her voice faltered as 
 she thought how far off seemed the fulfilment of the 
 promise, " Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, I will 
 do it." 
 
 " God will hear and answer your prayers, my 
 mother, for he has promised, and his word cannot fail," 
 exclaimed Ethel, fervently. 
 
 " I know it ! I believe it, my child ! Oh, what a 
 happiness that you can realise it, too ! You have not 
 always trusted in it so securely. Even though I have 
 known you to be an earnest seeker after Christ, you 
 have not trusted Him so fully as I hoped," replied the 
 mother, as a solemn joyousness overspread her face. 
 
 " No ; my faith is, indeed, often very, very weak, 
 dear mamma. I cannot see clearly ; but then again 
 my faith revives, and I know and feel all ivill, all 
 must be well." 
 
 " Even so, my child. Live .near to Christ ; cling 
 closer to him, even to the ' shadow of the great rock,' 
 and he will give you more faith, more hope, and 
 lead you safely through this wilderness of care and 
 sorrow." 
 
 Very still and silent the parent and child sat to- 
 gether, until the darkening shades of evening warned 
 them that they could not be much longer alone, and 
 then the mother spoke again : — 
 
 " I had better not lose the present opportunity of 
 
4 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 speaking to you of my early life, Ethel ; I may never 
 have another." 
 
 Ethel drew closer to her mother's side, and with 
 their hands clasped in one another's Mrs. Woodville 
 began : — 
 
 " What I am now going to tell you I have never 
 breathed to any one before, and to none but yourself 
 I should ever wish to relate my unhappy experience. 
 When I was only your age I first met your father ; 
 he was then the handsomest and most fascinating 
 young man of my acquaintance, but I could not blind 
 myself to the fact, that he was ' a lover of pleasure 
 more than a lover of God.' My dear parents saw and 
 felt this, and would willingly have forbidden further 
 intimacy with him ; but their interference was too late, 
 my heart was given to your father, and I was resolved, 
 at whatever risk, to become his wife. In vain my dear 
 parents represented the sinfulness of my conduct in 
 uniting myself with an unbeliever, and told me that, if 
 I persisted in doing so, I could never expect the bless- 
 ing of God upon my marriage. My resolution was 
 formed. I stifled conscience, and soon after gave my 
 hand to the chosen of my heart. Oh ! how I now feel 
 the truth of my parents' words ! Years of deep, heart- 
 felt repentance, have I endured for my forgetfulness of 
 God. And truly, as they told me, God's blessing has 
 not rested on our union." A few tears fell from Mrs. 
 Woodville's eyes as she spoke, but were quickly 
 checked, and she proceeded : — 
 
 "At first, all was joy and happiness — sunshine 
 without a cloud. But ever remember, dear Ethel, a 
 cloudless sky is seldom the best for us. It is the 
 showers and storms of life which force us to fly to the 
 Rock of Ages for shelter : thus it has been with me. 
 Soon heavy clouds gathered on the horizon of my life, 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 5 
 
 and the tempest seems to have since raged almost un- 
 ceasingly. But I do not desire to complain : all has 
 been ordered for my good. My trials have drawn me 
 nearer to the Saviour. My punishment has not been 
 equal to my sin. 
 
 "After Laura was born your father's passionate 
 affection ceased, and his indifference to religion ap- 
 peared more prominently. Then, indeed, I felt alone ; 
 for though I could not at that time consider myself an 
 established Christian, I had most earnest desires to be 
 one, and to bring up our children as such, and I had 
 vainly hoped to lead your father also in the right way. 
 Alas ! how many young girls have hoped this, be- 
 lieving fondly they can turn and mould the heart of their 
 husbands as they will ; but how seldom is this the case ! 
 and God, in his wisdom, has seen fit to punish me by 
 the denial of what would have been my greatest 
 earthly happiness. Oh, Ethel, I must make you pro- 
 mise me one thing before I die : my bitter experience 
 testifies to the need of such an assurance," — and Mrs. 
 Woodville, earnestly clasped her child's hand; — " it 
 is, that you will never allow yourself to be entangled in 
 an unhallowed union ; never marry a man who cannot 
 share with you in your anxiety to love and serve God. 
 Do not depend upon an apparently good desire to enter 
 into your religious feelings. You must have decided 
 proof that it is not merely a passing wish produced by 
 affection for yourself. Never put an idol between 
 you and your God. See that He possesses all your 
 best affections, and be ready to give up every earthly 
 tie sooner than risk your eternal salvation. And if 
 God is ever first in your heart, you will avoid the snare 
 into which 1 fell. Promise me this, dear Ethel ; it 
 will be both a comfort and relief to me," said Mrs. 
 Woodville, anxiously. 
 
6 ETHEL; OK, 
 
 " I will, dear mamma. Most solemnly do I pro- 
 mise you that, with God's help, I will endeavour to 
 follow your advice," replied Ethel, in a low firm voice. 
 
 " God bless you, my child, for this assurance! 
 You may, and indeed probably will be, brought into 
 trying scenes, for you are young and inexperienced. 
 The world, with all its attractions, lies before you, 
 and your father will only be too eager to take you 
 and Laura into a round of gaiety, where you may 
 meet with much temptation to act as I have done. 
 Let your mother's sad experience teach you the evils 
 of an unhallowed marriage. 
 
 " But I must proceed. When, after the first de- 
 lirium of married life was over, and your father found 
 how earnestly I desired to be a Christian, he only grew 
 more careless and indifferent. I do not wish, my 
 child, in telling you all this, to make you feel dis- 
 respectfully towards your father — far from that: 
 rather feel for and love him the more ; and above all, 
 let your fervent prayers ascend to the throne of grace, 
 as mine have ever done, that in God's good time he 
 may be led to the Saviour. I wish you to strive to 
 please him in all you can, but without violating your 
 duty to God. I feel that I have often yielded where I 
 ought not, in order to please him. Yes, Ethel, 
 you little know all. I have had a hard battle to 
 fight, striving to walk consistently as a Christian, and 
 yet without offence to my husband, but I mourn 
 over my shortcomings ; I wish I had not foolishly 
 and wickedly yielded, as I often have done. Your 
 life may resemble mine ; but I trust you will never 
 have the guilty consciousness of having been the 
 author of all your difficulties. Ever remember, in all 
 your trials, to ' cast your burden upon the Lord, and 
 he shall sustain you.' 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 7 
 
 " There is another thing I would also impress on 
 you, dear Ethel, and in which I feel myself to have 
 been very deficient. Never lose an opportunity of 
 speaking a word in season. What would I now give 
 to recall my lost opportunities ! but they are gone for 
 ever, and you must take warning by me. Pray more 
 for the Holy Spirit ; there is no teacher like Him. I 
 have often resisted His holy impulses, and given way 
 under provocations and temptations to irritability, and 
 lost the influence I might otherwise have gained by 
 gentleness and forbearance. Particularly beware of 
 this, Ethel, because you are naturally of a quick and 
 haughty temper. Remember, Christians should be 
 meek and gentle, as their blessed Master was ; ' slow 
 to anger,' 'burning and shining lights' in their day 
 and generation, giving, by their walk and conversation, 
 an evidence whereby men may 'take knowledge of 
 them that they have been with Jesus.' 
 
 " Study well the fruits of the Spirit, and try your- 
 self by them, and see how far your daily life proves 
 you are under His blessed influence : the oftener you 
 do this, the more you will feel your need of His assist- 
 ance. Oh, how I have mourned over my sins of omis- 
 sion and commission, since I have been laid on this bed 
 of sickness ! the nearer I approach the grave, the more 
 awful do they appear." 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! if you feel this so deeply, what 
 must I do when I think of all my transgressions, all 
 my impatience and waywardness ? And when did I 
 ever see you give way to such temptation ?" ex- 
 claimed Ethel. 
 
 " Alas ! my dear child, you little know all my 
 errors and impatience. If I have, before my children, 
 been able to restrain my feelings, I am thankful. 
 But in private with your father, he has indeed often 
 
8 ETHEL ; OK, 
 
 had reason to reproach me with my want of Christian 
 forbearance. One great matter of dispute between us 
 has been the bringing up of our children. Bitter has 
 been my agony to see you all trained to live only for 
 the world, but I feel it has been the just punish- 
 ment for my sin. You see the effect this has had 
 upon Laura, how eagerly she looks only to gaiety and 
 frivolity for happiness and peace ; but in you, dear 
 Ethel, I trust my prayers have been answered ; and 
 I have hope, ere I die, that at least one of my children 
 is safe in Christ." 
 
 Mrs. Woodville paused a moment, and then con- 
 tinued earnestly: — "I must give you another solemn 
 charge. When I am gone you must take care of 
 Minnie. You must supply her mother's place. Guard 
 her from the pollutions of the world. You have good 
 ground to work upon. Teach her to love her Saviour. 
 Speak to her sometimes of me, and tell her how I loved 
 her and prayed that she might become one of the 
 lambs of her Saviour's flock. Do not let her forget me, 
 though I may soon pass from the recollection of 
 others." 
 
 Tears came into Mrs. Woodville's eyes as she 
 thought of the lost affections of him who had promised 
 to love and cherish her all his life. Ethel was about 
 to reply when the door opened, and a light, fairy-like 
 figure, glided in and approached Mrs. Woodville's 
 couch. 
 
 "Well, mamma" (for this was Laura, the eldest 
 daughter), " are you better since dinner ?" and with- 
 out waiting for a reply, she began to speak of other 
 things but ill suited to the solemn feelings of her 
 mother and sister. At length Mrs. Woodville closed 
 her eyes in weariness ; and Ethel, perceiving how 
 much her mother needed rest, proposed to Laura that 
 
woman's ministry. 9 
 
 they should cease talking whilst their mother tried to 
 sleep. Laura rather unwillingly consented, and shortly 
 after left the apartment. 
 
 And here we may give the reader a little further 
 insight into the history of the Woodvilles. Mr. Wood- 
 ville was a lawyer in Carysford, and might have been 
 comparatively rich, for he was a shrewd man of busi- 
 ness, had not his selfish extravagances considerably 
 lessened his property. He was a stern, hard man of 
 the world in his family, and as his wife truly said, 
 " she had had a hard battle to fight." Her life had 
 been for many years one continual act of hardship 
 and self-denial. She had been the mother of a large 
 family of children, five of whom had safely passed 
 through the waves of this troublesome world, and 
 were for ever safe and blessed. Four now remained : 
 Laura and Ethel, who had but just entered upon 
 the age of womanhood ; Henry, who was still a 
 boy at school; and little Marion (or Minnie, as she 
 was generally called), a light-hearted, merry child, 
 little more than three years old. The many troubles 
 brought on by over-exertion and successive unkind- 
 ness, coldness, and contradiction from her husband, 
 gradually threw Mrs. Woodville into a decline, and her 
 life was now fast ebbing away ; though all the family 
 shut their eyes to the fact except Ethel. For some 
 months she had known that the case was hopeless, and 
 was acquainted with all the workings of that insidious 
 disease. Mr. Woodville thought he had done all he 
 could, and all that could possibly be, expected from 
 him. He procured good medical attendance ; allowed 
 his wife any delicacy she fancied ; came in the morn- 
 ing before leaving for his office to inquire how she 
 had passed the night, in a very formal, gentlemanly 
 manner ; occasionally pressed his lips in a cold, heart- 
 
10 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 less kiss on her marble -like forehead ; smiled blandly, 
 as he displayed his fine teeth, and if his wife said 
 she was worse, assured her she looked better, and 
 would soon be quite well — said she must not give 
 way to foolish fancies ; on his return in the even- 
 ing acted the same way, and invariably quitted his 
 wife's sick-room with the feeling of how good a hus- 
 band he was, and how thankful Mrs. Woodville ought 
 to be that she possessed such a treasure. He little 
 knew the hours of anguish his wife spent in thinking 
 of him, and how often, when her mild dark eye was 
 raised to his face, she longed in that sorrowing look to 
 convey what she so earnestly desired to express, that 
 she would give the whole world to feel he really loved 
 her, or had any sympathy with her soul's desire that 
 he would make God his friend. But Mr. Woodville 
 never thought of this. His wife's views were to him 
 as an idle dream. He knew not, nor desired to know, 
 the source from whence had sprung her gentle for- 
 bearance, and ever ready help to him in difficulty. 
 
 On the evening of the day on which Mrs. Wood- 
 ville had been speaking to Ethel, Mr. Woodville 
 returned home rather later than usual. When he 
 entered her room, after his usually polite inquiry, 
 he was about immediately to wish her good-night, 
 when his hand was detained by his wife, who said, 
 in a faint voice, " Charles, do stay with me a few 
 minutes ; I have something I wish to say to you." 
 
 Her earnest, pleading look, and altered appearance, 
 for the moment rather softened him ; then he replied 
 hastily: "Very well, my dear, I am willing to listen 
 to you. I was going to have tea ; but as you particu- 
 larly request it, I will remain." And he re-seated 
 himself with great complacency by her side, and 
 awaited her speaking. Ethel, who had been standing 
 
woman's ministry. 1 1 
 
 by her mother, now withdrew, noiselessly closing the 
 door after her. A short pause ensued, for Mrs. Wood- 
 ville's voice failed her ; at length, seeing signs of im- 
 patience in her husband, she spoke : — 
 
 " Charles, I know you have long shut your eyes to 
 my danger, but I can hardly believe you are really 
 still unaware how fast I am sinking." 
 
 " Oh, no, my dear Margaret, you are nervous ; 
 when spring comes, and we can take you away into 
 the country, all will come right. Besides, you have 
 the best medical attendance possible. You must not 
 give way to such morbid feelings, they do you harm." 
 
 " It is no fancy, Charles, now. I am dying ; a few 
 short weeks, even days or hours, may close my earthly 
 career. My disease is past the cure of man, and the 
 doctors have long known it, though they have not liked 
 to say so to any one except myself, and then only be- 
 cause they saw I knew what the end must be. I 
 have avoided speaking on this subject to you, but my 
 strength fails so rapidly I cannot hesitate longer. 
 Will you grant me one request before I die?" 
 
 "And what is it, Margaret?" Mr. Woodville re- 
 plied, startled by his wife's words, though by no means- 
 convinced of the truth of what she said. 
 
 " There are several things I should like to men- 
 tion : first, I ought to ask you to forgive me for all 
 wherein I have failed in my duty to you. We have 
 not walked together through life as we should have 
 done. I committed a grievous sin towards you, and 
 violated my duty to God, by uniting myself to you. 
 No happiness could be the result, for ' how can two 
 walk together except they be agreed ? ' For years I 
 have mourned that we did not love the same God, 
 Charles ; and many and fervent have been the prayers 
 I have offered to Him, that you might be led to see 
 
12 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 the error you were in. And will you not now promise 
 me, now that I am dying, that you will seek the God 
 you have so long rejected?" Mrs. Woodville said gently. 
 
 " You mean well, my dear, no. doubt ; but if you 
 knew it was a sin to marry me, you ought not to have 
 done it," Mr. Woodville replied coldly. 
 
 " Oh ! I feel, I know it. But you know, Charles, 
 how I loved you, and how you loved me then, and I 
 made you my idol ; and thus I was blinded to a sense 
 of my duty, so overwhelming, so absorbing was the 
 affection I bore you." 
 
 " And you have lost all that love for me now, of 
 course ! Yes, I have long seen we were unsuited to 
 one another. But it cannot be helped now, Margaret ; 
 I forgive it," was the heartless reply. 
 
 " You mistake me, Charles ; I do love you still, 
 deeply, truly: how could I ever cease to love you? 
 But you know all that has passed between us. I 
 do not wish to reproach you, only do not judge me 
 harshly, now in my dying hour." 
 
 " What do you mean, my dear ? " replied Mr. 
 Woodville, somewhat angrily. 
 
 Mrs. Woodville sighed deeply. He was feigning 
 ignorance, she knew, and it grieved her to see his 
 indifference. He waited for her reply, but none came, 
 and at length he rose ; but as he turned to wish her 
 good-night, he could not help noticing the startling 
 look on her face. He now perceived the truth of her 
 words ; she was going to die : death was stamped on 
 that sad, worn face ; that hectic flush, almost purple 
 in its dye, those wasted hands, and the extreme 
 weakness of the whole frame, struck him forcibly, 
 and for a moment his conscience smote him for all 
 his unkind treatment towards his dying wife. 
 
 " Perhaps we have not always acted as we ought 
 
woman's ministry. 13 
 
 to have done towards one another, my dear, but let 
 the past be forgotten," he said, gently. 
 
 Mrs. Woodville's eyes unclosed again, and a faint 
 ray of happiness beamed on her face. 
 
 " And you will forgive me?" she murmured. 
 
 " Forgive you ! yes ; for, in fact, my love, I really 
 do not precisely know what you have done that needs 
 forgiveness, except marrying me, and you certainly 
 loved me then : so I suppose you could not help it. 
 Pray don't distress yourself further. There was 
 something else you wished to ask me, I believe ? " 
 
 " Indeed there is ! " replied Mrs. Woodville, rousing 
 herself to speak once more. " When I am gone, you 
 will allow Ethel to have the entire charge of Minnie ; 
 she will follow out my plans for her, I am assured. 
 And, oh, Charles ! promise me you will not raise im- 
 pediments in the way of any of our children fulfilling 
 their religious duties. I ask this especially in re- 
 ference to Ethel, for of her only I can speak with 
 hope at present." 
 
 " I have no objection to Ethel having the charge 
 of Minnie, provided she does not fill the child's head 
 with all manner of cant and absurdity. I quite agree 
 as to Ethel's fitness for the charge in all other re- 
 spects. As for the other children, I really do not see 
 how you can expect me to promise you, if you mean 
 by ' impediments,' allowing them to partake of a few 
 pleasures ; it is what I do myself, and see no harm 
 in it : therefore, I cannot promise to hinder the chil- 
 dren from doing the same. I will not compel them 
 to be always in society, as you seem to apprehend. 
 Ethel may do as she pleases, having already chosen 
 her own course, only she will have to avoid obtruding 
 her Methodism upon me ; for you are aware, my dear, 
 these things are not in my way." 
 
14 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 Mr. Woodville spoke coldly, and his wife saw little 
 hope of leading him to think differently. 
 
 " And will you never think of these things ?" she 
 asked, faintly. 
 
 " Sometime, perhaps. Time enough yet." 
 
 "So Felix thought," half murmured Mrs. Wood- 
 ville, tears falling down her thin face. 
 
 Mr. Woodville was a little softened ; he felt his 
 wife was dying: but even that thought could not make 
 him resolve to begin, for her sake, a new life. But 
 his answer was quickly spoken : — 
 
 "Ido not think I could be religious if I tried — at 
 least, not now. I have too much business on hand. 
 By and by I may have more leisure, and then I may 
 attend to it." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Woodville! it was, indeed, a bitter trial 
 to hear her husband speak in this manner. All her 
 earthly hopes seemed crushed — her heart broken ! 
 She could not speak again : her feelings were too deep 
 for utterance. Her husband stooped to give her his 
 usual cold kiss, and then hurried away. 
 
 Silently she clasped her hands, and though no 
 words were heard, she poured out, in the bitterness of 
 her soul, the sorrow that oppressed her ; and, oh, how 
 fervently did her heart testify to the overpowering 
 desire which she had that her husband and children 
 might be among the number of those hereafter who 
 should be on the right hand of God, when he cometh 
 to judge the earth. 
 
 From this hour Mrs. Woodville's strength rapidly 
 sunk; the anguish she had endured had been too much 
 for her already exhausted frame. 
 
 For the next few days she seemed in a sort of 
 dreamy unconsciousness to all around her, except when 
 Ethel read words of hope and comfort from holy 
 
woman's ministry. 15 
 
 writ, and then a faint smile illumined her face, and a 
 heavenly peace seemed to steal over it, as if to show 
 that even these severe afflictions did not disturb her 
 own simple faith and trust. 
 
 Mr. Woodville made his wife's lethargy an excuse 
 for absenting himself from her room during the week 
 that followed, for he dreaded a renewal of their last 
 conversation. He had not been without pangs of 
 conscience during the time ; but though convicted, 
 he was far from really sensible of all his cruel treat- 
 ment. His affection for her had nearly passed away ; 
 her pure, holy life, and unsullied example, had been a 
 continued reproof to him in his own evil career, and 
 had made him steel his heart against her only the 
 more : so that for years, while they lived together ap- 
 parently on good terms, Mrs. Woodville had borne in 
 private his cold, harsh conduct. In vain she had 
 striven to forget her own blighted hopes, and by every 
 concession in her power to regain his affections : she 
 had only in return been ridiculed, oppressed, and 
 slighted. Mr. Woodville was determined to continue 
 the evil practices in which his wife knew but too 
 well he indulged ; and unless she had surrendered her 
 own religious principles, no unity could subsist between 
 them. 
 
 At length Mrs. Woodville had ceased to oppose him, 
 but only the more fervently did she pray that God 
 would, in his abundant mercy, look on and rescue 
 her husband from the downward path he was bent on 
 pursuing. To the world, Mr. and Mrs. Woodville 
 appeared attentive and attached to each other, and 
 many (who knew not the difference between their 
 characters) esteemed both alike ; few guessed the 
 broken heart which was hid beneath the calm exterior 
 of Mrs. Woodville. or knew the violent passions which 
 
16 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 often raged so furiously in her husband: for Mr. 
 Woodville was a polished man of the world, and no 
 prominent vice had then marred his public character, 
 and the world seldom looks beyond that. 
 
 About a week passed by after the conversation 
 previously related, and Mr. Woodville again stood by 
 the bed-side of his dying wife, and inquired in a low 
 voice of the ever-watchful Ethel how her mother had 
 been all day. Ethel could only with tearful eyes give 
 a worse account than usual, and then her mother 
 seemed to awake from her long dreamy repose. She 
 smiled faintly when she saw her husband, and seemed 
 glad to have him near her ; and for once Mr. Wood- 
 ville resolved to give up an hour of his time to her, 
 for he saw how rapidly death was approaching. 
 
 " Ethel, bring my tea up here ; I will stay with 
 your mother for the present." Silently Ethel obeyed, 
 only too glad to see the joy that lighted up her 
 mother's face. 
 
 " How long you have been, Thella ! I cannot do 
 my exercise without you," exclaimed Harry, as Ethel 
 entered the dining-room. He was sitting in a recess 
 in the window, running his fingers through his hair 
 in great perplexity, while he surveyed with dismay 
 his Latin and Greek books, and believed himself un- 
 able to construe a single sentence without Ethel. 
 
 " I will try to give you a few minutes shortly ; 
 but I must carry up papa's tea first," said Ethel, 
 taking the tea-pot from the hands of the servant, and 
 putting the tea in. 
 
 " Why cannot Laura do that ? I declare, Laura, 
 you are perfectly useless ; you do nothing but read 
 novels or work those bits of collars all day. Ethel has 
 to do everything, and sit up at night as well." 
 
 Laura was sitting with her feet on the fender 
 
woman's ministry. 1 7 
 
 reading, and an angry frown appeared on her face as 
 Harry spoke. 
 
 " Why do you seek to add to Ethel's work, then, 
 by teasing her with your Latin exercises ? I am sure 
 I do my share in the house, and it is very imper- 
 tinent of you to speak to an elder sister in this 
 manner." 
 
 " You are like Charles the First, Laura : you have 
 too high an idea of your prerogative. I consider you 
 do nothing useful, and remind me of a nice chimney- 
 piece ornament, of no real use but to look pretty. I 
 wish you would either learn to look after the house or 
 to construe Latin, then you would be something like 
 Ethel." 
 
 Laura flushed angrily, and was about to reply, 
 when Ethel, who had been speaking about tea, turned 
 to Harry, and said : — 
 
 " Come, Harry, you are inattentive ; you have not 
 much time. Why are you not finding out the words 
 you do not know, that you may be ready for me ? 
 That first word, what is it ?" 
 
 " Oh, dear me ! 'Aquila, aquila :' I don't know." 
 
 " You ought to know : it is a word you have 
 often had. Where is the dictionary ? look for it." 
 
 Harry turned to his books again. 
 
 " Oh, Ethy, do mend my frock ; Laura won't ; 
 pease do," lisped a little voice ; and a lovely little 
 child ran up to Ethel. 
 
 " There, again ! Ethel is always to do everything," 
 exclaimed Harry, impatiently. 
 
 " Miss Hethel, James Wilson has come in wi' 
 t'eggs, and wants his money, and he's in an 'urry," 
 said the stout, homely-looking servant, who was the 
 privileged domestic of the family, having lived in it 
 ever since Mrs. Woodville's marriage. 
 
 vol. i. C 
 
18 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 " I will go and fetch the money. Laura, dear, do 
 mend Minnie's frock, while I take papa's tea up- 
 stairs," said Ethel. 
 
 " Sally, cannot you do it ? I have not any needles 
 left," said Laura, without moving. 
 
 " You're haulus without, I think, Miss Woodville," 
 exclaimed Sally, who, though a good and faithful 
 servant, was soon irritated by idleness and careless- 
 ness. 
 
 " Here's Miss Hethel's work-basket, needles is 
 haulus there. Now come here, child." 
 
 " I'm not a tild, Sally." 
 
 "What then, pray, Miss Minnie?" 
 
 " I'm a girl," replied little Minnie, pouting out her 
 rosy lips at the rough handling of Sally. 
 
 " Well, it's all t' same thing, I thinks," said Sally, 
 unceremoniously pulling the child nearer to her. 
 
 " I wis Ethy would come ; you hurt, Sally." 
 
 " Never mind ; stand still, that's a good girl." 
 
 Ethel just then returned with the money. 
 
 " Now, Sally, I can finish the frock. Come, 
 Minnie." 
 
 "No; just you get some tea: you look as white 
 as a sheet, Miss Hethel, wi' all this sitting up at 
 nights and anxiousness as you have. How 's t' missis, 
 please ? " 
 
 Ethel shook her head sadly. 
 
 " She is very much worse, I fear : I see a great 
 change this evening," Ethel replied. 
 
 "Did you say mamma was worse, Ethel?" in- 
 quired Harry. 
 
 "Yes ; very much so, I fear." 
 
 Harry threw down his books. " May I go and 
 see her ? " he inquired. 
 
 "Not just now; wait until papa has left her. 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 19 
 
 'She wished me to tell you and Laura to go after that. 
 Now if you will bring your books I can give you a 
 few minutes, while I get my tea." 
 
 " I cannot do anything now, Thella. Is mamma 
 very much worse ? Do you think she will die ? " 
 Harry inquired, anxiously. 
 
 "We must leave the event to God, Harry; but 
 I fear — oh ! I dare not hope ; for I feel we shall 
 soon have no mother." Ethel rested her head on 
 the table in bitter sorrow, while a burst of anguish 
 escaped her. 
 
 " Oh, my darling, gentle mother, I cannot bear 
 it ! " exclaimed Harry, scalding tears swelling to his 
 eyes, while he rushed hastily from the room. 
 
 During Ethel's absence a rapid change had passed 
 over Mrs. Woodville, which she could not fail to ob- 
 serve on her return. Laura rose also, much shocked 
 at what Ethel said, and drawing her handkerchief 
 from her pocket, buried her face in it, and wept vio- 
 lently, while Ethel in vain tried to calm her. At 
 length she rose and left the room, to weep unre- 
 strainedly elsewhere, for her grief was impulsive and 
 overwhelming for the time, although there was not 
 sufficient depth of feeling in her character to make it 
 of long duration. 
 
 "It's like strange how unprepared they all seem 
 to be for this, Miss Hethel," said Sally, as she broke 
 off the thread from Minnie's frock and released 
 her. 
 
 " Don't cry, dear sissy ; pease don't. If mamma 
 dies you know she will live with God, and never have 
 to lie in bed any more : will she ?" said Minnie, put- 
 ting her arms lovingly round Ethel's neck. 
 
 "Bless you, Miss Minnie! ye're right, my lamb. 
 You know like better nor any on us what your ma 
 
20 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 will gain i' the better country," said Sally, as she 
 raised her apron to her face to wipe her own tears 
 away. 
 
 Ethel pressed the little comforter to her heart, 
 and tried to be calm, that Minnie's blissful views of 
 death might not be dissipated in knowing the loss 
 they must all feel by the removal of their mother. 
 Soon after Minnie went to bed, and Ethel sought her 
 own room, knowing Laura and Harry were with 
 their mother, who was talking to them; and until 
 they left her she did not wish to return. In the 
 solitude of her own room she poured out her heart to 
 God, praying for strength and guidance in the dread- 
 ful trial which was, she saw, near at hand. Thus 
 engaged, time passed unheeded, and Ethel still knelt, 
 in the agony of her soul, beside her bed, praying ear- 
 nestly. The shades of night had closed around her, 
 but she knew it not ; a knock at her door at length 
 aroused her. Her father came to tell her her mother 
 seemed better, and that she must prepare for her night's 
 watch, as he was going to bed. Ethel rose imme- 
 diately, though almost stiff with the intense cold. 
 She trimmed her night-lamp, and wrapping herself in 
 a shawl, took her Bible, and returned to her mother's 
 room. Mr. Woodville was standing by his wife's 
 bed, and with his usual cold manner said, — "You 
 have kept me waiting, Ethel." And then, with an 
 air of irritability, wished his daughter good-night, 
 took up his candle, and left the room. Ethel placed 
 the lamp on a small table, shading its light from her 
 mother's face, who seemed now to be sleeping, mended 
 the fire, and then sat down to read. All was silent 
 within and without, save the occasional gusts of wind 
 and snow which made the windows shake sometimes. 
 A feeling of solemn sadness stole over Ethel, as if 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 21 
 
 she unconsciously realised the presence of death. She 
 tried to read, then to pray ; but she felt restless and 
 anxious, and frequently turned to look at her mother, 
 and who still slept, though her breathing seemed short 
 and irregular. At length Mrs. Woodville grew uneasy, 
 and wandered in her sleep, sometimes moaning and 
 sighing ; then incoherent entreaties to some one fell 
 from her lips ; and once or twice Ethel's own name 
 was mentioned, as her mother implored her to guard 
 Minnie, " poor little Minnie, from the snares of the 
 world." Ethel watched for some change until she 
 heard the hall clock strike one : she rose and stood by 
 the Avindow ; she could just distinguish that the snow 
 had been falling very heavily. She turned away, 
 and tried again to read, but tears blinded her eyes, 
 and she could not distinguish the words. 
 
 "Are you there, Ethel?" said her mother, in a 
 feeble voice. 
 
 " Yes, dear mamma. What will you like to have ? 
 anything besides your medicine ?" 
 
 " No, dear. Now tell me what time it is. " 
 
 " Just one o'clock." 
 
 " Will you read to me, clear ? " 
 
 Ethel complied, and repeated the latter part of the 
 fifteenth chapter of the 1st of Corinthians. Her voice 
 almost failed her as she read, " Death is swallowed 
 up in victory. O death, where is thy sting ? grave, 
 where is thy victory ? The sting of death is sin ; 
 and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to 
 God which giveth us the victory, through our Lord 
 Jesus Christ." 
 
 Mrs. Woodville's wasted hands were clasped as 
 she murmured, " Yes ! thanks be to Him who died 
 and rose again, the sting has been taken away. Dear 
 Ethel, you little know how I used to shrink from the 
 
22 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 idea of Death; to me he was, indeed, the king of 
 terrors ; and sometimes I prayed, that if it pleased 
 God he would grant me a lingering death-bed, that 
 I might look upon the idea gradually. He has 
 granted me that wish ; but oh, dear Ethel ! let it be 
 a warning to you in future : leave all these things to 
 God, for it matters little to the Christian how or 
 when his call may be, Christ can make the dark waters 
 of Jordan to have no terrors, and can give strength 
 to the feeblest Christian at any time. Leave all 
 these events in the hands of God, believing that he 
 knows what is best for us. I have had my prayer 
 answered, you see ; my death is a lingering one : for 
 years, I may say, I have seen what would be the 
 result of all I have suffered. I feel now that I have 
 sinned in praying for a lengthened illness." 
 
 Mrs. Woodville spoke in a low whisper and with 
 great difficulty, for shortness of breath almost deprived 
 her of utterance. Ethel gently raised her head with one 
 hand, and with the other poured out some medicine, 
 which she gave to her mother. Mrs. Wood ville's head 
 sunk somewhat heavily on Ethel's shoulder, and she 
 murmured faintly, " I thank you, dearest ; I shall rest 
 now." She sighed softly ; then her eyes closed. Her 
 thin hand fell powerless on the bed. For several 
 minutes Ethel continued in her painful position, sup- 
 porting her mother's head, imagining she slept. 
 
 At length the hand grew cold. She covered it 
 carefully, and remained some time longer, until she 
 felt the beloved form become stiff and rigid ; and then 
 the dreadful truth flashed upon her. This was death ! 
 a sleep that knows no waking on earth. The spirit 
 had fled gently to the bosom of its God, to obtain 
 that rest in heaven for which it had sighed on earth. 
 The blow was overwhelming to the sorrowful girl, 
 
woman's ministry. 23 
 
 when she really knew she was supporting the life- 
 less form of her parent. Come when or how it may, 
 Death is always unexpected. We may have seen his 
 arm uplifted, may have long apprehended, nay, even 
 watched for his stroke, and yet the actual blow 
 stuns us. Ethel knew her mother was dying, but 
 had not anticipated immediate or sudden dissolution ; 
 she had an undefined dread of a struggling last con- 
 flict, and shuddered at the thought of seeing her be- 
 loved parent suffer the distressing agony she had some- 
 times witnessed, when present during the last hours 
 of some of her poor neighbours. But here had been 
 no conflict ; it was all over. The dark waters of 
 Jordan had been calm and placid, and the pilgrim 
 had passed over without fear or danger. 
 
 Ethel could hardly realise that she was motherless. 
 The thought fell like lead upon her ; her strength gave 
 way for a few moments, and she sank down by the 
 bedside almost unconscious. Slowly she recovered 
 to the recollection of what had passed. The guide of 
 her childhood was gone. She would never again 
 hear her speak, never feel the soft pressure of her 
 hand, or meet the kind glance of her eye. " Oh, 
 mother, mother ! best beloved, dearest on earth ! I 
 am indeed alone, now!" she exclaimed. Then came 
 those moments of deep regret, which a loving child 
 must ever feel after the loss of a parent — remem- 
 brance of times when she had been undutiful, disobe- 
 dient ; times when she had been unwilling to do all 
 she might have done, and when, though perhaps unex- 
 pressed in words, she had thought her mother severe 
 and exacting, and performed her duty as an irksome 
 task. Recollections like these crowded thickly upon 
 her, and she would have given worlds to recall the 
 past. But it was too late now, and Ethel could only 
 
24 ETHEL ; OK, 
 
 mourn over her omissions and pray fervently that 
 God, her mother's God, would give her grace to do 
 all those things faithfully which her dying parent had 
 enjoined upon her. She seemed lost to all comfort 
 for a short time, and could only throw herself into a 
 chair, and sob in heart, yet without the relief of tears. 
 How often, in the first wild moments of grief, even 
 the Christian is apt to forget who sends affliction, and 
 that it is for His children's good ; for " whom the 
 Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son 
 whom he receiveth." 
 
 Ethel was so absorbed in her sorrow, that she 
 forgot to turn for comfort to Him who has said His 
 people shall never be alone. " I will not leave you 
 comfortless (or orphans), I will come to you." But 
 this faithlessness soon passed away and her wild grief 
 was stayed, and meekly bending beside the bed of 
 death, she prayed fervently for strength to bear this 
 heavy chastisement ; and a calm was given her ere 
 she rose from her knees. 
 
woman's ministry. 25 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " A parent's love ! We do not know 
 
 The blessing till 'tis fled; 
 I seem to love more fondly now, 
 
 My mother, now thou'rt dead. 
 Oh, how unwearied was the care 
 Of love which nothing could impair, 
 
 Though oft thy heai't hath bled ; 
 Thy love, through every scene the same, 
 Unquenched, undimmed, affection's claim ! 
 
 But I can never show thee more 
 
 The love I feel for thee ; 
 A love I never knew before 
 
 Till thou wert reft from me. 
 Yet it shall be a sad relief, 
 A mournful solace to my grief, 
 
 To love thy memory ; 
 Oh ! never shall thy name depart, 
 Thou hast a temple in my heart." 
 
 As soon as Ethel had recovered sufficient calmness 
 she rose from her knees, remembering that her father 
 and the rest of the family must be informed of this 
 sudden stroke. The sad throbbings of anguish still 
 continued, but there was strength given her to 
 command her emotions sufficiently to prepare her 
 father, sister, and brother gently -for the tidings of 
 her mother's death. All was now confusion ; and 
 through the silence of night, lights gleamed and 
 
26 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 shadows moved to and fro, in noiseless bewilderment 
 and solemn fear. For death in a household ever 
 brings a fe'eling of awe and stillness ; the loud voice 
 is hushed, and the heavy step moves quietly through 
 the darkened chambers. Mr. Woodville was shocked; 
 the stroke had come unexpectedly, and the stern man 
 was stunned by it. For some days he indulged in a 
 sort of gloomy sorrow, refusing to take part in any 
 arrangements for the funeral, and shutting himself up 
 in his study. He could no longer stifle the rebukings 
 of a conscience which was stinging him bitterly for 
 all his harsh, cold treatment of his wife. 
 
 Laura's sorrow was selfish and violent for a while, 
 and she gave way to passionate outbursts of grief, 
 extremely painful to those around her, causing her 
 sister much additional fatigue and anxiety. Harry, 
 whose affection for his mother had been warm and 
 impulsive, suffered acutely; but he was not so selfish 
 as Laura, and, in grieving for her who was gone, did 
 not forget how she would have wished him to act at 
 such times as the present, and therefore endeavoured 
 to assist Ethel in all the arrangements which devolved 
 upon her. Little Minnie could not at all understand 
 death, or why people should cry and the rooms should 
 be darkened, and her mother's form be so cold and 
 rigid. She wept bitterly when Ethel took her to see 
 her mother after she was placed in the coffin, for Ethel 
 had told her, " Mamma was going to be taken away 
 to the churchyard." Ethel placed her on her knee and 
 talked gently to her, dwelling on her mother's happi- 
 ness in heaven, and the blessed hope they might have 
 of meeting her again. " And dear mamma gave Minnie 
 to Ethy's care before she died, and told her to try and 
 make her a good girl, and to teach her to love and 
 
woman's ministry. 27 
 
 serve God. Minnie will try to do all dear mamma 
 wished, will she not?" concluded Ethel. 
 
 " Oh, yes, me will. Minnie loves you very much, 
 — more than any one, 'sides mamma; but I wis she 
 would come back," said the child. 
 
 " And so does Ethy," replied Ethel, hiding her 
 head amid the dark-brown hair of her little sister, 
 while she allowed her tears to flow unrestrainedly. 
 
 Ethel was a girl whose intensity of feeling the 
 world seldom guessed; her manner gave the impression 
 that she was amiable and excellent, but too impassive 
 to love devotedly : while Laura, whose impulsive dis- 
 position rendered every passing emotion apparent, 
 frequently received the credit of having far more 
 heart than Ethel. " The stillest waters are the 
 deepest." Ethel's feelings were too deep, too sacred 
 to be revealed to the world, and all the more intense 
 from the control she generally exercised over them. 
 Few knew what Ethel really felt at her mother's 
 death, for her deep sorrow was not intruded upon 
 every casual acquaintance as her sister's was. 
 
 Her tearless eyes and calm, pale face, though 
 touchingly beautiful to the beholder, did not convey 
 the idea of feeling which Laura's wild bursts of 
 sorrow did. 
 
 Mrs. Woodville was interred at a village about two 
 miles from Carysford, a quiet country place beyond 
 the noisy hum of the town, and where her children 
 also were buried. Soon the once beautiful form was 
 laid in its cold, dark bed, to sleep until the morning 
 of the resurrection, when the trumpet of the archangel 
 shall sound, and the souls and bodies of those who 
 sleep in Jesus shall be reunited, and dwell for ever 
 with him in perfect happiness. 
 
 Soon, also, the loving, suffering wife and mother, 
 
28 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 seemed to fade from the remembrance of the family, 
 except of Ethel and her little sister. Household 
 duties, business, all were resumed, and the usual 
 routine continued as if death had never visited the 
 house. Mr. Woodville soon stifled the reproaches of 
 conscience, and listened to its warnings no longer. 
 Laura's wild grief had exhausted itself in tears and 
 lamentations, and she ceased to mention, and seldom 
 even to think of, her mother. The entire domestic 
 management devolved upon Ethel now, for Laura 
 was worse than useless in discharging such duties. 
 Ethel found it quite necessary to throw all her own 
 time and energy into the work to ensure anything 
 like punctuality and regularity, to make things com- 
 fortable for her father. Mr. Woodville had no objec- 
 tion to spend money upon his own pleasures, but 
 was extremely penurious in allowing it for household 
 expenses, so that Ethel found much increase to her 
 cares in studying the strictest economy. 
 
 " Cold beef again to-day, I declare ! Humph ! 
 Really, Ethel, I wish you would contrive to manage 
 better. How can I, with any comfort, ask a friend in 
 to lunch with such a provision as this ? — a thing I had 
 nearly done this morning," exclaimed Mr. Woodville, 
 as he seated himself at the dinner -table one day, 
 about six months after Mrs. Woodville's death. 
 
 "I am really very sorry, papa, but as it was 
 washing - day, and the servants were busy, I thought 
 you would not mind : there are some chops in the 
 house which can be easily cooked now, if you would 
 like them," replied Ethel. 
 
 " I have no time to wait now ; but don't let this 
 occur again," replied her father, who was, after all, 
 
woman's ministry. 29 
 
 not so irritable as usual, having had a very success- 
 ful morning. " I have seen the owner of Thurlston 
 this morning, and have secured his business, I am 
 glad to say, which will be of immense value to me," 
 Mr. Woodville said, after a little while. 
 
 " Oh ! did you go to Thurlston ? How does it 
 look ? Do tell me who was there, and all the et 
 cceteras, papa ! " exclaimed Laura. 
 
 " I went to Thurlston, which is most handsomely 
 fitted up — quite a palace in elegance and beauty of 
 arrangement. I find Mr. Raymond has a sister living 
 with him, who is a very pleasing and agreeable girl." 
 
 " And is there no Mrs. Raymond ? And what is 
 Mr. Raymond like ? Is he old or young ? Plain 
 or handsome ? Agreeable or not ? " inquired Laura, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " 'Pon my word you are unsparing in your ques- 
 tions. There is no Mrs. Raymond, and Mr. Raymond 
 is a young man. As to his appearance, I suppose 
 you ladies would designate him very handsome ; and 
 certainly his manners, notwithstanding a certain de- 
 gree of haughtiness, are those of a perfect gentleman. 
 I think he will be a great acquisition to the neigh- 
 bourhood," said Mr. Woodville, who was anxious that 
 his daughters should feel an interest in the owner of 
 Thurlston. 
 
 " What a treat ! to see at last a handsome man in 
 Carysford ! " exclaimed Laura, in an ecstasy. 
 
 "And his sister, papa, what of her?" inquired 
 Ethel. 
 
 " Oh ! she's an intelligent young lady enough ; not 
 equal to her brother though, but a girl whose ac- 
 quaintance is well worth cultivating. I wish you to 
 call upon her early, it will only be proper to do so," 
 returned Mr. Woodville. 
 
30 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 Ethel's face showed she did not quite like the sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 " Ethel, what a prude you are ! " said Laura, laugh- 
 ing, and rightly divining her sister's thoughts. " But 
 you need not go at all ; if i" call with papa, it will be 
 sufficient," she added, quickly. 
 
 "Don't be absurd, Ethel, about calling at Thurl- 
 ston," Mr. Woodville said, looking at Ethel with a 
 frown. 
 
 Ethel made no reply, and the subject was not 
 resumed. 
 
 Next day Laura called with her father at Thurls- 
 ton, and Mr. Woodville having business with Mr. 
 Raymond, the visit was rather a long one. Laura 
 returned delighted with Thurlston, its owner, and 
 his sister — at least professedly so, though the owner 
 himself had the decided preference. 
 
 Thurlston Hall was a fine old mansion, very beau- 
 tifully situated, about a mile and a half from Carys- 
 ford, though the house itself was built more with a 
 view to internal comfort than an imposing exterior. 
 It was the only really handsome country-seat, within 
 an easy distance of the town, which had not mate- 
 rially suffered by the rapid increase of buildings in 
 that direction. It stood in an extensive park, the 
 house placed on an eminence, from which a lovely 
 view of distant woods, a winding river, and some very 
 fine bold hills could be seen, without any of the long 
 chimneys of Carysford pouring forth their volumes 
 of black smoke being visible to mar the prospect. 
 The immediate neighbourhood of Carysford had been 
 very beautiful, but just round the town it was much 
 spoilt. The present generation, with an eye only to 
 the useful, had permitted large unsightly stone quar- 
 ries on the hills, while much of the fine wood around 
 
woman's ministry. 31 
 
 the town had been levelled to the ground, or the trees 
 recklessly stripped of their bark, and left to blacken 
 in the dense smokiness of the atmosphere. This 
 unpleasing change of the scenery did not, however, 
 extend further than a mile from the town ; and the 
 vicinity of Thurlston had not suffered from the re- 
 lentless interposition of stone quarries or barkless 
 trees. Many had been the offers made to purchase 
 the place for building-ground ; but it had been the 
 property of a man who hated manufacturing towns, 
 and who would never listen to any proposal for sell- 
 ing a single acre of his ground for such a purpose. 
 Although non-resident himself, and seldom even seeing 
 his estate, he would not consent to profit by its de- 
 gradation, and had resolutely shut out the view of 
 the town from every window of the house, hating 
 even the thought of a chimney daring to obtrude its 
 tall head upon the inhabitants of Thurlston Hall. At 
 length circumstances made it almost necessary for him 
 to sell the property of his ancestors, and not without 
 a pang was it advertised for sale by private contract ; 
 but no proposal was listened to from rich mill-owners, 
 or even any one from Carysford. He would sooner 
 starve than allow the home of his fathers to become 
 the dwelling of a manufacturer; and so rooted was 
 his prejudice, that considerable time elapsed, and no 
 customer of the right sort seemed likely to become a 
 purchaser of the property. 
 
 At length a gentleman of the name of Raymond 
 happening to pass through Carysford, saw the house, 
 was pleased with the situation, and offered a hand- 
 some price for it ; which was readily accepted, and 
 Thurlston passed into his hands. The grounds were 
 then closed to visitors, as the new proprietor declared 
 his intention of spending a good deal of his time there, 
 
32 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 and objected to the privacy of his property being 
 invaded. This occasioned a good deal of murmuring; 
 for the park had been made quite a promenade, the 
 roads about the town presenting few objects of at- 
 traction to pedestrians. 
 
 Laura and Ethel felt the change a good deal, as 
 they had frequently taken a walk there. Now, 
 however, they were obliged to content themselves 
 with passing by the gates, and noticing from a dis- 
 tance the workmen who were busy making sundry 
 improvements preparatory to the owner's arrival. 
 But there was a charm in the road which led to 
 Thurlston which Ethel still enjoyed, although Laura's 
 pleasure in it was almost gone. It was the way to 
 Langton, where Mrs. Woodville was buried ; and 
 Ethel's inclination always led her there when she 
 had the opportunity. The prayers she offered by her 
 mother's grave she felt to be peculiarly useful to her; 
 they seemed to bring her into more immediate com- 
 munion with heaven. Although the cold earth con- 
 tained her mother's form, yet her soul, she knew, was 
 with the glorified spirits above ; and she dwelt on 
 the thought that, while offering prayers at her 
 grave, her mother herself might be conscious of the 
 earnest supplications she was pouring out to her 
 Saviour. 
 
 Laura and Ethel's characters, as has been already 
 observed, differed very widely. Laura, though selfish, 
 indolent, frivolous, and heartless, was lively and 
 brilliant in society, from which she derived her 
 greatest happiness. 
 
 She was also decidedly lovely, and displayed for 
 a certain class of persons, when she chose, uncommon 
 powers of fascination. Her light, airy figure, and 
 graceful movements, charmed many; as well as her 
 
woman's ministry. 33 
 
 brilliant complexion, exquisite blue eyes, pearly teeth, 
 dimpled chin, and lovely golden hair, which fell in 
 curls over her graceful neck and shoulders. Her end 
 and aim in life was to gain admiration, and make the 
 best matrimonal alliance she could ; for she was per- 
 fectly conscious of being a belle, and rather a cele- 
 brated one, too. Her father had taken care she should 
 be introduced early into gay society, and felt proud 
 to see her the object of such attraction. But, after 
 all, he was disappointed ; she had not made the con- 
 quests he had intended so far, though, as Mr. Wood- 
 ville argued, " there was time enough yet, Laura 
 being only just nineteen." She had been " out" two 
 years, and offers had not been so numerous as might 
 have been expected; for, by some strange chance, 
 notwithstanding the admiration she excited at first, 
 after a time she always seemed to lose ground with 
 her admirers : her charms appeared to diminish in 
 their eyes, and they quitted the field, leaving it open 
 to other candidates. Mr. Woodville and Laura were 
 equally busy in speculating on matrimony, forming 
 grand ideas : the one, how he could raise himself by 
 his daughter's marriage ; the other, how she could 
 ensure a splendid establishment, money, jewels, and 
 all other things necessary, as she believed, to happi- 
 ness. 
 
 Ethel was a person not at first likely to be under- 
 stood or appreciated, except by those who possess dis- 
 crimination of character ; but the more she was known, 
 the more she was valued. Her disposition was natu- 
 rally haughty and impetuous, but there was ever a 
 depth and solidity about her, unusual in so young a 
 girl. Unselfish and self-denying, truthful and pure 
 in every feeling, her own friends loved her intensely, 
 even from a child. And of late years the seeds which 
 
 VOL. I, D 
 
34 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 her mother had early sown had begun to yield (al- 
 though not yet to the fullest extent) those fruits of 
 righteousness which the Holy Spirit can alone produce 
 in the heart. 
 
 In appearance she greatly resembled what her 
 mother had been ; and though not, at first sight, so 
 dazzling in beauty as Laura, hers was one of those 
 beautiful faces in which intellect and sweetness are 
 so admirably blended, as in time to force the beholder 
 to confess that the countenance was one of unusual 
 loveliness. Her beauty was by no means so dependent 
 upon brilliancy of complexion as Laura's ; for Ethel's 
 features were far more regular. Her face was a perfect 
 oval, with a finely-arched and pencilled brow ; with 
 soft, lustrous, dark-blue eyes, which seemed beaming 
 with truth and purity; while their very long dark 
 lashes gave a somewhat pensive expression to the 
 face, increasing rather than diminishing the interest 
 of her countenance. Her nose was that happy com- 
 bination of the Grecian and Roman which physiogno- 
 mists so much admire, as expressing both a useful and 
 intellectual character; and her mouth, though rather 
 haughty naturally in its expression, was one of j^ecu- 
 liar beauty ; while her prettily rounded chin was just 
 of sufficient length to express the benevolence of its 
 owner. Her figure, though only about middle height, 
 possessed much grace and dignity; and though it did not 
 partake of the aerial lightness of Laura's, it lost none 
 of her elegance in the quietness and ease with which 
 she moved. But, notwithstanding Ethel's real supe- 
 riority of form, mind, and feature, Mr. Woodville was 
 not half so proud of Ethel as of Laura, whose showy 
 manners and brilliant, laughing gaiety, generally 
 claimed more admiration at first, especially among the 
 circles in which they moved ; for few could ever ap- 
 
woman's ministry. 35 
 
 predate the pure, intellectual beauty of Ethel. Be- 
 sides, Laura's worldly views agreed for the most part 
 with her father's ; the more balls she attended the 
 better she was pleased, and she was ever as ready to 
 show herself as to be shown by her father ; while Ethel 
 had firmly chosen, young as she was, to avoid all 
 those temptations of the world against which her 
 mother had warned her. This at once seemed to dis- 
 appoint Mr. Woodville's views of aggrandisement for 
 his second as well as his eldest daughter, feeling as- 
 sured that, if Ethel ever made a brilliant match, it 
 would be by mere chance, certainly by no effort of 
 her own. But the grand difference between the sisters 
 consisted in the absence of genuine religion in the 
 one, and the possession of it by the other. The work 
 of divine grace had been slowly, but surely, progressing 
 in Ethel's heart, long ere her mother died; but, as 
 is frequently the case with young believers in Christ, 
 the fruits of the Spirit do not so fully manifest them- 
 selves to the world in the beginning of their Christian 
 course as they do in after years. 
 
 Ethel had naturally, as her mother justly said, a 
 high, and somewhat ungovernable spirit ; and unless 
 the most careful watch were kept, and fervent prayer 
 maintained, her hastiness of temper would frequently 
 betray itself: but she had now learnt fully to distrust 
 her own heart, and to look for assistance from above, 
 in order to curb the oft-rising impatience of her spirit. 
 The world knew not yet what enabled her to bear all 
 the daily crosses of her life, for she was one of Christ's 
 " hidden ones," who press on patiently and untiringly 
 along their toilsome path, and who receive supplies of 
 grace amid these trials enabling them to go on their 
 way rejoicing. Ethel's lot, since Mrs. Woodville's 
 death, had become still more irksome and difficult ; for 
 
36 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 now she was left without her mother's gentle voice to 
 direct and comfort her. She had little sympathy from 
 others, and no one to teach her ; her burden had to be 
 borne alone. She had resolutely to nerve herself for 
 constant exertion in endeavouring to please her father, 
 whose increased irritability rendered him unjust and 
 exacting. Laura's frivolity and uselessness also obliged 
 Ethel to undertake all household concerns. Harry's 
 progress in Latin and Greek likewise compelled her 
 to study for a considerable time every day, in order 
 to assist him to master his difficulties in the evenings. 
 And to little Minnie's instructions she always attended 
 entirely ; so that hers was no easy lot in life. And 
 this was the state of things at the time Thurlston Hall 
 was taken, and the Woodvilles formed acquaintance 
 with the Raymonds. Laura's mind, on her return from 
 calling upon them, was filled with what she had seen 
 and heard, and she was building castles in the air 
 already, as to the possible effect her beauty might have 
 had on the owner of so fine a mansion, whose person 
 had made no little impression on herself ; besides, she 
 knew he was immensely rich, and she had seen his 
 elegantly furnished house, &c. How charming it 
 would be to make a conquest of Raymond, and to be 
 mistress of Thurlston, the admired of all, and so far 
 raised above those who were now her equals ! She 
 was glad she had had the first visit all to herself. 
 Ethel's beauty had not been there to mar the effect 
 of her own, and first impressions are often so lasting. 
 Such were Laura's reflections for the next few days, 
 while Ethel had scarcely bestowed a second thought 
 upon either Thurlston or its inhabitants. 
 
 " There is a carriage stopping here, will it be the 
 Raymonds ?" said Laura, who was standing by the 
 window, a few days afterwards. " Only that stupid 
 
woman's ministry. 37 
 
 Miss Hackett ! how tiresome ! " she exclaimed, turning 
 to Ethel, who, with Minnie, was standing ready dressed 
 for going out. 
 
 " I am going for a drive with her this afternoon," 
 replied Ethel. 
 
 " Well, I am glad I am not ! How amiable you 
 are to go poking about with her ! I really cannot un- 
 derstand you, Ethel. How I do hate old maids ! " 
 
 " What are old maids, Laura ? " inquired Minnie, 
 gravely. 
 
 " Very stupid old women ; Ethel will be one 
 some day, I expect," said Laura, laughing. 
 
 " Then I will be one, too : may I, sissy ? " Ethel 
 smiled. 
 
 " I wish you may ever be as good and kind an old 
 lady as Miss Hackett, Minnie : all old maids are not 
 stupid people, dear. Now, come, we must go." 
 
 Miss Hackett was an old friend of Mrs. Wood- 
 ville's ; one who had known and loved her ever since 
 she had resided in Carysford, and also was one of 
 the few who saw what a hard and troublous life 
 Mrs. Woodville led. She possessed a good fortune, 
 and had lived in Carysford almost all her life, re- 
 spected by all who knew her. She was a very kind 
 person, though somewhat blunt in manner, and wanting 
 that refinement and courtesy which are so pleasing 
 when united with other good qualities ; but her warm- 
 heartedness made her a general favourite, although 
 she had as strong prejudices as she had affections, and 
 was most unsparing in her sincerity to the objects of 
 her dislike. She loved Ethel dearly : first, because 
 she was so like her mother ; and secondly, for her own 
 goodness, and many endearing qualities. She generally 
 drove her out once or twice during the week into the 
 
38 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 country, which was a great relief to Ethel, who would 
 not otherwise have been able to obtain so much fresh 
 air — her engagements at home preventing her having 
 much time for walking. But, kind as Miss Hackett 
 was, she could not fully sympathise in all Ethel's 
 difficulties ; there were some trials which Ethel could 
 not explain, as they necessarily involved the names of 
 her family, and placed their conduct in an unfavour- 
 able light — a thing Ethel shrunk from doing; and 
 therefore Miss Hackett only half guessed at many of 
 the troubles and annoyances Ethel had to contend 
 with. 
 
 Their drive was an unusually pleasant one ; for 
 they passed through Langton, and Ethel stopped to 
 look at her mother's grave, to see if the flowers she 
 had planted there were flourishing. As they passed 
 the Thurlston gates Miss Hackett spoke of the Ray- 
 monds, and expressed herself pleased with both the 
 owner and his sister. 
 
 She told Ethel she had invited them to dine with 
 her the following week, and having seen Mr. Wood- 
 ville that morning she had asked him, and if Laura 
 and Ethel had no other engagements she hoped they 
 would accompany him. Ethel would willingly have ex- 
 cused herself, as only six months had elapsed since the 
 death of her mother, and her sorrowing heart refused 
 to find any pleasure in visiting ; but Mr. Woodville 
 had accepted Miss Hackett's invitation without scruple, 
 and Ethel felt it would not do for her to make an 
 objection, as it would place her father's conduct in an 
 unfavourable light. So she merely thanked Miss 
 Hackett, and said she believed they were all dis- 
 
 Ethel found on her return that Miss Raymond 
 
woman's ministry. 39 
 
 had called, and had made quite a long visit, and been 
 most agreeable, Laura said, hoping thereby to dis- 
 appoint Ethel, who had not yet seen her. But 
 Ethel's mind was too much occupied with other 
 considerations to feel any disappointment on the 
 subject. 
 
40 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " He was a man ; take him for all in all, 
 I shall not look upon his like again." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 " Mysterious are His ways, whose power 
 Brings forth the unexpected hour ; 
 When minds that never met hefore 
 Shall meet, unite, and part no more." 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 The evening of Miss Hackett's party arrived, and 
 Ethel with a heavy heart entered the fly which was 
 to convey her to Tarleton Place, accompanied by her 
 father and sister. Miss Hackett, notwithstanding her 
 delicate health, received them with even greater cor- 
 diality than usual on their arrival. Several persons 
 were assembled, but the Raymonds had not yet en- 
 tered. They were soon afterwards announced, and 
 Ethel for the first time saw the people about whom 
 she had heard' so much for the last few weeks. She 
 had been quite wearied with the never-ending ques- 
 tions, "Had she seen the Raymonds?" "Had they 
 Called on them?" "Did she not think Mr. Raymond 
 very handsome, and his sister very elegant ? " " Had she 
 heard how they liked Thurlston?" "Did they intend 
 to visit much?" &c. &c. Although she had been 
 unable to answer these queries, and cared very little 
 
woman's ministry. 41 
 
 about them, she could not wonder that people should 
 have shown so much curiosity about the new-comers, 
 for certainly there was something very interesting 
 about them. Mr. Raymond was, as Mr. Woodville 
 had described him, extremely good-looking, and a 
 perfect gentleman. There was an ease in his manner 
 at once becoming and attractive — a sort of conscious- 
 ness (without any affectation) that he ranked above 
 his neighbours, and yet no patronising air about him 
 to disgust and annoy. Ethel could not but observe 
 that his smile was very sweet, and that his counte- 
 nance was the index of a noble and generous heart. 
 His sister was a very elegant and ladylike girl, and, 
 without having a precisely pretty face, there was so 
 much vivacity and intelligence about it as to make 
 the beholder forget to look for regular features or a 
 brilliant complexion. But Ethel had hardly time to 
 make these observations when Miss Hackett, who had 
 been making a round of introductions, presented 
 Mr. and Miss Raymond to her. Ethel raised her 
 eyes for a moment as she bowed, and encountered 
 those of Mr. Raymond fixed earnestly upon her ; she 
 was angry with herself because her colour rose, but 
 he turned from her almost immediately, and addressed 
 Miss Hackett. Dinner was soon afterwards announced, 
 and Ethel found herself seated at the table, compelled 
 to listen to the conversation of a conceited, frivolous 
 young officer, with whom Laura had flirted for some 
 months, and who left Ethel no time to make observa- 
 tions, so incessant were his demands upon her at- 
 tention on subjects about which she felt no interest. 
 
 When the ladies returned to the drawing-room 
 Miss Raymond seated herself beside Ethel, and began 
 an animated conversation with her, and wa3 so plea- 
 sant and free from affectation, that Ethel soon felt 
 
42 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 quite at ease with her. She asked many questions about 
 the neighbourhood and the people, requesting Ethel 
 to tell her the names of the persons in the room ; then 
 about the manufacture of the place, saying how much 
 she should like to see the machinery at work, and that 
 her brother had promised to take her over one of the 
 mills, from which she anticipated much pleasure. Then 
 she spoke of her delight at being again settled in a 
 home. She had not left school long, she said, when 
 her brother purchased Thurlston, and she was very 
 glad to come and live in the country, having grown tired 
 of London. She was so agreeable that Ethel felt sorry 
 when the gentlemen joined them and music was intro- 
 duced. Laura was a most brilliant pianist, and de- 
 lighted to have an opportunity for displaying her 
 talents, so that she occupied a considerable time at 
 the instrument. When she had finished, Miss Ray- 
 mond was asked to succeed her ; but she declined, as 
 she was no musician. Ethel was then requested to 
 sing, and painful as it was to her she rose to comply, 
 knowing that her father would be angry if she 
 refused. She remembered the last time she had sung 
 at Miss Hackett's her mother had been there, and had 
 accompanied her in a duet ; now that mother's voice 
 was hushed for ever on earth. Raymond was standing 
 near the piano as she took her seat, and again her eye 
 met his, her colour deepened once more, while a 
 peculiar sensation rose to her heart. He stepped 
 forward, ready to turn over the leaves of her music 
 for her. Her hands trembled as she played the sym- 
 phony, and her voice was low and husky, with her 
 restrained tears, in the first part of the song ; but her 
 singing increased in power as she proceeded with that 
 well-known and beautiful song of Laud's : — 
 " When Sorrow sleepeth, wake it not." 
 
woman's ministry. 43 
 
 Ethel possessed a rich, clear, contralto voice, of good 
 compass, and as her agitation subsided she quite 
 thrilled the hearts of those who heard her, by the 
 depth of expression with which she gave the song, and 
 as the last soft words fell on the ear, the deepest silence 
 prevailed in the room, so riveted was every one's 
 attention. 
 
 Certainly her success had never been so great, and 
 it might be attributed partly to the real sorrow in her 
 heart, which had not been suffered to sleep, but had 
 been rudely awakened only to recall past days when her 
 beloved parent had been with her. She rose from her 
 seat to listen to the nattering compliments of many, 
 and entreaties for another song. 
 
 "Will you sing this one?" inquired Ada Ray- 
 mond, who was standing near her when she finished. 
 Ethel glanced at the title, it was by the same com- 
 poser as the one she had been singing — "The Sun- 
 shine of our Home," it was entitled. 
 
 • ; Will you excuse me, if you please ; any but that. 
 I did not know I had brought it," she replied. So 
 another was chosen, and Ethel sat down again, ever 
 willing to please. 
 
 " Poor Ethel ! " said Miss Hackett to Ada, when 
 she was at length allowed to retire ; " she could not 
 sing ' The Sunshine of our Home,' it reminds her so 
 of her mother : it seems as if the sunshine had indeed 
 left that poor child's heart since Mrs. Woodville's death. 
 I begin to doubt whether she will ever get over it." 
 
 " I am very sorry I even asked her to sing it," 
 replied Ada, grieved to have awakened a painful 
 remembrance. 
 
 Miss Hackett, seeing how much interested her com- 
 panion was, continued the conversation about Ethel, 
 and contrived to enlighten her very much upon Ethel's 
 
44 ETHEL J OR, 
 
 position at home, and so enlisted Ada's warmest 
 sympathy for her young friend. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Raymond had left the piano, and 
 was seated beside Ethel. She felt her reserve soon 
 vanish with him as well as his sister. He addressed 
 her so easily and politely, yet there was no affectation 
 in his manner to make her fancy he was only talking 
 to her to while away the time, whilst there was an entire 
 absence of that condescension of manner which young 
 and wealthy men sometimes assume towards ladies, 
 as if they were conferring the greatest favour upon 
 them by their notice. Raymond was a man of real 
 refinement and delicacy of feeling, and in conversing 
 with ladies his manners were always peculiarly 
 winning and agreeable. If he found them frivolous 
 and disposed to flirt, he soon contrived to leave them, 
 and seek companionship elsewhere, but never at the 
 expense of knowingly wounding their feelings. His 
 keen discrimination of character had easily enabled 
 him to penetrate the thin veil which concealed Laura's 
 frivolity and heartlessness, and he had not voluntarily 
 addressed his conversation to her that evening. On 
 the other hand, Ethel's beauty had riveted his atten- 
 tion, not only because pleasing outwardly, but as being 
 of such a character as to reveal a mind in all respects 
 superior to what is generally met with. And he was 
 not disappointed in his conjectures. Ethel thoroughly 
 enjoyed his conversation ; it was irresistibly fasci- 
 nating. He was a clever man, well versed in the 
 learning of the world, and with talents to turn it to 
 advantage. He had travelled much, and had a rich 
 fund of pleasing anecdote and varied expression. He 
 had also mingled in the best society, and was cog- 
 nisant of all those pleasing attentions and delicate 
 compliments which are so difficult to resist. But, 
 
woman's ministry. 45 
 
 alas ! there was one thing Ethel soon found he 
 did not possess — he was not influenced by religion. 
 Little passed on the subject, but sufficient to prove 
 that he was a man of the world, and Ethel's pleasure 
 in his society was much lessened when she discovered 
 the truth. Laura had been suffering pangs of mingled 
 envy and jealousy at the attention which Ethel was 
 receiving from the man she had fully intended se- 
 curing for herself. Besides, Raymond had scarcely 
 spoken to her that evening, and had given her no 
 opportunity of letting him see how brilliant and fasci- 
 nating she could be ; believing that what seemed to 
 attract most men would have the same charm for him. 
 In this she was mistaken, for he peculiarly disliked 
 that bantering, senseless conversation, so universal 
 in society in these days. Laura, to relieve her 
 ill-humour, had commenced a violent flirtation with 
 the young officer who had been Ethel's torment during 
 dinner, who always hovered near her, and who 
 was a sort of pis-aller, with whom she could take 
 up at any time when agreeable to herself. Ethel felt 
 grieved when she noticed all this, as she knew Laura 
 merely trifled with Lieut. Thornhill's feelings for her 
 own amusement, while his marked attention and ear- 
 nest manner plainly indicated his attachment to her ; 
 she likewise permitted his visits to Park Row, for no 
 other purpose than to laugh at him after he had left 
 them. He was, moreover, a gay and dissipated young 
 man, a very undesirable person to associate with. Yet 
 Laura only laughed and quizzed Ethel for her prudery, 
 when the latter had ventured to remonstrate with her 
 on her conduct. The evening came to an end at length, 
 to Laura's infinite satisfaction, for she was getting 
 quite tired of keeping up her show of feeling, and 
 Thornhill's insipid speeches wearied her. 
 
46 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 ****** 
 
 " Well, Ada, how have you liked the party ? " in- 
 quired Raymond, as soon as their carriage was in motion 
 after leaving Miss Hackett's. 
 
 " On the whole, very much. You remember they 
 told us in town we should be frightened away by the 
 coarseness and vulgarity of these Carysford people. 
 I confess I like many of them, they seem so kind- 
 hearted and hospitable," replied Ada. 
 
 "But the Woodvilles are really well-bred people." 
 
 " Certainly ; but then they are not natives of Carys- 
 ford exactly. The Miss Woodvilles are quite belles — 
 I wonder the smoke has not destroyed their com- 
 plexions," said Ada. 
 
 " One of them can hardly be classed as a belle ; she 
 is something beyond that, though perhaps not so dazz- 
 ling at first," replied Raymond, musingly. 
 
 "You mean Miss Ethel Woodville, of course ?" 
 
 " Yes : the elder one is a mere pretty-dollish little 
 thing, very showy and brilliant, but not a spark of in- 
 tellect about her ; there is something in the other which 
 riveted me : I never saw a face like it before, except, 
 perhaps, in my day-dreams. You will think me very 
 romantic, I know," said Raymond, breaking off with 
 a rather short laugh. 
 
 " No; not romantic, exactly — enthusiastic, perhaps. 
 But I am so myself, for I did admire Miss Ethel 
 Woodville very much. I am glad at last to hear 
 you say, for the credit of my sex, that you have seen 
 a beautiful woman — a confession I never heard you 
 make before." 
 
 " I dare say not, for I do not think there are many 
 faces which combine intellect and beauty ; that is what 
 I like to see, and they are so perfectly blended in 
 this young lady's face. From the conversation I had 
 
woman's ministry. 47 
 
 with her, I think her one of the most charming people 
 I ever met." 
 
 "And her singing, was it not thrilling ?" ex- 
 claimed Ada. 
 
 " Very ! You know how music delights me when 
 really good, and I confess no professional singer ever 
 gave me half the pleasure her touching and unaffected 
 singing did." 
 
 " What a pity it is that vocal music is not more 
 cultivated than it is — I mean, for private individuals ! 
 You often hear people attempting to sing in parties who 
 have never even had lessons, and who really make 
 one quite uncomfortable to listen to them." 
 
 " Yes, if really good music and singing might be 
 had at home, how little we should care to go into 
 public to hear it!" replied Raymond. The conversation 
 was not renewed between the brother and sister at that 
 time respecting the Woodvilles, but the impressions 
 made upon each were not, however, effaced. 
 
 The mother of Herbert and Ada Raymond had 
 been a great beauty in her day, and had married while 
 a mere child a rich old West-Indian merchant, whom 
 she loved rather as a father than a husband. They, 
 however, lived very happily together, Mrs. Raymond 
 being petted and spoilt by her indulgent husband, and 
 humoured in every whim and caprice. She was the 
 reigning belle almost wherever she went, and her 
 husband delighted to see her admired, and allowed her 
 to enter into a perpetual round of gaiety. 
 
 Her children were much neglected by her, though 
 she loved them tenderly. But Mr. Raymond, whose 
 enjoyment of the world had ceased, devoted him- 
 self to them, and, as much as was in his power, 
 
48 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 supplied the place of both parents. At his death, 
 which took place when Herbert was eleven, and Ada 
 little more than three years of age, Mrs. Raymond 
 resigned the pleasures of society for many years, and 
 became a very devoted mother, giving her whole time 
 and attention to her children. When Herbert had at- 
 tained his majority, and took possession of his im- 
 mense fortune, Mrs. Raymond's love of dissipation 
 returned, and she once more entered a brilliant circle in 
 London, under pretence of desiring to be with her son. 
 Ada was, for the time, almost forgotten, being placed 
 at a fashionable boarding-school until she was sup- 
 posed to have finished her education. Still handsome, 
 and only forty years of age, Mrs. Raymond soon 
 attracted much attention among a certain class of men, 
 who looked at the widow's rich dower as well as her 
 other charms. Mrs. Raymond was delighted once 
 more to find herself a centre of attraction. At 
 length, after raising hopes in many, she gave her 
 hand, and a large share of her heart as well, to Sir 
 Charles Harcourt, a man who certainly loved her 
 more for herself than her money. Herbert Raymond 
 was far from viewing his mother's marriage with 
 aversion ; for, so long as it was his task to attend upon 
 her, he could scarcely call himself his own master ; 
 and he was beginning to tire of gaiety, and desired 
 to travel, so that it was a considerable relief to him 
 when he had seen Sir Charles and Lady Harcourt 
 start on their wedding tour. He was now at liberty 
 to pursue the path in life most agreeable to himself; 
 and while Ada's education remained unfinished he 
 determined to travel, and then to return and settle in 
 England, with her for his companion, should he have 
 failed to meet with a companion for life. This tended 
 to soothe Ada's sorrow at parting with her brother, 
 
woman's ministry. 49 
 
 who had been the companion of her infancy, and 
 better loved almost than her mother. For five years 
 Herbert led an unsettled life, chiefly residing abroad, 
 returning at intervals to visit England, and taking 
 his sister, during her holidays, excursions either in 
 France or Switzerland, in which Sir Charles and Lady 
 Harcourt sometimes joined them. During these years 
 Raymond's mind had expanded to the beauties of 
 nature, and also to a keen relish for scientific pur- 
 suits. But with regard to religion he had gone far 
 astray. He certainly knew where to look for saving 
 knowledge, for numberless opportunities had been, 
 during that time, afforded him of hearing and read- 
 ing revealed truth ; but he cared not to avail himself 
 of them. By degrees, from witnessing the loose man- 
 ners of the continental people, the forms taught him 
 as a child, and regarded once with reverence, began 
 to grow wearisome to him ; for there was no love to 
 Christ to induce him to follow in the path marked 
 out for his safety, and he was gradually casting off 
 even the appearance of Christianity. Yet it had not 
 then crossed his mind to doubt the existence of an 
 all-powerful Being who is just and holy, and requires 
 his creatures to be so too. When he returned to Eng- 
 land, had he been asked to define his ideas of the 
 Creator of heaven and earth, he would have been 
 at a loss to do so with anything like clearness ; for, 
 like Gallio, he "cared for none of these things:" in 
 reality, his belief amounted to little more than prac- 
 tical infidelity. He supposed he believed in one 
 Supreme Being, but desired not to know his attri- 
 butes, presuming that God cares so much for his crea- 
 tures that he would not remember justice, and in 
 his mercy would not permit one of his creatures, 
 however guilty, to perish eternally ; for Raymond be- 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 lieved there was good in every man, however vile he 
 might appear ; and that goodness is grace, and that a 
 share of this, however small, would insure salvation 
 after death. Thus Jesus, the Redeemer, the Justifier, 
 had no part in his system ; for if his theory were 
 carried out, the Saviour had died in vain. 
 
 The Holy Spirit, the Sanctifier, the Convincer of 
 sin, without whose aid we cannot be led to embrace the 
 truths of the Gospel, was equally unthought of, and 
 his blessed influence unasked, unheeded. No wonder, 
 then, that he ceased to care for religion, and that his 
 life became one continued gratification of his own evil 
 inclinations. Having no care for the future, spurning 
 the call of his Divine Master, " to take up his cross 
 and follow Him," he led a life of ease and pleasure in 
 the pursuit of his own fancies. His was not a life 
 of gross sin, certainly, for he was considered more 
 than usually moral in his pleasures. He was too 
 refined in mind to care for indulgence in the more 
 open and glaring sins which pollute mankind. By 
 nature he was richly endowed with noble qualities ; 
 but what are all these in a fallen creature, unless the 
 grace of God renews the heart and reigns there, 
 enabling him to make use of those gifts aright ? His 
 amiable character ; his warm, generous nature ; his 
 talents, which were of the highest order ; and above 
 all, his noble sincerity and hatred of everything dis- 
 honourable, made him generally much beloved in the 
 circles in which he moved ; although occasionally he 
 manifested an impatience and haughtiness which were 
 unaccountable to those who knew not the secret 
 workings of a mind, at times disappointed and un- 
 happy, without knowing from whence such feelings 
 arose. 
 
 On his return to England when Ada had completed 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 51 
 
 her education, he determined to take some country- 
 seat in the North of England. Not meeting with 
 anything quite desirable, and growing weary of the 
 pursuit, he hastily offered a liberal sum for Thurlston, 
 which he had seen in passing through Carysford, and 
 concluded the purchase without much consideration 
 as to the disadvantages it might and did possess ; 
 comforting himself with the thought that he could 
 easily dispose of it again if he did not continue to 
 like it. 
 
 Ada was pleased at the prospect of quiet and a 
 home, and delighted to be her brother's companion, 
 whose society to her was worth more than all the gay 
 pleasures of London. Her character differed in many 
 respects from his, although they assimilated very much 
 in general tastes ; she possessed decidedly less genius, 
 but as much good sense, though sometimes she suffered 
 it to be counteracted by impulses which frequently 
 led her into difficulties which calm consideration 
 would have prevented. She decidedly possessed more 
 genuine religious feeling than her brother, though la- 
 mentably ignorant of its saving truths, and thus she 
 lost the power of influence over him which she might 
 otherwise have exercised. Ada would have been 
 grieved not to attend public worship, though she 
 thought little or nothing of the service when there ; 
 so it pained her to see her brother neglecting the per- 
 formance of such a duty. Finding, however, her 
 endeavours to persuade him were in vain, she began 
 to hope Herbert would marry a woman whose sense 
 of religion might lead him back to the practice of 
 those outward observances, which she regarded as so 
 necessary herself. 
 
52 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Providence is dark in its permissions, yet one day, when 
 all is known, the universe of reason shall acknowledge how just 
 and good were they. 
 
 ***** 
 
 " Cease to anticipate misfortune; there are still many chances 
 of escape : but if it come, he courageous ; face it, and conquer 
 thy calamity." — M. Topper. 
 
 " Days of my age ! ye will shortly be past; 
 Pains of my age ! yet awhile ye shall last ; 
 Joys of my age ! in true wisdom's delight ; 
 Eyes of my age ! be religion your light ; 
 Thoughts of my age ! dread ye not the cold sod ; 
 Hopes of my age ! be ye fixed on my God." 
 
 Tucker. 
 
 "I am going to Sawley on business this afternoon, 
 Ethel, can you go with me ? " said Miss Hackett, a few 
 mornings after her party, to her young friend, who 
 was calling upon her. 
 
 "Laura and I had intended making some calls 
 this afternoon, but it does not much signify, and I 
 should like to go with you very much," replied Ethel. 
 
 " I am going to remain in Langton about half an 
 hour, so you can stay and see old Nannie if you like, 
 which may be an additional inducement." 
 
 " Oh, thank you! I had been wishing to see her; 
 but our time has been so much occupied lately I have 
 
woman's ministry. 53 
 
 been unable to visit her. What time shall I be ready 
 for you ? " inquired Ethel. 
 
 " Half-past three. And will you take Minnie with 
 you?" 
 
 " With pleasure," said Ethel, as she parted from 
 her old friend. 
 
 Minnie, however, was in one of her passionate 
 moods when Ethel returned, and refused to repeat her 
 usual lesson, so that Ethel was obliged as a punish- 
 ment to deny her the pleasure of the drive, and the 
 disgrace accompanying such a deprivation affected 
 Minnie far more than the loss of her pleasure. 
 
 To supply a mother's place to her little sister, 
 Ethel found no light duty ; for Minnie was a child 
 full of quick thought and unique ideas, passionate 
 and wilful, but extremely affectionate, and possessing 
 excellent abilities. While in some things she was a 
 perfect child, in others she seemed to have discern- 
 ment beyond her years. Ethel's influence over her 
 was very great ; in a few moments, by calmness and 
 decision, she could quiet Minnie's paroxysms of 
 passion. But though ever firm in the discharge of 
 her duty towards the child, she was never angry 
 or given to punishing her merely to please herself. 
 Laura, on the contrary, never took the trouble to 
 be kind to her, but for any slight offence she would, 
 on the impulse of the moment, punish her severely. 
 Poor Minnie was perpetually being told how naughty 
 she was by some one or other of the family, until the 
 child would hardly have known the difference between 
 right and wrong if it had not been for Ethel's careful 
 training. 
 
 Minnie's passion being over, Ethel took her down 
 to dinner, and presently Mr. Woodville came in, in the 
 highest spirits. 
 
54 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " I met with an old friend this morning, and I have 
 seldom been more pleased to renew an acquaintance. 
 She is a most charming woman. I promised you girls 
 should call upon her without delay," he said, rubbing 
 his hands in great glee. 
 
 " And who is this extraordinary person ? " inquired 
 Laura, with a somewhat contemptuous smile on her 
 face, which, however, her father did not notice. 
 
 "Miss Grant. She used to be an old flame of 
 mine ; at least I had a sort of flirtation with her once. 
 She really is a very pleasant woman, and has a nice 
 snug fortune, too. I am quite delighted to find she has 
 determined on remaining in Carysford this winter. 
 It will be a great advantage to you both to have her 
 for a friend and counsellor." 
 
 The blood had rushed to Ethel's face the moment 
 Mr. Woodville mentioned Miss Grant's name, and it 
 only deepened in dye as he proceeded. She made no 
 reply, but fixed her eyes quietly on her father, and he 
 shrunk from meeting them. 
 
 " Well, Ethel?" he said, impatiently. 
 
 " I believed — I fancied she was not quite so nice 
 a person," she said, hesitatingly. 
 
 " Pray, what do you know against her ? " inquired 
 Mr. Woodville, shortly. 
 
 " I have heard my mother speak of her." 
 
 " Enough of that, Ethel ! " was the angry reply. 
 " Your poor, dear mother, was the most prejudiced 
 person I ever met in my life. She had nothing really 
 objectionable to say against Miss Grant, but she used 
 to take most unaccountable dislikes sometimes, and 
 fancy herself injured." 
 
 " Mamma never did wrong in her life ! " burst from 
 Harry's lips. 
 
 "Silence, sirrah!" exclaimed Mr. Woodville. 
 
woman's ministry. do 
 
 Ethel's indignation for a few moments deprived 
 her of utterance. Naturally passionate, on the present 
 occasion it was more than she could do to restrain 
 herself. She crimsoned violently — the large vein in 
 her forehead swelled with agitation — her eyes seemed 
 almost to flash lire — her lips trembled with passion, 
 to hear that beloved mother charged with injustice 
 who had suffered so much, and borne all so patiently, 
 and who had never given way to a prejudice in her 
 life, even when she knew how grossly she had been 
 injured ! It was too much : with a bursting heart 
 Ethel exclaimed, angrily, — 
 
 " My mother is dead, and her memory might have 
 been held sacred," rising as she spoke ; for scalding 
 tears filled her eyes, which she scorned at that moment 
 to show. 
 
 Mr. Woodville watched her closely; he well knew 
 the desperate constraint she had put upon herself in 
 order to repress her feelings. It was seldom Ethel 
 was so much roused, but when that look was on her 
 face, Mr. Woodville knew the* depth of feeling which 
 burnt within. He did not love Ethel so well as his 
 other children, but he respected her more. There 
 was too much of the holy purity of character which 
 her mother possessed to make her pleasing to him, 
 for it was a continual witness against his own sins. 
 But this made him far more careful not to offend 
 her. He had a lurking desire to win her respect, 
 though he would not have owned it even to himself; 
 while he knew that he depended upon her for all the 
 household comforts he enjoyed. He felt indignant 
 with her anger, and yet was conscious that he had 
 acted unjustly in ascribing faults to his wife. He 
 therefore replied, in a cold manner : " I am surprised 
 at your supposing, Ethel, I should not hold your 
 
56 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 mother's memory sacred. By what I said, I simply 
 meant she had evidently been misinformed about Miss 
 Grant, and therefore acted accordingly. But we will 
 not discuss the point further. Let bygones be bygones." 
 
 The dark cloud of anger still rested gloomily on 
 Ethel's brow, and she made no reply. A strange, 
 vague presentiment of approaching evils, loomed darkly 
 on the horizon of her mind. Her father must indeed 
 have become forgetful if he could speak well of Miss 
 Grant. 
 
 "Where is she staying ?" Laura inquired. 
 
 " Almost close to us, in Mrs. Clayton's lodgings." 
 
 "Do you wish us to call to-day?" Ethel said at 
 last ; " for I promised Miss Hackett I would go to 
 Sawley this afternoon with her." 
 
 " Oh ! go, by all means, then," Mr. Woodville re- 
 plied. 
 
 " Or I can go without you, Ethel," Laura added. 
 
 " I wish you both to go," said Mr. Woodville with 
 emphasis, and looking sternly at Ethel. 
 
 " Very well, papa," Ethel replied quietly, glad of 
 even one day's respite from visiting a person for whom 
 she found it almost impossible to cherish any kind or 
 charitable feeling. She well remembered her mother 
 mentioning Miss Grant, and telling her that she had 
 once been very much attached to Mr. Woodville, 
 and it had been a most bitter disappointment to Miss 
 Grant when he married, for she had broken off an 
 engagement in the hope of winning his affection. 
 When she found herself unable to prevent the mar- 
 riage, she endeavoured by every means in her power 
 to prejudice people against her rival, and had in- 
 sinuated, with the most apparently artless sincerity, 
 very unkind and unjust things against Mr. Woodville's 
 bride, and thus had succeeded in doing Mrs. Wood- 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 57 
 
 ville much harm in the circles in which they then 
 moved ; although people's minds had been disabused 
 subsequently. That Miss Grant was a manceuvering 
 person, Ethel knew, and extremely insincere and 
 plausible ; for in public, when she and Mrs. Woodville 
 had met, she had pretended to treat her with every 
 kindness. Miss Grant's injustice had not stopped 
 here; she had even contrived to sow the seeds of 
 discord between Mrs. Woodville and her husband, and 
 the bitter fruit those seeds had yielded, poor Mrs. 
 Woodville knew but too well, when, in after years, 
 she had been accused by him of those very things 
 which had their origin in Miss Grant's slanders. 
 Could it then be wondered at, that Ethel anticipated 
 with abhorrence a renewal of Miss Grant's acquaint- 
 ance ? Laura knew nothing of all this, and therefore 
 was pleased to form a new friendship. Just as Mr. 
 Woodville was leaving the room, he observed it was 
 time they should call at Thurlston again. 
 
 " Then while you are out this afternoon I will 
 go," Laura said, who always liked to make calls alone, 
 if possible, lest Ethel should steal her popularity. 
 
 " Will you take my card, Laura ? Miss Raymond 
 asked me to call, and you must apologise for me." 
 
 " Oh ! I dare say she only asked you out of 
 civility." 
 
 " Then I may, perhaps, return that civility," 
 Ethel said, her lip slightly curling. 
 
 " Just as you please," Laura replied. 
 
 " May I go with you, Ethy, please ? " Minnie said, 
 as Ethel prepared for her drive. 
 
 " No, darling, not to-day ; you know I told you 
 you must not go, as you had been so naughty this 
 morning. You will have a walk with Jane instead." 
 
 Minnie did not particularly relish the walk with 
 
58 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 Jane ; but Miss Hackett's carriage stopped at the 
 same moment, and further petition was useless. 
 
 " Ethel, that abominable woman, Miss Grant, is 
 in Carysford ! " Miss Hackett exclaimed, as soon as 
 the carriage-door was closed. 
 
 " Yes ; papa said so this morning. I confess I 
 felt sorry, knowing all mamma and you have told me 
 about her." 
 
 " Well ! it is a comfort I am under no obligation 
 to call upon her ; and I certainly shall not. I hope 
 Mr. Woodville does not wish to renew the acquaint- 
 ance ? " 
 
 " He has requested us to call," Ethel replied. 
 
 " He is infatuated, then ! To think of all that 
 woman said against your mother, and he to know it 
 as he does, it really is a shame ! " 
 
 " We must try to be charitable towards her, 5 ' 
 Ethel said. 
 
 " Charitable, indeed ! Charitable, did you say ? 
 I have no notion of such things," said Miss Hackett, 
 who always grew less refined the more she was 
 excited. 
 
 Ethel changed the subject as soon as she could, 
 for it was not agreeable. 
 
 They soon arrived at Langton, and Miss Hackett, 
 leaving Ethel at the door of old Nannie's house, drove 
 on to her appointed place of business, promising to 
 return in a short time. Langton, though lying be- 
 tween two manufacturing places, Carysford and Saw- 
 ley, was yet quite a country village. The people were 
 for the most part farmers and labouring men, and 
 their manners differed widely from the uncouth, in- 
 dependent, though generally well-meant, freedom of 
 those who lived in the towns. 
 
 Old Nannie Jennings had formerly resided many 
 
woman's ministry. 59 
 
 years in Carysford, where Ethel and her mother had 
 first known her, but had afterwards removed to Lang- 
 ton, to be near her son, who was a labourer in the 
 village. She lived in a small house, which stood on 
 a little patch of green, in that part of the place which 
 had been recently purchased by Mr. Raymond with 
 the Thurlston estate. 
 
 The very afternoon on which Ethel paid the old 
 woman a visit, Raymond had ridden over to in- 
 spect his property, and personally to look after and 
 examine some repairs. Ethel found Nannie weak, 
 as she was only just recovering from a severe attack 
 of illness. 
 
 " Ah, barn,* I've been sorely ill sin' I see'd ye 
 t' last time ; but I'se rarely mended now. I've a 
 deal o' comfort, honey, though, in all t' afflictions as 
 one has. It's nobbut a poor thing to compare t' Gos- 
 pel comforts to, but I oftens thinks where'er there's 
 a nettle to sting, there's sure to be t' plant as cures 
 it close by, if one nobbut looks right for 't. I'se sure 
 it's so wi' me, my barn. I've had sore pains, and a 
 right bad cough ; but I've had t' Saviour wi' me all 
 t' way thro' ; as he said, in t' waters and t' fires, he's 
 halus there, same as he was wi' them three young men 
 i't' Bible. I thought I were going home when I were 
 ill, and right glad I were ; but not this time, a bit 
 longer, a lile bit longer. I'll bide my time ; and it '11 
 all be weel, I know," old Nannie said, when Ethel 
 had seated herself at her bedside. 
 
 " Yes, Nannie, we know God's time is best for 
 us. We must rest in him, and trust all to him, 
 and he will give us the blessed Comforter to be with 
 
 * Child. 
 
60 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 us until he take us to heaven/' Ethel said, taking out 
 her little pocket Testament. 
 
 " I know it. Yes, bless him for 't!" exclaimed 
 the old woman fervently. " Now, are ye going to 
 read for me a bit?" 
 
 " Yes : shall I read any particular part ? " 
 
 " Ay ! Read about t' rest for them as is weary. 
 I like that right well ; it quite raises me up like." 
 
 Ethel moved her seat aearer the door, for the 
 room was dark, and very oppressive ; then, opening 
 her book, she read in a slow, distinct voice, suitable 
 for old Nannie, who was rather deaf, the fourth 
 chapter of the Hebrews, wherein occur these words : 
 " There remaineth, therefore, a rest to the people of 
 God. For he that is entered into his rest, he also 
 hath ceased from his own works, as God did from his. 
 Let us labour, therefore, to enter into that rest, lest 
 any man fall after the same example of unbelief. For 
 the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper 
 than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the di- 
 viding asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints 
 and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and 
 intents of the heart." 
 
 Those words fell on the ear of one, of whose 
 proximity Ethel was at that time unconscious ; and 
 a day arrived, when those words (little heeded now) 
 did come quick and powerfully into his heart, piercing 
 him with anguish of soul that he had not thought 
 more of them then. Raymond was standing on the 
 patch of ground before alluded to, which one of the 
 cottagers wanted to make into a garden ; and while 
 he waited for the man's appearance, he heard Ethel 
 reading to the old woman ; and as she sat near the 
 door, he occasionally caught a glimpse of her finely- 
 
woman's ministry. 61 
 
 chiselled profile. This, and her sweet, ringing voice, 
 were not without their due effect on him. 
 
 " That's just what as I like ; ay, my barn, how 
 them there words have come wi' power to my heart 
 mony a time, and I have longed for that rest a deal 
 o' times ; only one mun wait the Lord's time," said 
 old Nannie, when Ethel ceased. 
 
 ■ " Yes, you must wait patiently. He may have 
 some work for you do yet in his vineyard, Nannie, 
 before he takes you home." 
 
 " Mebbe he has, Miss Ethel, and I am right willin'. 
 When our James telled me, ' Mother,' says he, ' I've 
 been to t' doctor's o'er ye, I dunnot like ye to have 
 that cough,' I says, ' I wonder at ye, Jem, ut ye 
 hadn't more sense. What's t' use o' tinkering up an 
 auld thing like me? Can't te' let me gang quietly? 
 Hast to nout else to do wi' thee money?' I said that 
 at t' first, Miss, for I were right angered at him, and 
 afore he went out I telled him I were obliged at his 
 care on me, and he warn't to mind my words." 
 
 " I am glad you did so, Nannie, for James is a 
 good son, and you know it is right we should use 
 proper means to get well, and leave the event to God ; 
 he can cure or save, as pleases him best." 
 
 " Yes, for sure. I were sorry I'd been unpatient; 
 so when t' doctor came, I telled him everythink as 
 was t' matter wi' me, — for you know, Miss, it's just 
 same as coming to Jesus, we mun tell everythink, or 
 else there's no cure. And he sent me a sight o' 
 medicine and a deal o' pills for my cough, and I went 
 on taking these here pills while I were a deal better; 
 and that's like t' Gospel, we mun stick to t' balm o' 
 Gilead until we're right mended o' sin, and then we'll 
 be fit for to live i' t' new Jerusalem." 
 
 Ethel smiled kindly at the old woman's originality. 
 
62 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " I think I hear carriage -wheels. I must go now, 
 Nannie. Shall I leave you a text? ' Let patience 
 have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and 
 entire, wanting nothing.' (Jam. i. 4.) Ethel then 
 advanced and took the hand of the old woman kindly 
 in her own. 
 
 " Bless you, barn! may you be awarded in heaven. 
 Ye 're a gurt comfort to me ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, before Miss Hackett returned, Ray- 
 mond, having finished his business, mounted his horse, 
 and, without much thought of the direction he was 
 taking, proceeded on the road to Sawley, riding 
 leisurely. 
 
 Ethel sank into a deep reverie as she leaned back 
 in the carriage. She was pondering over old Nannie's 
 contented spirit, and she compared the poor creature's 
 lot with her own, recounting to herself the number- 
 less mercies she had, of which that lonely old woman 
 was destitute. She never found Nannie otherwise 
 than happy and cheerful, though always, like St. Paul, 
 " longing to depart and be with Christ." However 
 adverse circumstances might be, she always saw a 
 well-timed blessing in them. When she lived at 
 Carysford she was never known to be absent from 
 church, whatever the weather might be. Sometimes 
 Ethel or her mother would express a fear that, as it 
 was so wet, she might catch cold; she would reply, 
 " Ay, but t' wind's nicely down ;" or if it were windy, 
 " But t' rain keeps off, ye see." And when on one 
 occasion Ethel had sympathised with her increasing 
 deafness she replied, " It's all for t' best. I oftens 
 thinks one doesn't hear a deal o' t' meanness as goes 
 on in t' world." There was nothing came amiss to 
 her. She did untold good among her neighbours, 
 who in witnessing her patience under suffering, and 
 
woman's ministry. 63 
 
 her cheerful resignation to the will of God, learned to 
 see how profitable is godliness, what a source of 
 comfort it brings to the believer, and how it can 
 lighten every trial and soothe the sharpest pain. 
 Ethel could truly say her visits to old Nannie were a 
 source of usefulness to her; more especially did she 
 feel this to day. "Ah! when I left her with that 
 text, I had more need of it than she. I have need of 
 patience. How lamentably I fell to-day ! Oh, may 
 grace be given me to bear with meekness all provoca- 
 tions, and never again yield to the evil spirit in which 
 I indulged ! I have many mercies to record, and 
 numberless comforts which she has not, and yet her 
 firm trust and confidence are maintained, amid all these 
 disadvantages, calm and unruffled. May Christ be 
 with me as he is with her, and guide me by his Holy 
 Spirit in all temptations that may assail me ! " thought 
 Ethel. 
 
 " Though the heart that sorrow chideth 
 Sink in anguish and in care, 
 Yet, if Patience still abideth, 
 
 Hope shall paint her rainbow there. 
 
 Hope's bright lamp her light shall borrow 
 
 From Beligion's blessed ray, 
 And from many a coming sorrow 
 
 Charm the clouds of grief away." 
 
64 I'.niKi, ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTEB V. 
 
 " Breathe thoughts of pity o'er th\ brother's fall, 
 But dwell not with stern anger on his fault ; 
 The grace of God alone holds th<<\ holds all: 
 Were that withdrawn, thou, too, would'st swerve and halt.* 1 
 
 EdMSSTON. 
 
 "The powers of darkness are all abroad, 
 The] own no Saviour, and the] fear no God; 
 And we are fremblSng in dumb dismaj : 
 turn not Thon Tlrj foes awtg ! M — Hooo. 
 
 "I am short-sighted, but I think that is Mr. Ray- 
 mond," Miss llaekett said. The question roused 
 Ethel from her reverie, Raymond quickly perceived 
 them, and drew up his horse by the side of the car- 
 riage as they were entering Sawley. 
 
 " I am really very glad to have met von," he 
 said, bowing politely, and glancing at Ethel as he 
 spoke. 
 
 Almost immediately after the carriage stopped, 
 
 and Miss Hackett alighted in order to transact her 
 
 business. Raymond, perceiving Ethel was going to 
 
 remain in the carriage, dismounted, and giving his 
 
 horse to Miss Hackett'a footman, came and stood by 
 the carriage-door. 
 
 M It Beems a long time since we saw anything of 
 
 you, Miss Woodville." he said, with his peculiarly 
 bright smile. 
 
woman's ministry. 65 
 
 " I fear Miss Raymond will have thought me very- 
 remiss. I had fully intended calling upon her before 
 now ; but we have been so much engaged during the 
 last week, there seems to have been no opportunity. 
 My sister will, I hope, see Miss Raymond this after- 
 noon. I should have accompanied her, but had a 
 previous engagement with Miss Hackett, and so was 
 obliged to postpone the pleasure." 
 
 " Ada will be very sorry not to see you, I am 
 sure. She will quite envy me the pleasure." 
 
 11 What a disagreeable place Sawley is ! I won- 
 der such narrow streets should be tolerated !" Ethel 
 remarked presently, as a cart with difficulty passed 
 the carriage. 
 
 " Oh, it is abominable ! I think Carysford dis- 
 agreeable, but nothing to Sawley. These overgrown 
 manufacturing villages always are in a bad condition ; 
 they are too small to have a corporation to see that 
 the streets are kept in order. These bad pavements 
 and causeways are quite a disgrace. Do you not 
 think so?" 
 
 " Yes," said Ethel ; " but I think, perhaps, a cor- 
 poration might be dispensed with, if people would 
 only see where the necessity lies. What a beautiful 
 country this is ! and what a pity it should be so spoilt 
 by such a miserable, smoky-looking place!" 
 
 " Ah ! certainly it is ; but, you know, money must 
 be made. Although I feel inclined to quarrel with the 
 chimneys sometimes, on the whole I get reconciled 
 to them. I hope, in time, mill-owners will be com- 
 pelled to consume their own smoke, and then I do 
 not consider the beauty of the country will be mate- 
 rially affected by them. Their tall heads rising on 
 the hills near Carysford, really have rather a pretty 
 effect than otherwise, and remind me of steamers on 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 the distant sea. But you said something about im- 
 proving a place without a corporation, Miss Wood- 
 ville. I really should like to hear your plan. I 
 cannot see how people can be made to do their duty 
 unless it is enforced by law, or by landlords exer- 
 cising their authority, which, in a little town like 
 this, where the property belongs to so many different 
 individuals, would be almost impossible." 
 
 Ethel blushed a little at being brought to the 
 point, but seeing Mr. Raymond waited for a reply, 
 she said timidly, — 
 
 " I think much of the wretchedness of the people 
 may be attributed to the great spiritual destitution 
 around; if their condition were bettered in this re- 
 spect, I think we should see considerable improve- 
 ment in the appearance of their houses." 
 
 A slight smile played round Raymond's lips at 
 her answer. 
 
 " And do you really believe religion would make 
 the difference ?" 
 
 " Yes, I do. I think, were people influenced by 
 it, they would all contribute to make things wear 
 a brighter aspect. The bad causeways and pave- 
 ments are only minor evils in Sawley. I assure you 
 the destitution, misery, and wretchedness which reign 
 here among the people is very sad." 
 
 " I do not doubt it : you can readily perceive 
 that. But supposing any one were inclined to under- 
 take this wonderful reformation, how would you have 
 them begin it ?" 
 
 There was no lurking satire in his manner, so 
 Ethel was encouraged to proceed. 
 
 " Supposing ? You do not doubt the efficiency of 
 religion to work a reformation ?" 
 
 " Well, I will not suppose anything if you object." 
 
woman's ministry. 67 
 
 The truth shone out so clear from Ethel's eyes, 
 Raymond could not bear to undermine her belief by 
 his own sophisms. 
 
 " In the first place, I do think a church is very 
 much wanted in this part of the town. Only look at 
 that field, what a beautiful site that would be for a 
 church, — the pretty slope of the hill, with the woods 
 rising above ! and so near the town too, there could 
 be no excuse for people not attending the service. 
 Then I would have a pious and devoted minister 
 placed there ; one who would work among his people 
 thoroughly during the week, and preach the Gospel 
 faithfully on the Sabbath." 
 
 " One moment — forgive the interruption. Do you 
 really think that, even could the people be brought to 
 go to church, they would be any better for it ?" 
 
 " So much depends on the motive for going. Some 
 go for form's sake, some for gain, and some for no 
 reason at all ; while others go to hear the Gospel 
 preached, and receive supplies of grace to assist them 
 in their endeavours to be Christians. You must not 
 mistake me, Mr. Raymond. The mere act of going to 
 church will not make a man holy, but you must also 
 bear in mind that preaching is one of the means of 
 grace divinely appointed, and that, under God's bless- 
 ing, it has pleased Him to turn the hearts of many in 
 that very way. People have not the opportunity of 
 hearing unless they go to a place of worship ; besides 
 which they hear the word of God read, and are 
 taught to pray for every blessing in the most perfect 
 form of sound words which has ever been written," 
 replied Ethel, blushing at her long speech and warmth 
 of manner. 
 
 " And you believe that it is necessary to salvation 
 
68 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 to attend the ordinances of the Church ! What, then, 
 is to become of Dissenters ?" 
 
 "I was not aware I was excluding them. I like 
 the Church best, and I love her form of prayer ; but 
 the Dissenters attend public worship, and have prayers 
 and sermons, as we have." 
 
 " But what is to become of those who attend no 
 place of worship whatsoever ?" 
 
 Ethel was silent : all at once she remembered she 
 had never seen Mr. Raymond at church. Miss Ray- 
 mond had been there, but always alone. It seemed 
 strange ; she felt very uncomfortable ; but he urged the 
 question. " Do be candid with me, Miss Woodville," 
 he said, perceiving her confusion, and rightly divining 
 the cause. 
 
 "I think all ought to go who are able to do so. 
 There are aged, infirm, and sick people, who perhaps 
 are unable to attend ; of course, these people are guilty 
 of no sin in remaining at home." 
 
 "But those who have no impediment of this sort? " 
 persisted Mr. Raymond. " I must bring you to the 
 point." 
 
 " I see I cannot avoid it," Ethel replied. " I think 
 such people will have to account for every neglected 
 opportunity. I should like to prove to you also from 
 the Bible, that public worship is a divine command, 
 and that a special blessing is pronounced upon it. 
 We are told that the man is blessed who goes to the 
 house of God, and God has promised to teach that man.* 
 Then, in one of the Psalms, ' Blessed is the man whom 
 thou choosest, and causest to approach unto thee, that 
 he may dwell in thy courts : we shall be satisfied with 
 
 * Isai. ii. 3. 
 
woman's ministry. 69 
 
 the goodness of thy house, even of thy holy temple.'* 
 'A day in thy courts is better than a thousand.'-) - 
 But I do not think I need multiply evidence to prove 
 the duty of, and the blessings attendant upon, a due 
 observance of that means of grace." 
 
 There was a pause. Raymond did not like to ap- 
 pear to differ from Ethel ; it seemed as if she must be 
 right : but seeing she expected a reply, and scorning 
 to profess a conviction without feeling one, he said : — 
 
 " I am sorry I cannot entirely agree with you. A 
 merciful God knows his creatures too well to expect a 
 tribute of homage which it is against their nature to 
 perform. Some people seem to me to be born with 
 good propensities ; I say of such, that it is right they 
 should follow their good inclinations. But such as are 
 not so richly endowed, cannot bring themselves to 
 practise forms which are to them meaningless." 
 
 Ethel looked so unfeignedly hurt and grieved, that 
 Raymond wished he had not spoken his sentiments so 
 freely. " Miss Woodville, will you forgive me ? I fear 
 I have pained you. I really was not aware you felt 
 these things so deeply." 
 
 "I do not think you were. But you have shocked 
 me very much, I confess. I do feel these things 
 very deeply — I wish you did also. If you had once 
 tasted the blessedness of living to Christ, you would 
 not think his commands meaningless or his worship 
 irksome." 
 
 " But then, if T have no desire after such things, 
 how am I to attain it ? " 
 
 " In the manner the word of God tells us — prayer, 
 study of the Bible, and attendance on the means of 
 grace." 
 
 * Ps. lxv. 4. f Ps. lxxxiv. 10. 
 
70 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " But prayers are not always answered." 
 
 " Not precisely in the way we desire, but always in 
 the best way. ' Ask, and it shall be given you ; seek, 
 and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened.' 
 These words stand sure and abiding, for they are the 
 words of Him who cannot lie, and who is ever willing 
 to hear all who come to Him in faith." 
 
 There was another pause, and Ethel felt very un- 
 comfortable ; she had been drawn into this discussion 
 unwillingly ; for, although she did not hesitate to ex- 
 press her sentiments when called upon, yet it was 
 painful under present circumstances to speak to a 
 man like Raymond, whose opinions differed so much 
 from her own, and with whom she had had so short 
 an acquaintance. But Raymond was in no mood to 
 give up the discussion ; he liked to draw out Ethel's 
 opinions, and to see the beautiful retiring modesty of 
 her character, while so much decision and sincerity 
 shone out in her answers. 
 
 " But supposing a person has not faith to believe in 
 those promises, why, then, should ordinances be attended 
 to so much ? mere forms will do no good." 
 
 " Certainly not, in themselves; but there is a passage 
 in the Bible which tells us that ' Faith cometh by hear- 
 ing, and hearing by the word of God.' (Rom. x. 17.) 
 I think that ordinances are, under God's blessing, among 
 the means employed, and where a person feels the ne- 
 cessity of a saving faith in Christ, he will avail himself 
 of those opportunities which are appointed to make 
 him the subject of saving faith. Without faith you 
 cannot expect your prayers to be answered ; it would 
 be an insult to address God with only a partial belief 
 in his power. A want of true faith strikes at the root 
 of the matter. It should be the first grace we should 
 entreat God to give us, for ' faith is the gift of God.' " 
 
woman's ministry. 71 
 
 "Perhaps you are right; but then " Ray- 
 mond was interrupted by the return of Miss Hackett, 
 on which his serious tone of inquiry changed to one 
 of gaiety. " Miss Woodville and I have been arguing 
 about the condition of Sawley, and Miss Woodville 
 thinks a church is the great thing wanted here." 
 
 " And so it is : Ethel is generally right. There is 
 nothing but an old tumble-down church at the other 
 end of the village, under the care of a Tractarian 
 clergyman, who does more harm than good with his 
 1 decorated altar ' and long candles. He has given 
 great offence here, for wise people laugh at such 
 fancies, and the ignorant do not understand them ; so 
 I believe he now preaches to empty pews, while many 
 who would have attended the church have ceased to 
 go anywhere, and others throng the meeting-houses," 
 replied Miss Hackett, bluntly. 
 
 Raymond laughed satirically, and it grated on 
 Ethel's ear ; she noticed, too, the contemptuous curl 
 of his haughty lip the moment after. Miss Hackett's 
 speech did not please her. What had they to do at 
 present with church abuses ? though they might and 
 did exist, it was not to be made a sneering subject for 
 the man of the world. And his next speech annoyed 
 her still more. 
 
 " Why, as for that matter, Miss Hackett, I fancy the 
 clergy, as a body, are very deficient in their duties. 
 If they are not ' Tractarian,' they are some other 
 1 arian,' or * inian,' and frequently do more harm than 
 good." 
 
 Ethel's cheek glowed with indignation. 
 
 " You speak as if your acquaintance with them 
 
 was limited; I only wish " She stopped, fearing 
 
 she spoke too warmly. 
 
 "You wish , do let me hear what: I would 
 
72 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 not be deprived of it on any account," said Raymond, 
 a provoking smile playing round his lips, and a mis- 
 chievous sparkle in his brilliant dark eyes, as he met 
 those of Ethel, who blushed again, and hesitated. 
 
 " I wish all laymen could give as good an account 
 of themselves as the clergy generally. You really 
 deserve the speech for your pertinacity," Ethel re- 
 plied, with a smile. 
 
 " Nothing personal, I trust. You cannot conceive 
 how very properly I, as an individual, spend my 
 time," he replied, with another mischievous look. 
 
 " I hope, Miss Hackett, you will pardon me: there 
 are bright exceptions to this' rule, I know," said Ray- 
 mond, politely, observing a stiffness in Miss Hackett's 
 manner, and remembering suddenly her nephew, Mr. 
 Bevan, was the clergyman of his parish, and feel- 
 ing unwilling to offend the old lady. Her cordiality 
 returned as he shook hands at parting. 
 
 " Au revoir, Miss Woodville ; I trust we shall 
 avoid this rock of contention another time," were his 
 parting words as he mounted his horse. 
 
 Ethel looked at his fine, noble figure, as he rode 
 away, with mingled feeling of admiration and interest, 
 which she was angry with herself for indulging in. 
 But it was irresistible — a spell was upon her; and 
 though she sighed sadly at the reckless path he 
 seemed pursuing, she was resolved to add his name 
 in her prayers that God would lead him back to him- 
 self, for she now saw plainly he was practically living 
 " without God in the world." 
 
 " Is that Laura walking with Mr. Thornhill in 
 the fields ?" inquired Miss Hackett, taking out her eye- 
 glass, as they approached Carysford. 
 
 " Indeed, I fear it is." 
 
 " You may well say ' fear,' Ethel ; for I do think 
 
woman's ministry. 73 
 
 Laura is behaving very strangely. She will get 
 fairly entangled in this flirtation." 
 
 " I hope not. Mr. Thornhill is anything but 
 desirable." 
 
 " Certainly he is. But, entre nous, my dear, 
 Laura is not herself very desirable for a sensible 
 young man." 
 
 " Miss Hackett, please do not say so. Laura is 
 fond of gaiety, and perhaps a little spoiled by all the 
 admiration she receives ; but you know how pretty 
 she is, and few people can bear being told so con- 
 tinually without some impression being made upon 
 them." 
 
 "Pretty, my dear ! A mere doll! and just as 
 much without heart as that inanimate substance. I 
 cannot admire a pink-and-white beauty ; I like some- 
 thing that lasts. As for prettiness, why you are much 
 better-looking than Laura!" 
 
 " Me ! oh, no ! I am quite willing to yield the 
 palm to Laura there. Nature, I know, has endowed 
 me less richly in respect to looks than my sister, yet I 
 trust I am quite independent of mere outward ap- 
 pearance," Ethel replied, in the most perfectly un- 
 affected manner, for it never entered her head to 
 dispute this point with Laura : she believed Miss 
 Hackett loved her best, and therefore clothed her with 
 ideal charms. 
 
 " All very well for you to think so of yourself, 
 my dear; for beauty is (or should be) after all, a 
 matter of indifference. But there are many think as. 
 I do, Ethel, and praise you for your unselfishness, 
 while they are justly angry with Laura's want of 
 amiability." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Hackett ! when did you see Laura 
 unamiable ? how can you have such an impression ?" 
 
74 ETHEL; OK, 
 
 "It is easy enough, my dear, for me to observe. 
 Laura has two distinct characters, a public and a pri- 
 vate one : the former, smiles and amiable compliance ; 
 the latter, just the reverse. Now, don't be angry, 
 Ethel ; I know it is so : the less said about the matter 
 the better. I would just give you a word of advice. 
 Do get Laura to break off this flirtation, if you have 
 any influence over her." 
 
 " I do not know that I have much, being a younger 
 sister ; but I do not think Laura has any intention 
 beyond mere flirtation with Mr. Thornhill." 
 
 " I am not quite so sure on that point. If Laura 
 cannot do better she will take Thornhill, and I do not 
 know whether it would not be a suitable match after 
 all." 
 
 " I cannot bear to hear you speak of my sister in 
 this manner ; indeed you make me feel very uncom- 
 fortable, Miss Hackett," said Ethel, warmly. 
 
 " Dear Ethel, you know my blunt sincerity, but I 
 would not grieve you with it." 
 
 " I am very sorry I spoke so hastily ; somehow, 
 to-day, I seem to have been unusually impatient. I 
 confess the arrival of Miss Grant was the beginning 
 of all this feeling. I must indeed try, by God's help, 
 to overcome this irritability of spirit ; my dear mother 
 warned me against it." 
 
 " Well, dear, but you have cause for trouble. 
 Miss Grant's arrival is a real affliction in itself. Then, 
 I was severe upon Laura ; but I will not hurt your 
 feelings again." 
 
 Ethel pressed her friend's hand warmly. 
 
 " The trouble is no reason why I should be fret- 
 ful. I will endeavour to overcome my faults," Ethel 
 replied, as the carriage stopped at the Woodvilles' 
 house in Park Row. 
 
woman's ministry. 75 
 
 Laura entered soon after, in no very pleasant 
 mood, complaining of her long walk and unsatisfactory 
 visit to Thurlston. She did not think Miss Raymond 
 half so agreeable as she had fancied, and — what in 
 Laura's opinion was worse than all — Raymond himself 
 was out; — Miss Raymond said he had gone to Lang- 
 ton : and great was Laura's indignation when she found 
 Ethel had had the opportunity of meeting and con- 
 versing with him. 
 
 " You seemed to enjoy your walk home through the 
 fields, notwithstanding your fatigue, Laura," Ethel 
 said, as her sister threw herself on her bed, after 
 divesting herself of her walking-dress. 
 
 " Pray when did you see me ? " replied Laura, 
 blushing. 
 
 " Just now, as we were returning home ; and I 
 was sorry to observe you with such a companion. 
 Miss Hackett noticed it, too, and it makes her think 
 you a flirt, dear Laura. Besides, really, I do not think 
 you ought to encourage Mr. Thornhill's attentions." 
 
 Ethel advanced to her sister's side, and spoke in a 
 doubtful, hesitating manner, afraid of offending Laura. 
 
 Laura knew Ethel was in the right, and this only 
 served to annoy her the more, although she put on an 
 injured look. " Do you suppose I care what Miss 
 Hackett thinks of me ? A prim old maid like her ! 
 As for you, Ethel, one would suppose you were my 
 mother instead of my younger sister, by your manner 
 of advising me ; I do not think it very becoming of 
 you," she said, colouring with indignation. 
 
 " You can, of course, do as you please, Laura. I 
 do not mean to lecture you, but merely to show that 
 I thought there seemed a manifest impropriety in your 
 conduct. If you mean to favour Mr. Thornhill's suit, 
 the case is different." 
 
76 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 " I think I am the fittest person to judge of the 
 propriety or impropriety of my actions, and need not 
 be accountable to you for them, Ethel. But I happened 
 to be walking unintentionally with Thornhill — we met 
 accidentally ; and if the officers will make a promenade 
 of those fields / cannot hinder them. How could I 
 tell him to leave me, when he happened to be there, 
 pray?" 
 
 "Perhaps not all at once, but you might have 
 shown a reluctance ; you could have walked faster, 
 and you need not have been seen talking to him at the 
 door so long. I am not, however, referring to this in- 
 stance alone, but many times you must be conscious 
 of having permitted him to pay you marked attention, 
 both in public and private. For example, allowing 
 him to call so often, and seeing him when papa is out. 
 I believe him to be attached to you, and therefore 
 you should not trifle with his feelings ; unless, as I 
 before said, you mean to return them." 
 
 " Me marry Thornhill ! A mere nobody ! with 
 hardly enough income to supply me with clothes ! 
 Trust me for that ! " exclaimed Laura, in great indig- 
 nation, throwing her head back haughtily. 
 
 " Then let me intreat you not to encourage him." 
 
 " I shall please myself, Ethel. Thank you for all 
 this unnecessary advice. I do not feel very much 
 benefited by it," replied Laura, coldly. 
 
 " Well, do not let us quarrel about it." 
 
 " Just as you please. I do wish you would not 
 trouble me." 
 
 "Very well. I say no more. Tea is ready, will 
 you come ? " 
 
 " No ; send mine up here." 
 
 Ethel left the room sadly. These discussions were 
 not unfrequent between the sisters. Ethel tried to 
 
woman's ministry. 77 
 
 restrain her indignation, and succeeded generally, 
 however provoking her sister might be. She could 
 not blind herself to the fact any longer that Laura 
 was selfish, and that to gratify her own whims she 
 would sacrifice another's feelings. Although Ethel 
 could not esteem Thornhill as a man, she believed he 
 was attached to Laura, and, no matter what a man 
 may be, his feelings will never be trifled with by a 
 generous woman for her own amusement. Whether 
 to mention the matter to her father, was the question 
 in Ethel's mind, but due consideration decided her not ; 
 he would either laugh at her scruples, or be angry 
 with Laura, and each of these results would cause 
 some unpleasantness : so, for the present, she resolved 
 to let matters take their course. 
 
78 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " I wandered by her side in life's sweet spring, 
 When all the world seemed beautiful and young ; 
 When Hope was truth, and she a peerless thing, 
 Eound whom my heart's best, fondest wishes clung. 
 Her cheek was fanned, not smitten, by Time's wing ; 
 Her heart Love had drawn sweets from, but ne'er stung ; 
 And as in Youth's and Beauty's light she moved, 
 All blessed her. She was lovely and beloved ! " 
 
 H. Neale. 
 
 After tea was over, Mr. Woodville, having an en- 
 gagement, went out, and Laura condescended to come 
 down-stairs, and with an air of languor threw herself 
 upon the couch, took up a novel, and was soon absorbed 
 in its contents. Ethel seated herself at the table, with 
 Harry and his books on one side, and Minnie on the 
 other. The evening closed in darkly, and lights were 
 added earlier than usual, when, just as the party had 
 again settled to their employments, a loud ring at the 
 hall-door startled them. 
 
 "I wonder if that's my new jacket? Hobbs pro- 
 mised to send it home to-night : or perhaps Dick 
 Stevens, with the cricket -bat I lent him?" said 
 Harry. 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! it's only papa coming in," replied 
 Laura, hearing a gentleman's foot in the passage. But 
 the door was suddenly thrown open by Sally, with 
 something like a grin on her face as she ushered in 
 
 
woman's ministry. 79 
 
 Mr. Raymond to the astonished party. A glance 
 sufficed to show him the employment of each — Laura 
 lying on the couch reading, Ethel sitting at the table 
 with a Latin Dictionary before her, Harry writing an 
 exercise, and Minnie learning to spell from a pictorial 
 edition of " Reading made Easy." 
 
 " This is, I fear, an almost unpardonable intrusion 
 on my part, but business of importance required that I 
 should see Mr. Woodville this evening, and hearing that 
 he was likely to return soon I requested to be allowed 
 to wait for him, if not inconvenient," said Raymond, 
 coming forward with the air of a well-bred man who 
 is conscious that his presence will not be deemed an 
 intrusion. Laura had thrown aside her book and 
 sprung to her feet — with her lovely golden hair 
 thrown back, and with her blushing face, she looked 
 beautiful in her confusion ; while Ethel rose with per- 
 fect composure to greet Raymond, and then quietly 
 resumed her seat near Harry. 
 
 " Pray do not let me disturb you," said Raymond, 
 politely — hoping, however, Ethel would be disturbed ; 
 but she thanked him and returned to Harry, answering 
 his questions as he continued to write, leaving Laura 
 nothing loath to have the sole entertainment of their 
 unexpected guest. Raymond answered Laura's ques- 
 tions politely, but his heart was not in h\s replies, and 
 his eye often wandered with something like impatience 
 to watch the beautiful profile of Ethel, whose instruc- 
 tions to her brother seemed insufferably long. At 
 length he tried to attract Minnie to him, whose little 
 bright eyes had been observing him slyly from behind 
 Ethel for some time. 
 
 " Must I go, sissy ? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly, if Mr. Raymond wishes you," re- 
 plied Ethel. 
 
80 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 Minnie ran to Raymond's side, and he took her 
 kindly on his knee, and showed her the inside of his 
 watch, explaining the wonders of its mechanism. 
 
 "What were you learning just now, out of that 
 book ? " Raymond inquired, when the watch had been 
 again consigned to its place. 
 
 " I am learning to read. I can spell six words, 'cat' 
 and 'bat,' and some more ; and Ethy says, when I can 
 really read I shall go to church : so I am going to be 
 very quick." 
 
 " And so your sister says you shall go to church 
 when you can read ! Will you like it ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! All good people like to go to church, 
 Ethy says, and I intend to be very good ; because I 
 want to go to heaven when I die, to see Jesus Christ 
 and mamma there." 
 
 Ethel blushed excessively as Minnie spoke the first 
 part of her sentence. Raymond, however, only laughed, 
 and turning to her said, with a knowing look, — " Early 
 prejudices springing up, I see." 
 
 " And do you go to school to learn to read ? " 
 " No, sissy teaches me." 
 "Who is sissy ?" 
 
 " Ethy : don't you know? — that one ; " and Minnie 
 raised a very fat pretty little finger to show him. 
 
 " Minnie, you are not to point at people," said Laura, 
 not at all pleased by Minnie's expressiveness, and very 
 much annoyed by the meaning glance which had passed 
 between Ethel and Raymond, the reason for which she 
 did not know. She tried to appear very affectionate 
 towards Minnie, seeing Raymond was so much pleased 
 with her: but Minnie knew better than to receive 
 Laura's caresses, and resisted them all ; and Laura 
 almost gave way to temper before Raymond. At length 
 the servant came to take Minnie to bed, to her great 
 
woman's ministry. 81 
 
 relief, as then she hoped to claim Raymond's attention 
 again. 
 
 "Will you give me a kiss before you go ?" Ray- 
 mond said kindly, as Minnie held out her little hand to 
 wish him good-night. 
 
 " Yes, because I love you," Minnie said, pouting out 
 her rosy lips for him to kiss. Raymond felt pleased 
 by the compliment, for he felt it was a genuine one. 
 No sooner had Minnie disappeared than Harry ex- 
 claimed, in a fit of perplexity : — 
 
 "Let's ask Mr. Raymond, Thella; he's been a school- 
 boy, and had all this humbug to go through." 
 
 " I shall be most happy if I can assist in any way," 
 said Raymond, readily, as he rose, eager to be near 
 Ethel. 
 
 " Thank you. Ethel is a capital help generally, 
 but she's as bad as I am to-night : you see, women 
 can't understand these things like men," said Harry. 
 
 Raymond seated himself at the table and construed 
 the passage without difficulty, and then begged to 
 help Harry still further, and the task was soon finished 
 with his assistance. 
 
 " I had no idea I should meet with a lady who 
 understood Latin and Greek," said Raymond, as the 
 last book was closed. 
 
 " I really know very little about them, especially 
 Greek ; but it is pleasant to assist my brother. I do 
 not like to own how much labour it really costs me to 
 keep beyond him, now that he gets on so fast." 
 
 " Don't believe a word of it, Mr. Raymond. 
 Ethel is a first-rate scholar ; and a very good, kind 
 sister, too," said Harry, giving Ethel a rough squeeze 
 round her waist, in true schoolboy fashion. 
 
 Raymond was much pleased with this blunt 
 tribute of affection, while Laura was in dismay ; 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 everything seemed to cast her into the shade to-night. 
 For once she was not the exclusive object of some one's 
 attention, and she felt extremely annoyed and out of 
 place. She began to wish she was clever, or some- 
 thing that she was not, in order to win Raymond's 
 regard. But the party at the table were too polite to 
 exclude her from their conversation now the lessons 
 were over; so the subject was quickly changed, and 
 Raymond, seeing the piano open, begged for a little 
 music. Laura rose with alacrity and played some 
 brilliant dance music, certainly with great effect. 
 But it did not please Raymond; he liked vocal better 
 than instrumental music, and longed to hear Ethel 
 sing. His thanks were warm when Laura rose, but 
 they were only sincere so far that he was really glad 
 when she had finished. 
 
 "Will you sing something? you cannot tell how 
 much I have wished to hear you again," Raymond 
 said, in a low voice to Ethel, who was working at the 
 table. 
 
 " I shall be very happy to do so. Have you any 
 choice ?" she replied, handing him her music. 
 
 " No, indeed ! your taste, I am sure, will be mine. 
 And I know so few songs." 
 
 Ethel soon selected one of her favourites. One 
 of the beauties of her style was the clear intonation 
 of the words, which she pronounced distinctly, without 
 marring the real beauty of the melody, — a grace in 
 singing Avhich few, even the first public vocalists, can 
 ever accomplish. Either the music is made subser- 
 vient to the words, which has a peculiarly disagree- 
 able effect, or the words lost in the pathos of the 
 music, so that it is difficult even to say in what lan- 
 guage the song was written. But the words and 
 music in Ethel's singing blended with delicious har- 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 83 
 
 mony, and Raymond felt it impossible to define which 
 most touched his heart. The words were some Mrs. 
 Woodville had herself set to music, and were as 
 follows : — 
 
 " Tell me, ye winged winds, 
 
 That round my pathway roar, 
 
 Do ye not know some spot 
 
 Where mortals weep no more ; 
 
 Some lone and pleasant dell, 
 
 Some valley in the west, 
 
 Where, free from toil and pain, 
 
 The weary soul may rest? 
 The loud winds dwindled to a whisper low, 
 And sighed for pity as they answered, ' No !' 
 
 Tell me, thou mighty deep, 
 
 Whose hillows round me play, 
 
 Know'st thou some favoured spot, 
 
 Some island far away, 
 
 Where weary man may find 
 
 The bliss for which he sighs ; 
 
 Where sorrow never lives, 
 
 And friendship never dies ? 
 The low Avaves, rolling in perpetual flow, 
 Stayed for awhile, that they might answer, ' No ! ' 
 
 And thou, serenest moon, 
 
 That with such holy face 
 
 Dost look upon the earth, 
 
 Sleeping in night's embrace — 
 
 Tell me, in all thy round 
 Hast thou not seen some favoured spot 
 Where miserable man might find a happier lot ? 
 Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe, 
 And a voice, sweet but sad, responded ' No.' 
 
 Tell me, my secret soul, 
 Oh, tell me, Hope and Faith, 
 Is there no resting-place 
 From sorrow, sin, and death ? 
 
8* ETHEL; OR, 
 
 Is there no happy spot 
 
 Where mortals may be blest, 
 
 Where grief may find a balm, 
 
 And weariness a rest ? 
 Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given, 
 Waved their bright wings and whispered, ' Yes ! in Heaven.'" 
 
 " Thank you: it is very beautiful," said Raymond; 
 and there was something fervent in his manner which 
 caused a slight blush to rise on Ethel's cheek. 
 
 " The words are well known, I believe, and 
 were given to mamma by a very dear friend, and 
 mamma set them to music only a short time before 
 her death." 
 
 "How you must prize it! The melody is exqui- 
 site in its pathos, and the words are very beautiful, 
 
 and I hope there may be :" he paused, but did not 
 
 continue his sentence, he was going to have added, 
 " truth in them," but he did not like to cast a shadow 
 of a doubt on her by his own gloomy ideas respecting 
 a future state, which were undefined and doubtful, at 
 least sometimes. If he had been struck with Ethel's 
 singing the first time, the impression was far more 
 decided the second. The depth of feeling with which 
 she gave the music, the low mellow tones of her 
 thrilling voice, quite startled him by the effect they 
 had on his heart. Her pale, sad expression, too, and 
 the pure beauty of her features, only added to this 
 feeling; for Ethel seldom sung without her mother 
 being forcibly recalled to her mind, and frequently 
 she had difficulty in restraining her tears. 
 
 " Thella, sing the song you composed yourself; 
 do dear, the one beginning, — 
 
 ' If I had thought thou couldst have died, 
 I might not weep for thee.' 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 85 
 
 I am sure Mr. Raymond would like it," Harry said, 
 as she rose from the instrument. 
 
 " Oh ! if you would, you cannot tell how much it 
 would interest me," Raymond said, eagerly. 
 
 " Indeed you must excuse me ; I could not, I am 
 quite sure," Ethel said, feeling her perfect inability to 
 sing before Raymond anything to recall such sad 
 recollections. The rapid opening and shutting of the 
 hall-door relieved her from further importunity, and 
 announced that Mr. Woodville had returned. As 
 Raymond turned from the piano, his eye fell on the 
 title-page of the book Laura had been reading, and 
 which she had left unintentionally exposed to his view. 
 Few things ever escaped his keen, observing eye, 
 more especially in a house, the inmates of which 
 had inspired him with some, if not deep interest. In 
 a moment he read it ; it was that of an exceedingly 
 clever, but notoriously immoral French novel, — one 
 which he would not have permitted his sister to read 
 on any account. Laura's character was stamped in 
 his eyes. Irreligious as he was, and a man of the 
 world, careless as to what he might read himself, he 
 yet knew well how to appreciate purity of feeling in 
 women, and was most fastidious as to what they read ; 
 it being, in his opinion, one of the clearest criterions 
 of their characters. 
 
 " Ethel would have scorned to touch such a book," 
 thought Raymond to himself, as he turned to meet Mr. 
 Woodville, who began an elaborate apology for his 
 absence. Raymond assured him, with the most perfect 
 sincerity, he had not been at all inconvenienced by it ; 
 and then, wishing the ladies good-night, he withdrew 
 with Mr. Woodville to transact his business. 
 
 " Well, Ada, how have you been consoled during 
 
86 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 my long absence?" inquired Raymond, as he entered 
 a large handsome apartment, where his sister was 
 busily engaged in embroidering. 
 
 " Oh, I have been very well employed, Herbert. 
 But now, give an account of yourself; for I am at a 
 loss to discover where you have been to-night." 
 
 " I have been to Mr. Woodville's." 
 
 " Mr. Woodville's ! To see the fair Ethel ? Oh, 
 Herbert, Herbert! the acquaintance is progressing 
 rapidly," exclaimed Ada, merrily. 
 
 " No, I did not go for that purpose : but yet I saw 
 her. Harper's business must be attended to without 
 delay, and to-morrow he is going to London about it, 
 so I went to see Woodville before he started." 
 
 " Well, never mind the business ; but how came 
 Miss Ethel Woodville to be connected with it ?" 
 
 Herbert told her how the case stood. 
 
 " And you heard her sing, and were more charmed 
 than ever : and were, in fact, quite carried away. 
 Alas, for my brother's boasted prudence ! " said Ada, 
 a mischievous smile lurking on her bright face. 
 
 "Ada, don't laugh: I do not feel quite comfortable." 
 
 " I do not doubt that ! I never heard of a person 
 being in love, without the certainty of the affection 
 being returned, that was comfortable." 
 
 " But who said I was in love ?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " That does not prove it." 
 
 " I judge from the tout ensemble of your words and 
 actions. Ever since that party at Miss Hackett's you 
 have wished my hair was brown, my complexion beau- 
 tiful, and that I could sing ' When sorrow sleepeth.' 
 This was the beginning ; now you are worse than ever : 
 you have seen the lady twice to-day and been en- 
 chanted. How will all this end, I wonder ? " 
 
woman's ministry. 87 
 
 " /really cannot tell, nor can any one else ! Now, 
 Ada, do dear, just leave that bantering way. I want 
 to speak seriously to you. You know, if I cannot 
 confide in you there is no one else to whom I can 
 speak," said Raymond, gravely. 
 
 Ada put down her work and came to him instantly, 
 and seating herself by him replied : " Dear Herbert, 
 forgive me ; I do not think I ought to have laughed. 
 I will not do so again." 
 
 Herbert put his arm round her and drew her to 
 him, and kissed her affectionately. 
 
 " Then I will tell you all about things, Ada dear. 
 I acknowledge I am very much taken with Miss 
 Ethel Woodville ; so much so, that I begin to think I 
 cannot long remain in th^> neighbourhood, where I 
 shall see her often, without loving her, as I have 
 never loved any one before. But there are reasons 
 why the matter requires serious consideration, as to 
 the propriety of my paying her attention." 
 
 " You do not mean, Herbert, that you would be 
 like mamma, — think of position and fortune, and so 
 on, where your heart was likely to be engaged?" Ada 
 said, warmly. 
 
 " No, dear, certainly not. I have no feeling of 
 that kind. Where I love, it must be entirely a matter 
 of heart affection, quite exclusive of any minor con- 
 siderations. If I loved a poor country girl, I could 
 make her my wife as soon as I could the highest lady 
 of the land, though I do not think it in my nature to 
 love beneath me in point of talent and refinement." 
 
 " Then, what can be the cause or just impedi- 
 ment ? A vow of celibacy?" suggested Ada. 
 
 " No. But simply a belief that she might not be 
 happy with me. She is very religious." 
 
 " I think you should allow her to be the judge in 
 
88 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 that case. But how do you know she is very reli- 
 gious ?" 
 
 Raymond related all he had heard at Old Nannie's, 
 and his after conversation with Ethel at Sawley. 
 
 " What a beautiful character she must be ! How 
 much I should like to know more about her ! " ex- 
 claimed Ada. 
 
 " Because she is religious ? I must say, that is 
 the only thing I do not like in her." 
 
 " And why, Herbert ? Is it not because it raises 
 her above you ? " 
 
 " Perhaps, Ada, you may be right. Certainly her 
 piety does place a barrier between us. Somehow it 
 seems to give a depth and loftiness of character to 
 her, which I do not possess." 
 
 " And why should you not possess it, Herbert ? 
 Why may not Ethel's faith become yours ? Let her 
 gentle influence impart her religion to you, and be 
 happy together." 
 
 Herbert shook his head. 
 
 " It might be so. But religion does not seem to 
 be necessary to me; to her, it is connected with her 
 very existence. She could not live without it. For 
 a few moments to-night, I confess, I was strongly 
 tinged with her feeling, when she sung about ' rest in 
 heaven;' for, oh! Ada, darling, after all, earth is a 
 weary place, — at least I find it so : and the world 
 would say I had less cause for trouble than many, 
 with riches and pleasures in my grasp. I am always 
 hankering after an undefined something to lay hold 
 upon, something substantial, something abiding, to 
 rest upon. All on earth seems unreal, and sad, and 
 
 dreary. If I could firmly trust in Ethel's poetry ■ 
 
 but I have so many doubts and perplexities, I feel 
 religion is not the thing, after all, for me: still it 
 
woman's ministry. 89 
 
 would be a pleasant phantasy, could I at least indulge 
 for a time in it." 
 
 " Herbert, you shock me ! Religion a phantasy ! 
 Bad as I feel myself to be, that never came into my 
 mind. I believe true, saving religion, is the only 
 balm for the wounded heart. I wish I could say I 
 knew it," said Ada, sorrowfully. 
 
 " Ask Miss Woodville, then ; she will tell you." 
 
 " So I will, when I have sufficient courage." 
 
 " But I don't know what you want : you are reli- 
 gious, you go to church twice every Sunday." 
 
 " Do you think that will save me ?" inquired Ada, 
 warmly. 
 
 " I don't know. There was much spoken con- 
 cerning the advantages of it this afternoon." 
 
 " You must have misunderstood her. She could 
 not say a mere form would do you good. Forms are 
 necessary things to some extent, I know, but they are 
 not the direct instruments for salvation. I confess to 
 my thoughtlessness and inattention in God's house. 
 I find myself, when I go to church, determining to 
 attend to everything, I very soon lapse into thought- 
 lessness again, and forget all that is going on." 
 
 " What on earth do you go for then, Ada ? If 
 this is all the good you derive, you had better stay at 
 home with me. I left off going solely because I did 
 not attend to, or relish anything that was there ; and 
 I consider it rather hypocritical to continue so mean- 
 ingless a service." 
 
 " But I continually hope to get better, Herbert, 
 and go with good resolutions every time. I wish I 
 could find out how to keep my attention fixed." 
 
 Herbert laughed ; but it was a forced merriment, 
 for his conscience reproved him, though he stifled its 
 warnings. 
 
90 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " You can, of course, act as you please in this 
 respect, Ada ; but I must say, a confession like yours 
 speaks badly for preacher and services : they must be 
 monotonous, or your attention would not flag." 
 
 " Herbert, this is not right of you. The fault is 
 surely in myself. It is my own evil heart which 
 leads me wrong, and not the minister or the services." 
 
 " My darling, no ! Mankind are not as corrupt 
 as some people would try to make out. You go to 
 church ; you hear a stupid sermon on a subject you 
 have heard hundreds of times before ; you fall asleep, 
 or think of other things, and come away no better: 
 therefore, I say, stay at home at once, rather than 
 pretend an interest which you do not feel." 
 
 " I do think it is very wrong to talk in this way. 
 You know, Herbert, services must necessarily be 
 alike to some extent, because the way to be holy is 
 always the same. And although we may have heard 
 sermons very much alike thousands of times, I ask 
 you candidly, Have we individually ever profited by 
 them? Can we say that we have ever truly re- 
 pented, truly believed ? Are we holy ? " exclaimed 
 Ada, suddenly rising and kneeling by her brother's side. 
 
 " Sufficiently so, I dare say. But what makes 
 you take up these subjects so seriously ? You are 
 quite an enthusiast, Ada ! And here have you led me 
 into a religious discussion, and wandered far from 
 the real object of our conversation." 
 
 "You want to change the subject, I know; but 
 if Ethel were with us, she would most like to con- 
 verse on these things. All true Christians are anxious 
 for the salvation of others," replied Ada. 
 
 " At all events, you have made as many practical 
 observations as I can do with to-night, Ada," said 
 Herbert, rather gravely. 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 91 
 
 " But I asked the question for my own benefit, as 
 well as yours." 
 
 " And if I do not wish to discuss the matter fur- 
 ther ?" 
 
 " I cannot force you to do so, certainly. But I 
 do not think you should trifle with such a subject." 
 
 " But why have you taken it up so energetically ?" 
 
 " The other day I took up a Bible which lay on 
 my dressing-table (I see Mrs. Lambert has put one 
 in every room up-stairs), I was waiting for Laurence 
 before I dressed. I read several chapters, one more 
 especially, where we are taught that we must be born 
 again. Now, I had learnt that chapter at school ; 
 but I did it as a punishment one day. Mrs. Ellison 
 always gave us the Bible to learn when we had done 
 wrong, — a fact which, up to the present time, in- 
 spired me with quite a repugnance to it. None of 
 the truths I had read there ever fixed my attention, 
 until the other day, when some startling things en- 
 tered my mind, and I have really felt very uncomfort- 
 able ever since." 
 
 " How absurd ! Lambert must be spoken to for 
 introducing her methodistical ways into the house, 
 and making you miserable." 
 
 " Lambert is a good old woman, and very anxious 
 for her master and mistress's present and future 
 welfare." 
 
 " She might leave them to look after their own 
 interests." 
 
 " Oh, Herbert, don't speak in that manner ! I 
 feel that we are both careless and irreligious, and I 
 do wish we were different," exclaimed Ada, tears 
 coming into her eyes. 
 
 " Do you ? Well, dear Ada, that conviction has 
 
92 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 not entered my mind yet, therefore do not include me 
 in that expressive ' we.' " 
 
 Raymond spoke playfully, but his words fell heavily 
 on his sister's ear. They had always been one in 
 thought before ; now a wide gulf seemed to have 
 opened between them. Ada's hope was gone that 
 Herbert would have studied the Bible with her. She 
 was unhappy in her conviction of sin, and no one was 
 there to direct her, and tears quickly fell from her 
 eyes ; which, when Herbert perceived, he drew her 
 kindly to him, and endeavoured by every means in 
 his power to soothe her; but Ada exclaimed, petu- 
 lantly, — 
 
 " No, Herbert, we can have no sympathy toge- 
 ther ; I must seek it elsewhere." 
 
 " I did not think you would have said so, Ada. 
 Come, do be my own sister again, or I shall really 
 hate the name of religion if it separates us," he said, 
 very gently. 
 
 His mildness softened Ada, who put her arms 
 lovingly round his neck, and they were seemingly 
 united. But the blank in poor Ada's heart remained 
 unfilled, though she strove to hide her wounded feel- 
 ings by retiring early, that her brother might not 
 witness the sorrowful thoughts his words had called 
 forth. 
 
woman's ministry. 93 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; 
 A stage, where every man must play his part." 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 " Give me enough, not more, saving for the children of distress. 
 Each man should ask his neighbour, and yield to him again 
 
 concession. 
 Terms ill defined, and forms misunderstood, and customs, 
 Where their reasons are unknown, 
 Have stirred up many jealous souls to fight against imaginary 
 
 giants." — M. Tupper. 
 
 " Do not forget to call on Miss Grant this morning, 
 girls," said Mr. Woodville the following day, as he 
 put in his head at the dining-room door before his 
 departure to his office. 
 
 " No ! we are going in an hour or two," Laura 
 replied, indifferently, as she added a few finishing 
 touches to her bonnet, which she was re-trimming for 
 Miss Grant's benefit. Ethel's reply was not needed ; 
 and as she was busy bending over Minnie's lesson- 
 book, Mr. Woodville did not observe the blood which 
 rushed tumultously to her face, and how her lips 
 compressed at the remembrance of the scene on the 
 preceding day. 
 
 At the proper time, however, she was ready to 
 accompany Laura, in order to meet her father's wislies. 
 
94 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 Miss Grant gave them an overpoweringly civil re- 
 ception, even claiming a kiss on the score of her 
 lengthened acquaintance with their parents. ' Such 
 a friendship!' thought Ethel, as the kiss from the 
 * friend's ' lips seemed to burn her cheek ; but with 
 a powerful effort she endeavoured to overcome her 
 aversion, and suppress the rising feeling of indigna- 
 tion, with the charitable hope that time might have 
 changed Miss Grant. But long ere the inter- 
 view closed, the conviction was forced upon Ethel 
 that she was the same unchanged being of former 
 years. 
 
 Miss Grant was a remarkably young-looking per- 
 son for her age, and might have been supposed under 
 thirty, instead of above forty — as she really was. 
 There was a blithe youthfulness in her manner when 
 she chose, and an apparently warm interest in the 
 affairs of others, which gave her a certain degree of 
 fascination to those who had not discernment to see 
 through the cloak of deceit which she wore. This 
 cordiality and seeming pleasure in their society 
 quickly won Laura over to believe her all that was 
 charming. She had no power to penetrate through 
 Miss Grant's disguise, having no perceptive qualities 
 to view her as she really was. There was a lurking 
 satire, a designing cordiality, a cat-like affection, so 
 to speak, and a want of sincerity in all she said and 
 did, which Ethel very soon discovered. 
 
 Miss Grant was not without considerable powers 
 of discrimination, as well as Ethel ; and Laura's love 
 of admiration soon became apparent, as did Ethel's 
 indifference to it. Acting upon her convictions, she 
 had told Laura, before she had been ten minutes in 
 the room, that she had the loveliest face and the 
 most brilliant complexion she had ever seen, and 
 
woman's ministry. 95 
 
 hinted upon the many supposed conquests she must 
 have made. 
 
 Laura was quite delighted, and thought Miss 
 Grant a most desirable acquaintance, and was glad 
 Mr. Woodville had wished them to call. 
 
 Miss Grant was not quite so successful with Ethel. 
 Her calm, composed, chiselled features, gave no index 
 of her inward feelings ; and her polite, lady-like 
 manner, left Miss Grant without cause for complaint ; 
 and perhaps it was on this account that the lady dis- 
 liked her so much. Too cold to be easily attached to 
 people, and too clever to be made her dupe, Miss 
 Grant felt she must leave Ethel, and work only on 
 the elder sister. 
 
 As they left the house, the feelings of the sisters 
 differed widely ; Laura infinitely charmed, Ethel in- 
 finitely disgusted, and her heart heavy with sad fore- 
 bodings of events yet to happen, the very thought of 
 which was agony to herself. 
 
 " I must go to the Library ; are you disposed to 
 walk so far?" Ethel inquired, as they entered the 
 street. 
 
 " No, I think not ; but will you bring me the last 
 volume of ' Jane Eyre : ' I am dying to know what is 
 going to happen next." 
 
 " I will try ; but I have three or four books be- 
 sides to get for Miss Hackett and Harry : so that, 
 perhaps, I cannot manage yours." 
 
 " Never mind Harry's ; bring mine instead," re- 
 plied Laura carelessly, as she left her sister. 
 
 Scarcely had she turned the corner of the street, 
 when Ethel saw Ada Raymond crossing the road 
 towards her. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Woodville ! I am very glad to meet 
 you. Are you going into the town ? I am dreadfully 
 
 
96 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 alarmed, and want protection. What with these 
 puzzling streets (for they all seem to me to run one 
 into the other, and to be so much alike), and what 
 with the rudeness of the people, I really am quite 
 frightened. Is it considered proper for ladies to walk 
 alone in the streets ? " she exclaimed, almost breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; why should you doubt it ?" 
 " Because, as I came along, all the people were 
 coming from the mills ; and before I could escape, 
 crowds of ferocious, dirty-looking people, were around 
 me, smelling strongly of oil, and so rude, it was very 
 disagreeable. Then they stared at me, and made such 
 insulting remarks. I made out a good deal of what 
 they meant, though their dialect was so uncouth. 
 One man asked me to give him a ' cuss' (kiss). An- 
 other said, ' Ay, I wish I warn't wed, I'd hae thee, 
 lass ; ' a third told me, ' I'd a rare pair o' black eyes, 
 enow to mak' a duck come art ut t'water.' Then 
 there were groups of young women, with handker- 
 chiefs tied over their heads, and coarse brown aprons 
 on ; who kept laughing and staring at me ; some even 
 pretended to mimic me. ' See how proud shoo is;' 
 and, 'Doesn't thee think thyself fine?' while every 
 article of my dress came under the freest criticism. 
 I began to wish I had not ventured into the town 
 on foot ; but our horses were engaged to-day, and I 
 thought I might manage alone." * 
 
 " I do not wonder at your being afraid of our 
 uncivilised north-country people, after being accus- 
 tomed to the more refined manners of those in the 
 south. But I am inclined to think, with all their 
 rudeness, there is much real warmth of feeling, and 
 a desire to be civil, among even these wild creature? - . 
 At the same time, I must own to a peciv'ar dislike to 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 9 I 
 
 encounter the mill people. I am always subject to 
 similar remarks. They are very different when you 
 see them in their houses." 
 
 " Do you mean to say you ever visit them?" ex- 
 claimed Ada, in unfeigned astonishment. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! frequently." 
 
 " I should be dreadfully afraid of doing so." 
 
 " Oh, no ! there is nothing but a little care required 
 in selecting proper neighbourhoods. I never go but 
 where it is perfectly safe. Mr. Bevan told me the 
 names of a few old women to visit, who wished me 
 to read to them, and now I have formed many ac- 
 quaintances, and never received any insult." 
 
 " And do you really feel pleasure in visiting among 
 these wretched creatures ?" 
 
 " I will not say that I always feel a pleasure in it, 
 for I often have a great disinclination to go. The filth, 
 wretchedness, poverty, and above all, the irreligion 
 I meet with, make my heart very sad ; and some- 
 times I am inclined to wish it were not my duty to go 
 among them, for I have so few means of relieving 
 their distress. But, then, there are those who in their 
 miserable hovels glorify God in their afflictions, and 
 take whatever befalls them in cheerfulness and re- 
 signation. And I can truly say, I never return from 
 visits like these that I do not feel a pleasure in having 
 tried to do my duty, and a happier and more thankful 
 heart for all my many mercies." 
 
 " And do you find a great deal of poverty among 
 them?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! frequently, most distressing cases of 
 want, among those who have no work, or are past 
 being able to do much. I always dread the winter, 
 provisions are generally so dear. Perhaps you are 
 not aware that one branch of the Carysford trade is 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 ETHEL ; OK, 
 
 spoilt, at least for the poor people who were employed 
 in it. Machines have lately been invented which do the 
 work cheaper and quicker than men can, and this has 
 thrown hundreds — I believe I may say thousands, out 
 of work. What makes the case still worse is, that these 
 poor creatures cannot readily turn their hand to any- 
 thing else, as their previous employment has weakened 
 their constitutions, and rendered out-door labour 
 almost impossible. Yet you would be surprised to see 
 how many instances there are of cheerful acquiescence 
 in the will of God amid all this privation, and un- 
 willingness to throw themselves upon charity. I do 
 not mean in all cases, for Chartism prevails to a great 
 extent ; still it is pleasant to feel there are so many who 
 are willing to make the best of their hard lot." 
 
 " You interest me very much : do tell me more. 
 Does no one seek out and try to relieve all this dis- 
 tress ? Surely Carysford has the reputation of being 
 a wealthy town, and I hear many called ' Merchant 
 Princes' from their riches ; how can they comfortably 
 sit down and leave others to starve ? " exclaimed Ada, 
 warmly. 
 
 " In many instances their money has been hardly 
 earned, and this sometimes makes them keep it all the 
 more closely. You would be astonished to witness how 
 callous the heart grows in time of prosperity. You 
 see many charitable persons, who begin the world with 
 benevolent intentions, get imposed upon and cheated 
 in so many ways, that they learn to be over-cautious 
 and to distrust every one. I do not think the gene- 
 rality of rich people here are cognizant of the misery 
 which is around them, even at their very doors ; their 
 servants turn people indiscriminately from the house : 
 and thus masters and mistresses never suspect any 
 actual distress." 
 
woman's ministry. 99 
 
 "But the manufacturers, or whatever they may be, 
 must know they have ruined the people's trade. Why 
 do they not make compensation ?" 
 
 Ethel shook her head. Ada's seemed a just re- 
 mark, but she only knew one side of the question. 
 
 "I believe slight efforts have been made to do 
 something. I never, however, heard any very satis- 
 factory results, unless it was in getting a few of the 
 people to emigrate to Australia. You see, it would in- 
 volve the ruin of many masters to make compensation, 
 and as they say all will come right in the end, some class 
 of persons must be losers in new inventions of this 
 kind ; but the public will be the gainers generally : 
 and there is truth in this remark, only it seems a 
 very hard thing for the sufferers. I do not think the 
 masters — at least many of them — know how much 
 the people have to endure, for I have sometimes had 
 opportunities of hearing what they say on the subject. 
 A gentleman I met at a party the other day told me 
 he knew positively the workmen were better off than 
 they had been for years, although I brought forward the 
 class of persons I have been mentioning, and facts for 
 which I could vouch.* You are not to suppose, Miss 
 Raymond, that the masters, as a body, are hard, un- 
 feeling men ; they are generally (I cannot say, always) 
 kind-hearted and liberal. As I have known many 
 instances of this, it would be injustice were I to allow 
 you to think them the reverse ; although I have been 
 grievously disappointed when I have heard of occa- 
 sions in which they have refused even a sovereign 
 for charitable purposes, when I knew they had their 
 thousands a-year." 
 
 * Since the above was written, the condition of the people 
 has been somewhat improved in this respect. 
 
100 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " How covetous ! How contemptible ! We don't 
 do so in the south." 
 
 " Perhaps not, generally ; but human nature is 
 the same all over the world. I do certainly think 
 covetousness is a sin which is peculiarly abhorrent 
 to God; indeed the Bible tells us so. If all men 
 whom God has richly endowed did but give as 
 liberally as they have received, how much the poverty 
 in the world would be lessened ! When I see men 
 eager to hoard up treasures for this life alone, and 
 not making any of their fellow-creatures the better 
 for that wealth, I cannot help recalling those words 
 of the wise man — ' There is a sore evil which I have 
 seen under the sun, namely, riches kept for the owners 
 thereof to their hurt.' (Eccles. v. 13.) But I really 
 fear you will think I am altogether taking the people's 
 part. There are things I ought to tell you with re- 
 gard to trade, on the other hand. When it was very 
 good (before the invention of these machines), the 
 workmen had high wages; then they lived well, and 
 perhaps only worked on certain days of the week, 
 being enabled to earn a sufficiency without toiling so 
 laboriously. Then trade sunk again, and the masters 
 were compelled to lower their wages. The people 
 for this would cherish their revenge until some large 
 order came in, which must be executed within a 
 given time ; then they chose to ' turn out,' or ' strike,' 
 and resolutely refused to work unless their demands 
 were complied with. This naturally made the mas- 
 ters angry, and eventually led to the invention of 
 machines, which would render them comparatively 
 independent of their work-people. But, of course, 
 this throws the innocent as well as the guilty out 
 of work : all were not strikers, yet they all suffered 
 alike, and hundreds are now almost homeless aid 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 101 
 
 penniless. These are evils which it seems impossible 
 to prevent. I think, if there were a better under- 
 standing between masters and men, much ill-feeling 
 might be saved. It seems to me, if the people were 
 treated more equally, and allowed to know now and 
 then their masters' reasons for acting, whilst they, 
 on their side, were less stubborn and independent 
 in submitting when necessary, there would be fewer 
 strikes." 
 
 "Are strikes frequent?" inquired Ada, slightly 
 alarmed. " Don't people break windows and march 
 about the streets with clubs and such things?" 
 
 " I have heard of instances of that sort, certainly ; 
 but they are not frequent. In our part we very 
 seldom see any commotion. The winter is the most 
 trying time, and as it is approaching I do hope some- 
 thing may be done to relieve the distress. A few 
 winters ago things were awfully bad, crowds of people 
 came to the doors literally starving. Dear mamma 
 used to keep the coffee-can on the fire all the morning, 
 and the kitchen used to be full of anxious starved 
 faces; and as mamma had little to bestow in money, 
 she used to give a cup of hot coffee and a slice of bread. 
 I have known the time when women have fainted 
 from exhaustion, and we have been obliged to feed 
 them ourselves. I have, perhaps, had to take the poor 
 creatures' miserable infants in my arms and feed them 
 myself, while mamma and the servants attended to 
 the mothers." 
 
 " And did you ? Could you really touch a baby 
 in such a deplorable condition ? How good you must 
 be ! " exclaimed Ada, as she remembered with what 
 disgust she had frequently turned even from the sight 
 of a dirty child in the street. 
 
 " I confess I did not like it; but it was wrong to 
 
102 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 despise any one, more especially an infant ; and when 
 I saw mamma's tenderness and kindness to the baby's 
 mother, I felt ashamed of my weakness. Moreover, 
 when I reflected how the Saviour took children (pro- 
 bably the children of the poor) in his arms, how he 
 put his hands on them and blessed them, and told his 
 disciples that ' of such is the kingdom of heaven,' I 
 used to feel grieved at my repugnance ; and when I 
 have seen their little, sharp, pinched faces brighten up 
 and smile at me as I gave them warm food, I have 
 been more than rewarded." 
 
 Ada looked at Ethel in silent admiration as they 
 entered the shop to which Ethel had accompanied 
 her; Ethel was about to leave her, when Ada entreated 
 she would remain a few minutes longer, and then go 
 with her to the Library. 
 
 Ethel consulted her watch, and finding she should 
 have time, remained with Ada until she had made 
 her purchases. 
 
 " I want to ask you if you think I could do any- 
 thing for these poor people ? How could money be 
 bestowed ? I have no one to trust with it unless 
 
 you : " she stopped, blushed, and hesitated. Ethel 
 
 understood her, and she too seemed confused; for a 
 moment she hardly knew how it was best to reply. 
 At length she said quietly, " I should indeed be happy 
 if you would kindly relieve some of the distress, but 
 I think you would like it in the end so much if you 
 were your own almoner. Will you excuse me speaking 
 sincerely? I mean that money, though useful, will 
 do far more good when it is conveyed with kind, 
 sympathising words from the donor." 
 
 Ada coloured slightly, and looked inquiringly into 
 Ethel's face, which encouraged her to proceed. 
 
 " I think it is a pity to bestow charity through 
 
woman's ministry. 103 
 
 others. I have an impression that when this is done, 
 we are personally indifferent to the well-being of those 
 we relieve, and are only giving to satisfy the de- 
 mands of conscience. I almost fear we come short 
 of our duty, unless we manifest the interest we take 
 in the poor by giving them our presence and sympathy 
 as well as our money ; if home duties or some other 
 good reason prevent our attending to these things, 
 then I think the clergyman of the parish the most 
 proper person to receive the money. Will you forgive 
 me for speaking so plainly ?" Ethel said, with much 
 embarrassment. 
 
 "Forgive! dear Miss Woodville, I thank you for 
 your sincerity most cordially; people seldom are kind 
 enough to speak the truth. But do you really think 
 / ought to visit these dreadful places ? I should not 
 know what to say or do, and I dare not go alone." 
 
 " That would not be desirable, until you knew 
 the people better. Would you object to go with 
 me?" 
 
 " Oh, no! I should like that very much, if Herbert 
 
 would only allow me ." She paused abruptly, for 
 
 she feared disparaging her brother in Ethel's eyes. 
 
 " Of course you must consult him, though I do 
 not think Mr. Raymond would object if he knew the 
 real pleasure these visits afford." 
 
 " I do not think he would. He is very generous, 
 and would, I am sure, give largely to any charitable 
 purpose; but he has some peculiar views. Still I 
 really do not think he would object if I went with 
 you. I will consult him. Now I wish to ask you a 
 question, will you excuse my freedom? Do you not 
 think that deeds of charity, and the satisfaction 
 accompanying them, may be a matter on which we 
 may get wrong? May we not imagine these acts will 
 
104 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 be meritorious without a real feeling of benevolence 
 accompanying them? I am so ignorant on these 
 points, I hardly know whether I express myself 
 correctly or not." 
 
 " I am glad you asked this question, dear Miss 
 Raymond, for I would not have you take an erroneous 
 view of the case. Works in themselves can never be 
 meritorious; and unless they are the result of that 
 faith which worketh by love, they will have (as one 
 of our Articles says) ' the nature of sin,' and will, 
 of course, be an offence rather than a pleasure to the 
 Almighty. In St. Paul's chapter on charity, we read 
 how it is possible even to give the body to be burned, 
 and all our goods to feed the poor, and yet lack 
 charity (which is love). When the Spirit of Christ 
 has once really taken possession of our hearts, the 
 fruits of that Spirit must necessarily abound. If 
 we love the Saviour, and are justified through his 
 blood, then comes the work of sanctification, or being 
 made holy, which, as I said before, is the work of 
 his Spirit ; but we must never forget that our only 
 real righteousness is that of the Saviour, which be- 
 comes ours the moment of justification : consequently 
 we can never have any real righteousness of our own. 
 I know there are many who lay great stress upon 
 good works, by which they strive to obtain real peace 
 of conscience ; but this can never be, for all man's 
 1 righteousness is as filthy rags.' Without the love 
 of Christ in the heart, every effort to save ourselves 
 carries us away further from him." 
 
 " I wish I knew that I had the love of Christ in 
 my heart. I think you could help me to see where 
 I am wrong ; but we have no time left to-day," Ada 
 said in reply, as they entered the Library together. 
 
 Raymond was there, waiting for Ada. He was 
 
woman's ministry. 105 
 
 evidently delighted to see Ethel again, and came 
 forward with great cordiality to speak to her. 
 
 Ethel, however, obtained her books immediately, 
 and was going to hurry away, when Ada said they 
 would walk with her as far as they went. 
 
 Ethel was going to Miss Hackett's to dinner, 
 which was rather further on the Thurlston road than 
 her own house ; so that the Raymonds had a greater 
 distance to accompany her. 
 
 Raymond certainly did bring all his powers of 
 fascination before Ethel; and, unconscious how he 
 was touching her, she was irresistibly led on to enter 
 eagerly into his brilliant conversation. There was 
 something so refined, so delicate even, in his compli- 
 ments, that Ethel felt as much disappointed as he did 
 when the walk had terminated. 
 
 Ethel had never been so absent as she was that 
 afternoon, while reading to Miss Hackett. Her mind 
 continually wandered to the Raymonds. Then, angry 
 with herself, she would break the current of her 
 thoughts, and try to fix them on the book — Miss 
 Hackett — anything, rather than on them. But as 
 she returned home the stern realities of life again 
 appeared before her, chasing away all pleasurable 
 feelings, and making her dwell with gloomy fore- 
 boding on future ills. 
 
 A dark cloud loomed in the distance, endangering 
 the peace and comfort, not only of herself, but of all 
 the family in the vicinity of Miss Grant. Even be- 
 fore the blow came, Ethel foresaw the necessity of 
 nerving herself to bear the wound which would be 
 inflicted. 
 
 She must be a " hero in the strife" with her own 
 inclinations ; and in preparing to submit to duty, she 
 must dash the cup of earthly happiness from her lips. 
 
106 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 In the dull, cheerless blank around her path, she 
 must fix her eye more closely on the bright light in 
 the heavens, and pray to be drawn nearer to it, that 
 with strength and resolution she might pass through 
 the conflict in which she foresaw she must engage ; 
 thus, 
 
 " With a heart for every fate, 
 
 Still achieving, still pursuing, 
 Learn to labour, and to wait." 
 
 Yes, wait on Him who had ever been her mother's 
 stay, and whom she had herself now learnt to trust, 
 as a kind and merciful Father, and who would himself 
 guide her in difficulties, and counsel her in dangers, 
 and give her courage to go through all. 
 
 " Oh, fear not, in a world like this, 
 And thou shalt know ere loner; 
 Know how sublime a thing it is 
 To suffer and be strong." 
 
woman's ministry. 107 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Bad is that angel that erst fell from heaven, 
 But not so bad as he, nor in worse case, 
 Who hides a trait'rous mind with smiling face, 
 
 And with a dove's white feathers clothes a raven : 
 Each sin some colour hath it to adorn, 
 Hypocrisy Almighty God doth scorn/' 
 
 Dkummond. 
 
 " The shadowy blush that tints her cheek, 
 For ever coming, ever going, 
 May well the spotless fount bespeak 
 That sets the stream a -flowing. 
 
 Her song comes o'er my thrilling breast, 
 
 Even like the harp string's holiest measures, 
 
 When dreams the soul of lands of rest, 
 And everlasting pleasures." — Knox. 
 
 The Miss Woodvilles' visit was returned by Miss 
 Grant the following day, and then the intercourse 
 became most intimate. In a short time it appeared 
 quite a common thing for Miss Grant to come in the 
 afternoon, uninvited, bringing her work, and spending 
 the rest of the day in Park Row, to the infinite annoy- 
 ance of Ethel; who, however, had schooled herself 
 into submission, and treated her mother's accuser with 
 perfect politeness and attention. 
 
108 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 Mr. Woodville was overpowering in his attentions 
 to Miss Grant ; and well were they received. 
 
 Laura, who had been at first so charmed, gra- 
 dually grew wearied of their new friend's society, 
 and would frequently spend the whole afternoon up- 
 stairs to avoid being called upon to entertain her ; 
 while, in Mr. Woodville's absence, this duty always 
 devolved upon Ethel. 
 
 Miss Grant made several attempts to draw from 
 her the history of their family affairs ; Mr. Woodville's 
 income from business, &c. ; and, above all, to extract 
 from Ethel whether her father and mother had always 
 lived happily together. 
 
 Notwithstanding her bland, persuasive manner, 
 she never could throw Ethel off her guard. Her 
 queries were generally answered, but so unsatisfac- 
 torily that Miss Grant was no wiser ; and one day 
 Ethel told her, with some hauteur (with regard to the 
 sundry hints she had thrown out about Mr. and Mrs. 
 Woodville's happiness), that she did not consider such 
 questions ought to be put to a child, or, indeed, to any 
 one ; and that she at once declined giving any reply, 
 since it had never been her duty to take cognisance 
 of such things. 
 
 Miss Grant was enraged, though she only bit her 
 lip, and was silent ; her time was not yet come : but 
 she hoarded up her resentment, and never after lost 
 an opportunity of insinuating things about Ethel, al- 
 though in public she appeared to treat her with 
 attention, even affection. 
 
 Mr. Woodville had set his heart upon making up a 
 party for the Raymonds and Miss Grant, longing for 
 an excuse to enter gaiety again. Ethel gently hinted 
 at the expense as the only means likely to dissuade her 
 father, but this was quickly overruled by Mr. Wood- 
 
woman's ministry. 109 
 
 ville ; and accordingly the invitations were written by- 
 Laura the day following, on highly perfumed paper, 
 to several of their friends, including the Raymonds 
 and Miss Grant. 
 
 For the following week Ethel saw nothing of the 
 Raymonds, as they were from home, and therefore she 
 could not have the promised conversation with Ada. 
 The day previous to the party, Laura was in quite a 
 flutter of excitement that everything might go off' 
 satisfactorily, while Ethel and Sally were left to 
 arrange all matters relating to the supper, &c. Ac- 
 cordingly, consultations were held between them, in 
 which Sally was prime minister, and delivered her 
 opinions with considerable freedom. 
 
 " I think we can manage all at home, Sally ; 
 I do not want anything but the cake from the con- 
 fectioner's." 
 
 "And pray, who's to make all t' things ?" 
 
 " I will do the sweets and pastry, if you keep to 
 the savories." 
 
 " You ! And make your hands and face a pretty 
 sight for to-morrer ! a fine figure for them grand 
 folks to see!" 
 
 " No fear, Sally ; it will all wash off. Now you 
 must be quick and get the things ready. You know 
 you are jealous because I can cook better than 
 you, but you shall not stop me," said Ethel, good- 
 humouredly. 
 
 Sally laughed. 
 
 " Why, for the matter of that, Miss Hethel, I do 
 give in. And if you've set your heart on doing these 
 here things, I suppose you must ; but, pray, isn't Miss 
 Laura to help as well? She'll never know how to turn 
 her hand to anythink. She's the most dawdlingest, 
 good-for-nothingest young lady I ever see'd." 
 
110 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 * s Oh ! never mind, she will have the drawing-room 
 arrangements, and make things look pretty there. 
 You know, Sally, she could not bear the heat of the 
 kitchen, it would make her quite ill." 
 
 Sally laughed in supreme contempt. 
 
 " It's just nothing but laziness, and you're halus 
 making hexcuses for people, Miss Hethel. I am none 
 so fond of having her i' t' kitchen, yet for all that I 
 shalln't see you very near roasted without fetching her 
 to help." 
 
 " Very well. Now the supper : we arranged the 
 savories last night — now comes my part. We will 
 have two moulds of jelly, one reel for a change ; an 
 apricot cream ; a trifle ; some flummery ; a lemon 
 sponge ; two ornamental dishes such as mamma used 
 to make, together with pastry and fruit, which will 
 fill up the table well. What do you think, Sally?" 
 
 " I think it's a deal too good for them as is to eat 
 it, unless maybe it's them Thurlston folks, and I like 
 fancy t' looks of them, partie'lar t' gentleman." 
 
 " Now, come, Sally, we must lose no time ; where 
 is Jane ? And have you got me some lemons ?" 
 
 " Yes, all right — here they be." 
 
 Ethel tucked up her dress, put on a large apron 
 and a pair of soiled white kid gloves, and commenced 
 her operations over a tremendously hot fire, by which 
 she stood until she was, as Sally said, " nearly 
 roasted." 
 
 "There now, I said it would be so! You've a 
 face as red as ' Drunken Sam.' Jane, go fetch Miss 
 Laura," said Sally, entering from the back-kitchen 
 with a couple of fowls she had been picking, in her 
 hand. Laura came some minutes after. 
 
 " Oh, goodness, what a fire ! I cannot bear this 
 place at all ! " 
 
woman's ministry. Ill 
 
 " But you must tho', Miss Laura. I wonder as 
 how you can see your sister doing all this, and not 
 lend a helping hand ! " 
 
 " I am busy, Sally ; you should not disturb me." 
 
 " Busy ! you're halus busy, if one might judge from 
 your own words, Miss Laura. But just please leave 
 your business, and come a bit to help Miss Hethel ; 
 just see what a face she has wi' standing over 
 t'fire." 
 
 " It's your own fault, Ethel ; I told you these 
 things ought to have been ordered at Mrs. Clemens': 
 they are not fit for a lady to do." 
 
 " Well, for sure, how you do talk ! One might 
 think your father was worth as many thousands as 
 they say that young man at Thurlston is. Do you 
 think your sister slaves herself for her own pleasure ? 
 — it's all to save t' expense. As for it's not being a lady's 
 work, let me tell you, Miss, I've seen many a lady as 
 keeps a carriage do such things, and be none t' worse 
 for it either. I reckon nothing of your fine misses 
 now-a-days, as is ashamed of everything as is useful ; 
 they sits and does nout but bits of crotchett and 
 worsted-work, or reading novils, as makes 'em rediclus, 
 or else playing bits o' jigs on t' pihanni (piano). Then, 
 when they marries, they're nothink but fiddle-faddling 
 silly things, and their servants can cheat 'em out of 
 every think they like. And you'll be that sort, if you 
 have t' luck to get wed at all." 
 
 " What do you mean, Sally, by all this imperti- 
 nence to your mistress?" said Laura, crimsoning with 
 indignation. 
 
 "My missis!" exclaimed Sally, in great excite- 
 ment. " Well ! we've come to a pass, indeed ! No ! 
 Miss Laura, you are t' daughter of her as ivas my 
 missis, and I've like a regard for you for that reason. 
 
112 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 But if I ever do call another missis, it '11 be Miss 
 Hethel ; she's far more likelier." 
 
 "Sally, hold your tongue!" began Laura, angrily; 
 but Ethel interposed, and taking Sally gently by the 
 shoulders pushed her into the back kitchen, and closing 
 the door, said good-humoureclly, 
 
 " Now, Sally, I will be your mistress. We'll have 
 no more of this." 
 
 Sally's good-humour partly returned, though she. 
 could not rest long in confinement. She soon noiselessly 
 unclosed the door and watched the proceedings of the 
 sisters. Ethel had with difficulty prevailed on Laura 
 to beat some eggs for her. Laura had broken them 
 into a small breakfast-cup, and was beating at them 
 with an immense spoon, with an air of refined languor, 
 wondering at the little progress made. Having en- 
 dured the sight as long as her patience would permit, 
 Sally rushed out upon the startled Laura, seized the 
 cup from her, exclaiming : — 
 
 " Do you go away, Miss Laura, you do more harm 
 nor good ; you're fit for nothink but to look at. And 
 Jane, you come and do these heggs, and bring a basin 
 and fork to 'um." Laura instantly escaped, for after 
 all she dreaded a contest with Sally. 
 
 " To think of a girl growed up like her, going on 
 i' this way ! Sure Miss Minnie would have known 
 better." 
 
 Peace being at length restored, Ethel commenced 
 her paste-making. 
 
 " Please, sissy, may I come ? I've learnt my lesson, 
 and played with Kitty till I'm tired," said Minnie, en- 
 tering just as Ethel was putting the tarts into the oven. 
 
 " Yes, dearie : come and sit on the window-sent : 
 I have saved you some paste, and there's a spoonful of 
 preserve left in the jar for you." 
 
woman's ministry. 113 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Ethy ! I am going to make three 
 cakes." 
 
 " Indeed ! All for yourself ? " 
 
 " No ! one for me, and one for you, and one for 
 Mr. Raymond." 
 
 "Why for Mr. Raymond ?" 
 
 " i" know why," said Minnie, laughing. 
 
 "Will you not tell sissy ?" 
 
 " Yes ! Because he said he would take me to see 
 the wild-beasts' show to-morrow." 
 
 "When did you see him ?" 
 
 " Just now, sissy. Papa and he came in ; papa 
 went up-stairs for something for Mr. Raymond, and I 
 stayed with him." 
 
 " And was Laura there ? " 
 
 " No ! Laura has gone out. And sissy, I think 
 he is the nicest man I ever sawed : don't you ? And 
 he took me on his knee, and gave me a kiss ; and, 
 Ethy, (here Minnie's eyes sparkled), he asked how my 
 sissy was that taught me to read — not Laura at all ; 
 and I said, you were making paste in the kitchen for 
 the party to-morrow ; and he laughed so much, Ethy, 
 and said, you must be very clever; and I said yes, 
 you were a great deal cleverer than anybody 'cept 
 mamma." 
 
 Ethel blushed excessively, and for a little while 
 felt much annoyed by Minnie's uncalled-for observa- 
 tions ; but the proud feeling passed quickly away, she 
 knew she was doing her duty, and no one's opinion 
 was worth having who thought her lowered by it. 
 Ethel was sadly weary before the following evening, 
 for Laura did nothing except arrange flowers, re- 
 trim her evening dress, and practise the music she 
 intended to perform. Ethel, wearied as she was 
 however, undertook to dress her sister's hair, and en- 
 
 YOL. I. I 
 
114 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 deavoured all she could to display her beauty to the 
 greatest advantage ; and certainly Laura did look very 
 pretty, with the brilliant fairness of her skin, her 
 laughing blue eyes and golden hair, which fell in long 
 flowing curls almost down to her waist, while the snow- 
 drops and black velvet in it added to the beauty of her 
 appearance. When Laura had gone down to receive 
 their guests, Ethel threw herself exhausted on her bed, 
 and indulged in a few moments of rest ; she did not 
 intend to join the party until after tea, fearing lest 
 Sally should make any mistake. A loud ring awoke 
 her, and warned her she would soon be wanted 
 down-stairs. She quickly dressed her hair, and then 
 descended to superintend the tea. Mr. Woodville had 
 made a point of requesting his daughters to appear in 
 as slight mourning as possible for the occasion, and 
 Ethel had yielded reluctantly to wear a half-mourn- 
 ing dress ; and while she twisted some snowdrops in 
 her hair, she sighed as she thought of the snowdrops 
 which grew on her mother's grave, that no* one loved 
 and tended but herself. Ethel entered the drawing- 
 room as quietly as possible after tea ; but her appear- 
 ance had been anxiously looked for by more than one 
 in the room. Not the least impatient was Raymond, 
 who, with Minnie seated triumphantly on his knee, 
 had been listening to all she could tell about Ethel. 
 Just before she entered, he had put the important 
 question to Minnie: — 
 
 "Whom do you love best in the world ?" 
 " Oh ! Ethy to be sure." 
 "What, better than your other sister?" 
 " Yes. Ethy's much nicer than Laura, and much 
 kinder, and has such a beauty soft face to kiss." 
 
 "And do you think she is prettier than Laura ?" 
 " Oh, yes ! Ethy's so like my own mamma, too, 
 
WOMAN'S MINISTRY. 115 
 
 what's gone to heaven now. Laura scolds me some- 
 times, and says I'm a bore. What is a bore ? Can 
 you tell me ? " 
 
 " I believe I could." 
 
 "What is it, then?" 
 
 " I fancy it means a troublesome little child in 
 this case." 
 
 "But I'm not a 'tild — I'm really a girl. And 
 Laura says I'm a bore, when I'm not naughty." 
 
 " But does Ethel never punish you ?" 
 
 " Yes, when I 'm not good ; but when I 'm better 
 she gives me paste." 
 
 Raymond laughed. 
 
 "Does she really? And what do you do with it?" 
 
 "I make cakes. I made one for you yesterday, 
 but sissy would not let me bring it in, because she 
 said you would not eat it ! " 
 
 " She did not know that though," Raymond said ; 
 and just then he rose to greet Ethel, inquiring where 
 the cake was ? Ethel laughed, and accepted the chair 
 he offered her. 
 
 Two characters like Ethel and Raymond, pos- 
 sessing much in common, and with so much real 
 talent and refinement of mind, could not fail to enjoy 
 each other's society. Their opinions on books, though 
 not always agreeing, produced a fund of pleasant con- 
 versation and interchange of ideas for mutual benefit. 
 Both in their hearts were sorry when the rattle of 
 Laura's music commenced. Ethel felt bound to be 
 silent, for Laura was always indignant if her sister 
 spoke during her performance, because she herself was 
 always obliged to be silent while Ethel sang, as 
 every one else was ; forgetting that, while some talk- 
 ing is allowable during instrumental music, the vocal 
 requires that conversation should cease in order to 
 
116 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 allow the singers to do themselves justice. Thorn- 
 hill and a Captain Crawford stood by Laura while 
 she played, professedly to turn over the leaves of the 
 music. In this sort of thing Laura delighted ; the 
 more admirers clung round her, the better she was 
 pleased : to-night, however, a stronger dose of flat- 
 tery than usual was required to put Laura into any- 
 thing like her usual spirits. Raymond's total neglect 
 was a great disappointment, more especially when 
 she saw how deeply engaged he was with Ethel. 
 This was really a bitter vexation for Laura ; she had 
 set her mind upon winning Thurlston and its owner, 
 and present appearances seemed much against her. 
 She played her best, and did it well, and hoped Ray- 
 mond would admire her performance : but all in vain. 
 He was too gentlemanly to interrupt her, though he 
 longed to be again at liberty to talk. As Laura rose 
 from the piano, Ethel observed a subject of interest 
 presented to her sister by the young officers ; her eye 
 sparkled, though she shook her head doubtfully. 
 
 "Try your father. There's nothing like a fair 
 trial," said Thornhill. 
 
 Laura assented, and went over to speak to her 
 father, who was busily engaged in conversation with 
 Miss Grant, by whose side he had been most of the 
 evening. The request was, that they might have 
 dancing, or "just a quadrille," as Laura expressed it. 
 Mr. Woodville hesitated, for form's sake, but Miss 
 Grant eagerly interposed, — 
 
 "Oh, do, Mr. Woodville!" and the objection was 
 removed instantly. 
 
 "What are we going to do?" Ada inquired, as 
 she stood with Ethel and her brother looking at some 
 engravings, and witnessed the rapid moving aside of 
 chairs and tables by the energetic officers. 
 
WOMAN'S MINISTRY. 117 
 
 " To dance, I believe," was Ethel's reply, as she 
 felt a cold shudder pass over her frame at the recol- 
 lection of her mother's dislike to dancing, and how 
 frequently she had requested Mr. Woodville not to 
 allow it in their house. " A request of the dead 
 might have been held sacred," thought Ethel, as indig- 
 nation rose in her heart, and made her cheek grow pale. 
 
 " Ethel, do play for us," said Laura, flippantly, 
 coming up leaning on Captain Crawford's arm. 
 
 " If papa really requests it, I will do so," Ethel 
 replied, coldly. 
 
 " He does, then ! " said Mr. Woodville, who avoided 
 meeting the calm, clear eye of Ethel, which he felt 
 reminded him rather disagreeably of his wife. Ethel 
 rose with some hauteur in her manner, under which 
 she concealed her sorrowful feelings, and approached 
 the piano. 
 
 " Miss Ethel Woodville, may I have the pleasure 
 of dancing with you ?" Raymond said, as she passed 
 him. 
 
 " Thank you, I must beg to be excused. I am 
 going to play," she replied, passing on. 
 
 " Then, allow me to turn over the leaves for 
 
 you!" 
 
 " No, I thank you. I play from memory !" 
 Finding there was no excuse for remaining by 
 her side, Raymond chose a young lady who was dis- 
 engaged for his partner, whose elephantine propor- 
 tions startled him a little at first; but her good 
 humour and rattling tongue left him without much 
 necessity for talking, for which he felt little inclina- 
 tion, preferring, as he passed through the dance, to ob- 
 serve the sweet, sorrowing face at the piano, and form- 
 ing ceaseless conjectures as to the reason for the shade 
 of sadness he saw had stolen over her countenance. 
 
118 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 "Does Miss Ethel Woodville never dance?" he 
 inquired at length of his partner, Miss Barnett, feeling 
 he really ought to say something to her. 
 
 " I do not think she does now — at least, I have 
 not seen her for a long time. She is a most graceful 
 dancer, far more elegant than Miss Woodville ; she 
 moves much more quietly, and with perfect ease and 
 grace." 
 
 Raymond had quite forgotten the size of his part- 
 ner now ; and he almost admired her, for her praises 
 of Ethel's dancing. 
 
 " Do you know why she has given it up ? " 
 
 " No, I really don't know. Perhaps she is too good." 
 
 " But why ? may not people be good and dance as 
 well?" inquired Raymond. 
 
 " I dare say they may ; but some people think 
 differently." 
 
 Just then Thornhill clapped his hands, the dance 
 was over, and Raymond found himself released from 
 his cumbrous partner. 
 
 Another dance was quickly called for — a polka — 
 and Raymond asked Laura to be his partner. She 
 was delighted to receive this civility (customary as 
 it was, being the daughter of the host), considering it 
 as a proof that Raymond must have been struck by 
 her graceful dancing. But he was unusually silent ; 
 and though Laura did her best to draw him out, she 
 found him very much disinclined for talking. She, 
 however, enjoyed the dance excessively: Raymond 
 was of course the perfection of a partner, and she 
 could never have grown giddy while she had him 
 by her side in the rapid whirl. Ethel watched the 
 dancers flitting past, and wondered at people caring 
 for the amusement, and above all, that her sister 
 could forget her mother's great objection to it. She 
 
woman's ministry. 119 
 
 was roused from her reverie by Ada, who came up to 
 her and said : — 
 
 " They want another quadrille, so let me play ; 
 I can manage a set : you must be tired." 
 
 Ethel would have expressed her willingness to con- 
 tinue : but as she looked at the party forming for the 
 quadrille, she perceived her father and Miss Grant 
 had taken their places in it. It was more than she 
 could bear ; she rose hastily, saying, she was very 
 much obliged and would accept her kindness. That 
 her father should have allowed dancing was a marvel 
 to her, but that he should himself join in the amuse- 
 ment was more than she had ever dreamt of. She 
 perceived he must be under Miss Grant's influence, 
 or he could not have so far forgotten himself. Ada 
 drew off her gloves and struck the first chord of 
 music. 
 
 " Now go with my brother, who is waiting to 
 take you to the other room, to the dowagers," said 
 Ada, playfully. 
 
 Ethel turned and took Raymond's proffered arm 
 mechanically — anything not to see her father dance. 
 Miss Hackett and some of the older ladies and gen- 
 tlemen had moved into the breakfast-room, to be out 
 of the way of the dancers. Ethel seated herself near 
 Miss Hackett, with Raymond on the other side. 
 
 " Really, my dear," said the old lady, in an alarm- 
 ingly distinct whisper, " this is most extraordinary. 
 I did not come in expectation of a ball. I am sur- 
 prised at your father, who knows so well how your 
 poor dear mother disliked dancing; and she not dead 
 nine months ! I am quite scandalized by it !" 
 
 " Oh! pray don't speak about it : papa must do as 
 he pleases," Ethel said, in great alarm. But low as 
 she spoke, Raymond's quick ear caught the words. 
 
120 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 He would have given anything he possessed not to 
 have danced that night; he had only done it for form's 
 sake, and it must have grieved her. He saw now the 
 cause of her sad expression, the cradled tear in her 
 eye, and her resolute determination not to dance. 
 What would he have given to have comforted her, 
 instead of adding to her grief ! He longed to assure 
 her of his sympathy, and to be her comforter in this 
 sorrow. But it was useless to attempt to win her 
 confidence under present circumstances, and there- 
 fore he was obliged to content himself with paying 
 every unobtrusive attention he could, and by assist- 
 ing her in the entertainment of her guests, until the 
 rest of the party returned to the room. And these 
 pleasant courtesies were only too well appreciated by 
 Ethel, who felt drawn towards him as by an irre- 
 sistible attraction : he was so different to any man 
 she had ever met before ; there was such a gentle- 
 manly ease and grace in all he said and did ; such 
 a noble, manly bearing, and yet, so much gentleness 
 and consideration, that he could hardly fail to make 
 an impression on her heart. 
 
 When Mr. Woodville and Miss Grant returned to 
 the breakfast-room, several of the guests were eager 
 in petitioning Ethel to sing; fortunately, her father 
 was not near to hear the unhesitating negative Ethel 
 gave to the request, and so she was spared the pain of 
 his insisting upon her compliance, which he always 
 did, without reference to her feelings. Raymond was 
 much disappointed by her refusal, he had longed to 
 hear her again ; but he saw she really did not wish it, 
 and politely forbore asking a second time. 
 
 Ethel's supper did ample justice to the hands which 
 had prepared it, and Mr. Woodville congratulated him- 
 self on the evening having passed off so well ; while 
 
woman's ministry. 121 
 
 Ethel, sad, pale, and unusually silent, though trying to 
 make herself agreeable, had the previous events of the 
 evening too vividly before her to feel happy. When the 
 Raymonds' carriage was announced, as Ada wished 
 Ethel good-night she said, in a low voice: — 
 
 " Herbert hopes you will allow him to take Minnie 
 to see the wild beasts to-morrow ; and would you have 
 a drive with me while they are there ? I do so much 
 want to talk to you." 
 
 "I shall indeed like it very much. What time ?" 
 inquired Ethel. 
 
 "We lunch at half-past one. Shall we say half- 
 past two ? " 
 
 "That will suit me quite well!" and then they 
 parted. There was something soothing to Ethel's sad- 
 dened heart in Ada's interest and kindness ; she longed 
 to have a friend who would, to some extent, fill the 
 void in her heart which her mother's death had left, 
 and Ada seemed the most congenial. Ethel's feelings 
 had been so constrained and pent-up hitherto, that 
 they were ready to burst forth at the voice of kind- 
 ness and sympathy : she was lonely and desolate, with 
 every one in her family standing, as it were, aloof 
 from her. Her worn and weary heart bled for some 
 kindly bosom on which to lean and weep her tears of 
 sorrow. 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed Laura, when the last guest had 
 departed, "what an exquisite dancer Mr. Raymond is ! 
 I felt quite lifted from the ground, he supported me so 
 deliciously. Really, I could have gone on for a whole 
 night with him. I do hope there will be plenty of 
 balls given this winter, where we shall meet the Ray- 
 monds." 
 
 Ethel made no reply, feeling quite unable to sym- 
 pathise in her sister's delight. Laura took up her 
 
122 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 candle immediately and retired, without even offering 
 to help Ethel, saying : — 
 
 " I am tired, and you have not danced to weary 
 yourself, Ethel. So, good-night." 
 
 Mr. Woodville was very excitable. Ethel perceived 
 also, with additional sadness, that he had been indulg- 
 ing in too much wine, and she was very glad when she 
 heard him retire also, leaving her to see that the doors 
 were all fastened. Ethel proceeded carefully to cover 
 up several things in the drawing-room, which she 
 thought might be soiled by being left out all night. 
 She then closed the piano, and put the music away ; 
 and as she did so, her eye fell on the words of one of 
 the songs, with a keen remembrance of the night's 
 scenes : — 
 
 " None remember thee, weeping bitterly, but me !" 
 
 Tears filled her eyes rapidly. " My mother ! my 
 precious mother ! How have you seemed to pass 
 away from the thoughts of those who ought to have 
 loved you so well ! They little think, they little 
 know, the hours of anguish your loss has cost me ! 
 How can / forget ? And how can I bear to see those 
 things allowed, which you so much disliked ? Oh, 
 it is hard to bear all patiently ! But I must try to 
 quell this rising indignation, and endure all as you 
 would have done, had you still been with me," she 
 murmured, as she threw herself into an arm-chair, 
 and wept for several minutes without restraint. 
 
 She then rose and fetched her mother's Bible, that 
 precious volume which had given Mrs. Woodville so 
 much comfort in hours like these, when, worn and 
 wearied with her husband's unkindness and the world's 
 vanities, she had culled from its blessed pages fresh 
 supplies of grace to refresh her saddened heart. 
 
woman's ministry. 123 
 
 Ethel turned over its leaves ; there were many 
 marks made by Mrs. Woodville's pencil, and several 
 places where her tears had fallen. 
 
 Ethel turned to the 23d Psalm. There was a 
 sentence or two which her mother had written on the 
 words, — " He leadeth me beside the still waters." 
 
 She read it once more, — " ' The still waters ! ' 
 Yes ! even when the billows rage around us, His 
 voice can make the waters still. Sweet and blessed 
 thought ! Oh, my Saviour ! thou who alone hast 
 power to give this calm, lead me beside the still 
 waters. Give me peace, inward peace, in thee. 
 I ask not for any calm, save thine. I ask not for 
 any diminution of these trials : I only pray that my 
 soul be kept always waiting on thee ; then shall I 
 sleep amid the storm, and know and feel that thy 
 left hand is under my head, and thy right hand doth 
 embrace me." 
 
 Tears again swelled to Ethel's eyes, as she thought 
 how soon her mother's desires had been fulfilled ; and 
 she was now for ever free from care and sorrow, safe 
 amid the storm, 
 
 " In seas of heavenly rest." 
 
 Tears continued to flow, mingling with those that 
 had fallen from her now glorified mother, on the page 
 that was before her. She remained long, thinking 
 deeply, and praying for wisdom from above to direct 
 her in the difficult position in which she was placed, 
 and that she might have strength given to curb the 
 often rising indignation she felt for those around her ; 
 and be enabled, amid these discouragements, to act 
 her part as a Christian, and do honour to the cause 
 she represented. 
 
 It was long past midnight before she could retire 
 
124 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 to rest ; and then she was compelled to rise at her 
 usual hour, to be ready to superintend her father and 
 Harry's early breakfast. 
 
 Her cheeks were pale, and her figure betokened 
 weariness ; but no one noticed it at the breakfast- 
 table, each seemed so occupied by his own affairs. 
 But there was the prospect of the drive with Ada ; 
 a bright thought, which almost served to drive away 
 the severe headache from which she was suffering. 
 
woman's ministry. 125 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Confidence openeth the lips, indulgence beameth from the 
 
 eye. 
 Ye commune of hopes and aspirations, the fervent breathings 
 
 of the heart. 
 Ye speak with pleasant interchange the treasured secrets of 
 
 affection ; 
 And as in double solitude, ye think in each other's hearing, 
 A friend is above gold, precious as the stores of the mind. 
 Be sparing of advice by words, but teach thy lesson by 
 
 example. 
 There be few, O child of sensibility, who deserve to have thy 
 
 confidence ; 
 Yet weep not, for there are some, and such some live for thee." 
 
 Tupper. 
 
 Raymond and Ada made their appearance at the time 
 appointed ; and the former took Minnie, according to 
 promise, to see the wild -beasts' show ; while Ada and 
 Ethel were quickly driven from the town. 
 
 " I cannot understand how you can feel so much 
 attachment to that dirty, smoky place. Do you never 
 wish to leave it ? " said Ada, after they had left the 
 town behind them. 
 
 " Sometimes I confess to an almost overpowering 
 desire for country enjoyments. I think how delight- 
 ful it would be to live among green fields and woods, 
 and hear the pleasant sound of murmuring brooks, 
 and wander about as I chose. And I do feel no little 
 
126 ETHEL; OB, 
 
 envy when I hear people, who have all these pleasures 
 in their grasp, thinking the country stupid, and sighing 
 for the gaieties of the town." 
 
 " You do not seem to care much for gaieties, 
 MissWoodville?" 
 
 " No, I do not now. I used to enjoy quiet parties 
 very much ; but since I lost dear mamma, I feel as if 
 all these things had ceased to charm me." 
 
 " But did you ever like dancing ? Miss Hackett 
 said you gave that up before," said Ada, kindly. 
 
 " Yes, I certainly did." 
 
 " Do not think me impertinent ; but will you tell 
 me if you consider it wrong ? 
 
 Ethel's colour rose painfully. To reply sincerely 
 (which was the only way she ever did) was not plea- 
 sant. The answer seemed to involve her throwing 
 blame upon her father, sister, and the Raymonds, 
 and making herself appear in an unfavourable light 
 to Ada. 
 
 " I do not think dancing would be without its due 
 effect on me ; and therefore I think it better at once 
 to forego any dangerous amusement," she replied, after 
 a pause. 
 
 " It is not mere idle curiosity which impels me to 
 ask your really candid opinion, dear MissWoodville. 
 I see you do not like to speak quite freely. You 
 imagine it seems like judging others ; but / should 
 put no such construction on your opinion, I can assure 
 you. I do not like dancing myself. I go through it 
 as a necessary form in society ; but really last night, 
 as I watched .people whirling past me, I did think it 
 looked childish, and I wondered any one liked such 
 amusements." 
 
 " But there is an irresistible fascination in dancing 
 to some, which I can but too well understand, though 
 
woman's ministry. 127 
 
 to spectators it does seem foolish. I know what an 
 effort it cost me to give it up." 
 
 " And what made you resolve to do so ? I am 
 sure you had good reasons." 
 
 " I think I had : but it appears to involve judg- 
 ment on others, which I never wish. Many see harm 
 in things which others do not. My dear mother had 
 a peculiar aversion to dancing; she was aware of its 
 dangers, and had known ( some sad instances of sin and 
 sorrow resulting from a passionate love of this amuse- 
 ment. She earnestly entreated me to give it up. At 
 first, I complied merely because I wished to please 
 her ; but I have since seen how wise she was in so 
 early rescuing me from the temptation." 
 
 " But the mere act of dancing, can that do any 
 harm?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! there is no more evil in a quiet quadrille 
 than a game of blind-man's buff. Harry and I 
 thoroughly enjoy a polka together in the winter 
 evenings; the exercise is cheering and good for us. 
 But there seems to me a very wide difference between 
 dancing with your brother at home, at a reasonable 
 hour, and in a reasonable manner, to finding yourself 
 in the arms (I may almost say) of a perfect stranger, 
 or at all events of a person with whom you neither 
 are nor desire to be on intimate terms. Then you are 
 dressed gaily for the occasion ; you begin generally 
 at a late hour, and spend the time proper for repose 
 in this amusement. Can this be right? Does not 
 modesty shrink from all this? Many say they see 
 no harm in it ; if i" do, it is most deridedly wrong 
 to indulge in the amusement," replied Ethel, blushing 
 deeply. 
 
 "I must say I cannot help agreeing with you," 
 said Ada, looking very thoughtful. A feeling had 
 
128 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 always prevented her waltzing, and she had heard 
 her brother say, only the evening before, that when 
 he had seen Laura Woodville whirling round with 
 Mr. Thornhill in a waltz, had she been possessed of 
 the greatest beauty in the world, he would not have 
 made her his wife. 
 
 " But supposing you only dance a quiet quadrille, 
 is there any evil in that ? " inquired Ada. 
 
 " Not precisely evil, perhaps, except its general 
 tendency to excitement, and leading a few steps 
 further on; and I do not see how a Christian could, 
 with perfect consistency, join in it, because the 
 example alone would have a bad effect. I know many 
 who have been influenced to dance and become ex- 
 tremely gay because they have found themselves asso- 
 ciated with those who made a profession of religion; 
 and I certainly do not think we ought to join any 
 amusement which may be the means of doing harm to 
 others." 
 
 " Then you consider dancing, I suppose, one of 
 the vanities of the world, and one from which, of 
 course, a Christian should abstain?" 
 
 " Yes, I do ; and we have all promised in our 
 baptism to give up the ' pomps and vanities of this 
 wicked world.' Are we then keeping our baptismal 
 vow? are we manfully fighting under Christ's banner 
 against the world, the flesh, and the devil?" 
 
 " But what made you think this more especially 
 was a vanity? every one does not feel it to be so." 
 
 " I believe, when people earnestly desire to know 
 what is righi, and are yet uncertain how to judge 
 for themselves, there is but one way, — earnest prayer 
 to God that, for the Saviour's sake, he will send the 
 Holy Spirit, who will show us all things and teach us 
 God's will." 
 
woman's ministry. 129 
 
 " And was an answer sent to your prayers 
 soon ? " 
 
 " In that instance there was. I had been struggling 
 for the light of God's truth long before, but I still 
 clung to the world ; yet as soon as I made up my 
 mind to place myself entirely in God's hands, and 
 give him my heart, he gave me a clearer knowledge 
 of the way wherein I should go. I now discovered 
 a depth of meaning in passages of Scripture I had 
 before looked upon with indifference, and doctrines 
 hitherto difficult became clear, as my eyes were 
 opened." 
 
 " But how could you positively know that this 
 was the working of the Spirit?" 
 
 " / feel it. It would be impossible that I could 
 know of myself these things." 
 
 " And do you really mean that mysterious doctrines 
 became plain to you?" 
 
 " So plain that I was enabled implicitly to believe 
 them, and trust in God for future wisdom, being 
 assured that what we know not now, we shall know 
 hereafter; and this is sufficient for us, or should be." 
 
 " But, then, you really have faith : not a dead 
 faith, but a living, saving one, which enables you thus 
 steadfastly to lay hold on all God says, and without 
 doubt receive it as his word. Sometimes a sweet 
 hope of trust and confidence in Christ steals into my 
 heart ; then I am left again in darkness, and I grow 
 bewildered amid a maze of doctrines, and I begin to 
 despair of ever being really a Christian." 
 
 "But, dear Miss Raymond, is it right to attempt 
 to fathom the meaning of those things which it has not 
 pleased God to reveal to us ? Is it not right, first, to 
 lay hold on what he has shown us, and then look for 
 other things to be made plain in his good time ?" 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 " But, then, if these other doctrines interfere with 
 your peace — your hope of eternal life ?" 
 
 " To what can you refer ?" 
 
 " The doctrine of election, for instance. If I am 
 not elected, all my efforts to be saved will be useless." 
 
 "All your own unaided efforts will be useless. 
 You have no more power to effect your own salvation 
 than your creation, dear Miss Raymond. You have 
 nothing to do with election ; you have only to enter 
 the open door, and Christ is that door. Fly to him 
 for salvation, and he has said, ' Him that cometh 
 unto me I will in no wise cast out.' How can you 
 longer doubt ? Come to him at once, your gracious, 
 loving, waiting Saviour ! — Come to him, as that beau- 
 tiful hymn says : — 
 
 ' Just as I am — without one plea, 
 But that Thy blood was shed for me, 
 And that Thou bid'st me come to Thee — 
 Lamb of God, I come ! 
 
 Just as I am — and waiting not 
 To rid my soul of one dark blot ; 
 To Thee, whose blood can cleanse each spot, 
 Lamb of God, I come ! 
 
 Just as I am — though toss'd about 
 With many a conflict, many a doubt, 
 "With fears within and wars without — 
 Lamb of God, I come ! 
 
 Just as I am — Thou wilt receive, 
 Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve, 
 Because Thy promise I believe — 
 Lamb of God, I come ! ' 
 
 Lay all your guilt, your sins, on Jesus, and bring all 
 your difficulties to him, and I am sure he will receive 
 you graciously, and love you freely." 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 131 
 
 " Oh, that I could do so ! " exclaimed Ada, while 
 mingled tears of hope and sorrow gushed from her 
 ejes. " I cannot tell you how much I feel the 
 weight of my sins. Sometimes they seem so heinous, 
 I hardly dare look into my heart; such a mass of 
 iniquity reigns there, that I cannot presume to 
 hope!" 
 
 " Come to Jesus, then, at once. Hope nothing 
 from yourself ] hope everything from him ! ' The 
 Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all ! ' The 
 greater the load, the greater the need. Tell him 
 everything, — all your sin, and then rest yourself at 
 the foot of his cross, and the blood which flows there- 
 from shall wash away the most crimson stain. Your 
 burden, like the weary pilgrim's, will then roll from 
 you, until it finally disappears in his tomb." 
 
 " And will he really receive me just I am ? And 
 ought I to tell him everything ? Will he condescend 
 to listen to me ?" 
 
 " I am sure he will. Do not let the tempter sug- 
 gest a single doubt of it. And I must also tell you, 
 that I feel sure God would not have put this earnest 
 desire and hearty conviction of sin in your mind, if 
 he had not chosen you for himself. These feelings 
 are glimpses of the Spirit's work. You could not 
 have such desires unless they were given you from on 
 high ; and I believe, that ■ He which hath begun a 
 good work in you, will perform it until the day of 
 Jesus Christ.'" (Philip, i. 6.) 
 
 " I have sometimes dared to hope this. He would 
 not have given the earnest desires I have, and then . 
 doom me to be lost. Yet I am so cold and change- 
 able, and often I like and allow the very things I 
 ought not ; and frequently I cannot bear even to speak 
 on these holy subjects." 
 
132 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 " It is natural to all of us. There is ' iniquity 
 even in our holiest things.' But because the natural 
 corruption of our heart, and the suggestions of the 
 tempter, often assail us thus, we are not to despair. 
 Every sincere prayer brings us nearer to Jesus, and 
 makes us more like him. Oh, how I can sympathise 
 with you ! What short-comings, what coldness and 
 wanderings, have I to lament over ! Yet, in this 
 barren desert of sin there are refreshing streams of 
 grace, and bright glimpses of a crucified Immanuel, 
 who has been ' in all points tempted like as we are, 
 yet without sin,' and who will help us in our hour of 
 need !" 
 
 " But you are far more advanced than I am. You 
 do not know all ! " replied Ada. 
 
 " Yes, indeed I do ! Perhaps I may have been 
 longer in seeking Him ; but there does not exist one 
 who has more reason to thank God for his mercy, 
 which has rescued me, and kept me from the many 
 evils to which I am prone, while I am continually 
 forgetting to look to him in everything, and thus 
 ever failing in my duty." 
 
 " But still your faith is firm. Will you tell me if 
 you are assured that, were death to overtake you at 
 any moment, you would be safe? I want to feel 
 that!" 
 
 "Your desire is right and scriptural. And it is 
 what you must continually strive to attain — it is 
 God's gift to his faithful people ! " 
 
 "And do all Christians feel assured ?" 
 
 "It is a difficult question to answer. I have heard 
 several people, whom I believe to be sincere followers 
 of Christ, from some constitutional defect, or when 
 overwhelmed by affliction, confess they have ex- 
 perienced at these times an absence of assurance ; but 
 
woman's ministry. 133 
 
 they are ever ready to own it is from temptation and 
 weakness of faith. Nevertheless, all ought to strive to 
 gain this assurance, as being the ground of a Christian's 
 happiness on earth; and I am sure God will give it in 
 due time, if earnestly sought." 
 
 " And are you assured, Ethel ? " inquired Ada, 
 earnestly. 
 
 " I feel so firm a trust in Christ's merits, that 
 should the awful summons to depart come at any time, 
 I know he would receive me to himself; but I have 
 not always had so firm a faith as to believe this : now 
 it is joyful, certainly." 
 
 There was a pause. Ada's hand, which Ethel 
 held, trembled, and then, as by an impulse of affection, 
 she threw her arm lovingly round Ethel, and said, in 
 a voice almost choked by emotion, * Dear Ethel, how 
 I do wish you would talk to me often. I fear I have 
 no one to direct me just now ; but if I might see you 
 frequently I should feel happier. I will follow your 
 advice, and strive to make Jesus my friend, and tell 
 him all, and then we can talk together of his love, and 
 be united in Christian friendship." 
 
 This affection was so unexpected, and so earnestly 
 expressed, that Ethel yielded instinctively to the soft 
 pressure, and let her head droop on Ada's shoulder, 
 while tears of joy relieved her pent-up feelings. 
 
 Now came the time when their hearts opened to 
 each other, and the secret load of sorrow which Ethel 
 had borne long and concealed from many, and the 
 hard trial Ada felt in Herbert's want of congeniality, 
 were disclosed sufficiently to make them fully sym- 
 pathise together. Ethel made no complaint of any' 
 one, and never mentioned the constant anxiety which 
 she felt and bore alone ; and Ada did not say her 
 brother ridiculed religion, and was annoyed at its 
 
134 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 name : yet enough was said for each to know that 
 there was a " something " that drew them together in 
 the closest bonds of friendship. 
 
 Much more was discussed during that drive, for 
 which each felt the better; and ere they reached 
 Carysford again, rapid progress had been made in 
 mutual affection. Ada had overcome her repugnance, 
 and consented to visit the poor with Ethel, and 
 assist in any work of charity she could ; and Ethel 
 had agreed to drive and walk with Ada whenever 
 she was at liberty to do so. 
 
 Raymond and Minnie were coming down the street 
 as the carriage stopped at Mr. Woodville's door. 
 Minnie's face was glowing with excitement, and 
 Raymond seemed to share in her pleasure, as he di- 
 vested his pockets of various small parcels, and gave 
 a large one from his arm to the child, who could 
 hardly carry it. The Raymonds did not come into 
 the house, their time being limited ; and Ethel entered 
 with Minnie, who was eager to relate all she had seen 
 and heard. 
 
 "I have seen, Ethy, such funny things — a great 
 large thing, with a tail ahind and afore, so funny; and 
 I rode on its back." 
 
 This, Ethel rightly conjectured, was an elephant. 
 
 " Well, what besides, Minnie ? " 
 
 " Such funny monkeys. But why does Harry call 
 me a monkey, sissy ? I'm prettier than they are." 
 
 " How do you know that, Min ? " 
 
 " Because I look in your glass every morning to 
 see if I grow beautier, like you, Ethy ! " 
 
 " You must not think about being pretty, Minnie. 
 To be good is the great thing, you know." 
 
woman's ministry. 135 
 
 "Yes; bat peoples can be both, sissy — you 
 are." 
 
 " No, Minnie ; I don't wish to think about being 
 pretty. I only want to be good." 
 
 " But you are good, sissy ; Mr. Raymond said 
 you were : and he said he wished I would be too, when 
 I was a woman like my sissy." 
 
 And then Minnie launched forth into a glowing 
 description of all she had seen and heard — Raymond's 
 opinions on the animals and her own — and how they 
 had stopped at two shops: a confectioner's, where they 
 had got some bon-bons and almond comfits ; and a 
 toy-shop, where Minnie got a large Noah's ark and 
 two or three other little toys ; and when the people 
 had offered to send them, Minnie had expressed her 
 fears that they would not, and so to give her pleasure 
 Raymond had filled his pockets, and carried the 
 Noah's ark under his arm, that Minnie might have 
 them directly she got home. Ethel could not but ad- 
 mire this amiability, and yet manly indifference to 
 form, which had made Raymond, solely to please a 
 child, walk through the streets laden with her toys. 
 But Ethel felt grieved when she found Minnie's busy 
 little tongue had been at work. How she had in- 
 formed Raymond that her sissy did everything at 
 home, and Laura never did anything but make flowers 
 on canvas, read, and play on the piano, and was 
 always scolding her, and would not read to her about 
 anything, or let her play in the room where she was. 
 Ethel cautioned Minnie about never telling anything 
 of this sort ; that it was very wrong to speak against 
 Laura. Minnie looked up in her face, and wondered 
 why Ethel should not like Laura's faults to be told 
 when she was so very unkind to her. 
 
 Raymond had been delighted with Minnie's origi- 
 
136 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 nality, and had taken a great fancy to her. He had 
 a decided love for children ; but it had never yet been 
 called into action, as he had not come in contact with 
 any real children. 
 
 They had all been little dressed-up things, scorning 
 the innocent pleasures of childhood, while they de- 
 lighted in everything which seemed to raise them to 
 an equality with grown-up people. 
 
 For this class of children (now but too common) 
 Raymond had no affection. He delighted in a little, 
 merry, natural child, like Minnie, and his heart had 
 warmed to her immediately ; and then she was Ethel's 
 little sister, and loved her so well, which certainly 
 did not detract from the interest he felt in her: so 
 that, on the whole, Raymond had been as much enter- 
 tained as Minnie that afternoon. 
 
 " There now, you've gotten your colour right 
 again. I sure when I see'd ye this morning wi' your 
 pale face, thinks I to myself that's t' fruits of righteous 
 (riotous) living, such as we had t' last night," said 
 Sally, setting down the tea-tray as Ethel and Minnie 
 entered, after taking off their walking things, 
 
 " I tell you, Miss Hethel, no good '11 ever come 
 of such gallavanting. There's t' fruits of it's going 
 on now ; for there's been Miss Laura out wi' that 
 Mr. Thornhill in t' fields ; and it's none right on her, 
 I think, such an wild young man, as I hear say he 
 is. Them's my sentiments ; you'll please excuse 'um ? 
 Miss," said Sally, with the air of one who has relieved 
 herself of some important information. 
 
 " I am very sorry to hear all this," began Ethel, 
 quietly ; but she was interrupted by an exclamation 
 from Sally : 
 
 " Don't say no more, pray. I'd clean forgot. 
 Little pitchers has ears, you know." 
 
woman's ministry. 137 
 
 "I kno?v you mean me," said Minnie, in an agony, 
 bursting into tears, for she had eagerly been drinking 
 in every word. 
 
 "Who said I meant you, Missey?" said Sally, 
 kindly. 
 
 "Because — because you looked at me. * Little 
 pitchers haven't got ears.' I am sure I shall not tell 
 that Laura " 
 
 " Wist ! wist ! never heed I know you won't," 
 
 said Sally, as the hall-door opened to admit Laura, 
 who glided up-stairs to her own room directly. 
 
 Ethel sighed deeply as Sally left the room. Her 
 short-lived pleasure in Ada's love for her, and Ray- 
 mond's kindness for Minnie, vanished as soon as her 
 thoughts were directed to this fresh proof of her sister's 
 imprudence. Laura's disappointment arising from her 
 want of success with Raymond, whose attentions she 
 had vainly endeavoured to secure for herself, filled 
 her with vexation, and solely with a view to give 
 vent to her annoyance had she carried on this foolish 
 flirtation with Thornhill. She could not live without 
 flattery and admiration ; and therefore accepted his, 
 rather than forego the intoxicating draught. 
 
 She was perfectly unconscious of the net she was 
 weaving for her own entanglement. She cared not 
 to pause and consider Ethel's sisterly advice, as to 
 the foolish course she was pursuing, and the license 
 she was giving to her lover to suppose his affection 
 returned, besides the many remarks she had already 
 caused among those who had witnessed these pro- 
 ceedings. 
 
 Ethel's heart grew heavy as she thought over 
 these things, but she saw no way of remedying the 
 evil at present. 
 
 Laura refused to listen to any warning or advice, 
 
138 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 and she knew of no other plan by which to rouse her 
 to a sense of her impropriety, and the most probable 
 results of it. 
 
 There was as much danger lurking around Ethel's 
 path as Laura's, of which, for the present, she was 
 unconscious. It had not yet occurred to her mind 
 that Raymond might mean more than mere civility. 
 
 Ethel had little or no vanity, and she seldom 
 thought about the attention paid her, in a serious 
 point of view: she never looked for, or expected, 
 admiration ; and when it was given, was not elevated 
 by it, or disposed to form conjectures as to its pro- 
 bable motive, unless so prominent that she could not 
 blind herself to its meaning. She had not been keeping 
 the careful watch over her heart which she should 
 have done. Its wild throbbings, the colour which 
 mounted to her face, and the pleasure she felt when 
 she received Raymond's delicate attentions, listened 
 to his fascinating conversation, and saw his irresistible 
 smiles bestowed upon her, had not yet roused her to 
 see the precipice, on the verge of which she was 
 standing. 
 
 But still she was safe. Her mother had foreseen 
 the snare which might, in all probability, be spread 
 for her precious child, and had warned her in time, 
 and obtained her solemn promise to beware ! And 
 well she knew that Ethel's heart would burst before 
 she would break her word. And a Father's love 
 watched over the young girl, to shield her in tempt- 
 ation ; and in the hour of trial His strength should 
 be made perfect in her weakness. Such guidance 
 and direction Laura never sought ; and when tempt- 
 ation came she was unprepared to meet it, and the 
 more readily yielded herself a victim to her own 
 imprudence. 
 
woman's ministry. 139 
 
 Mr. Woodville was delighted by the progressing 
 intimacy with the Raymonds, and the accumulation 
 of business the Thurlston property had brought him. 
 He saw, with more penetration than his daughters, 
 that Ethel was certainly the object of Raymond's 
 preference, This did not please him quite so well. 
 He would decidedly have preferred seeing Laura the 
 mistress of Thurlston ; she would more readily carry 
 out his plans of worldly aggrandisement: besides, 
 Ethel was really needed at home, while Laura was 
 perfectly useless. But, far sooner than Raymond 
 should not connect himself with his family, would 
 he part with Ethel ; and he resolved to lose no oppor- 
 tunity of displaying her accomplishments, and in- 
 creasing his present admiration for her. 
 
 Poor Ethel ! could she but have known how her 
 ambitious father had disposed of her, it would have 
 cost her a bitter pang ; but she was spared the know- 
 ledge of such proceedings. 
 
 Several days passed by, and, with the exception 
 of the offensive intrusions of Miss Grant, nothing very 
 particular occurred. She had forced herself upon 
 them at all hours, and under various circumstances, 
 to make herself thoroughly acquainted with their 
 business and manner of life ; yet still professed an 
 unbounded affection for them, more especially for 
 Laura and Ethel, to each of whom she gave a hand- 
 some present. The former received hers with evi- 
 dent pleasure, while the latter's haughty spirit rose 
 within her, but with a powerful effort was subdued ; 
 and she received the gift with as good a grace as 
 she could assume, though she longed to return it to 
 their false-hearted acquaintance. 
 
 Miss Hackett's kindness and consideration con- 
 tinued to increase as she saw the awkward position 
 
140 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 of poor Ethel, who was keenly alive to the turn events 
 were likely to take. But the poor old lady's health 
 was failing rapidly; the approaching winter seemed 
 to cause her much suffering ; and she could seldom 
 leave the house, unless the day was very mild. 
 
 Ethel used to look at her with sorrowful fore- 
 bodings, as she saw how rapidly her mother's friend 
 was failing ; and the idea took possession of her mind 
 so very forcibly one morning, as she was hastening 
 home after paying her a visit, that she was uncon- 
 scious of the passers-by, until the friendly voice of 
 Ada roused her from her reverie. 
 
 " How deeply you are thinking, Ethel ! I began 
 to fear you ivould not know me." 
 
 " I believe I was almost lost in thought ; but I 
 am not the less glad to see you, dear Ada. It seems 
 long since we met." 
 
 " So it is. But whose fault is that, I wonder ?" 
 
 Ethel coloured. She knew she ought to have been 
 to call on Ada ; but she shrank from going to Thurls- 
 ton alone : a sort of dread of being seen by Raymond 
 at his house had partly prevented her. 
 
 " I am very sorry I have not been to Thurlston. 
 I will really try to find my way there. I fear you 
 will think me rude." 
 
 " I will not say that I do not. Here have we been 
 at Thurlston three or four months, and you have never 
 yet called on me. You must come and see me, and 
 bring Minnie for Herbert to play with ; he is so fond 
 of her." 
 
 " Thank you. I hope I shall be able to come 
 soon." 
 
 " I must leave you now, for I am in haste. But 
 will you tell me what church you will attend to- 
 morrow? I hear ours is closed for repairs." 
 
woman's ministry. 141 
 
 " Langton, I think, if the day is fine." 
 
 " Then may I meet you at the lodge, and go with 
 you there ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I should be very glad if you would do so," 
 replied Ethel, pleasure sparkling in her eye. 
 
 Ada expressed her thanks warmly, and they 
 parted. 
 
142 ETHEL : OR, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Christ died for all ; but in that general debt 
 
 He bled to cancel, dost not thou partake ? 
 Is thine, too, blotted out ? Oh, do not set 
 
 Upon a doubtful issue such a stake ! 
 
 Each faculty of soul and sense awake ; 
 Trust not a general truth, which may be vain 
 
 To thee ; but rather, for thy Saviour's sake, 
 And for thine own, some evidence attain, 
 For thee indeed he died; for thee hath risen again." 
 
 B. Baeton. 
 
 " He called Philosophy, and with his heart 
 Beasoned. He called religion, too, but called 
 Beluctantly, and therefore was not heard. 
 Ashamed to be o'er-matched by earthly woe, 
 He sought, and sought, with eye that dimmed apace, 
 To find some avenue to light, some place 
 On which to rest a hope, but sought in vain." 
 
 Pollok. 
 
 Ethel prevailed on Harry next morning to accompany 
 her to Langton. Laura was not down-stairs when 
 they set out, and Mr. Woodville seldom went to a 
 place of worship, so that her brother was her only com- 
 panion : he made several good-humoured grumblings 
 about being a victim, but submitted quietly when 
 he heard Ada Raymond was to accompany him ; 
 for his boyish admiration had been considerably at- 
 tracted by the tall, graceful figure, and beautiful eyes 
 of his sister's friend. Ada met them at the lodge, 
 
woman's ministry. 143 
 
 and to Ethel's surprise Raymond was with her. 
 Ada walked on with Ethel, as she had much she 
 wished to speak about, while Raymond won Harry's 
 esteem by conversing in that easy, familiar style, 
 which he would use to an equal, or one of his own 
 age. 
 
 Mr. Bevan took the service at Langton that 
 morning. He was a very excellent young man, 
 thoroughly devoted to his work, but neither eloquent 
 nor showy, and, consequently, not a preacher likely to 
 attract worldly people. But his doctrine was sound, 
 and his sermons earnest and faithful ; so that where a 
 desire existed to profit by them, they were most 
 valuable to the hearer. Ethel could not fail to observe 
 with regret Raymond's utter indifference to the 
 service. He held a prayer-book in his hand during 
 the first part of the time ; but as soon as they knelt 
 down he closed the book, and took no further notice 
 of the prayers, while his thoughts were evidently far 
 from the solemn duties in which he was professedly 
 engaged. During the service Ethel felt, rather than 
 saw, that his dark piercing eye was riveted upon her 
 from the opposite side of the square pew, and she found 
 it difficult to keep her attention fixed on the preacher. 
 The service over, Raymond felt considerably relieved, 
 and drew a long breath of satisfaction to think that 
 he had now completed his self-denial, and could 
 again be in Ethel's society without anything to inter- 
 fere Avith his enjoyment. 
 
 " Will you allow me to accompany you ? " he said, 
 coming forward eagerly to Ethel's side, when they left 
 the church. 
 
 Ethel had turned to look at her mother's grave. 
 
 "Would you like to remain longer?" he inquired, 
 with the thoughtfulness so habitual to him. 
 
144 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 Ethel thanked him for his consideration ; but 
 expressed a wish to proceed at once, seeing Ada and 
 Harry had walked on before them. Somehow there 
 was a pleasing thought stole into Ethel's heart in 
 finding herself Raymond's companion — a dangerous 
 pleasure, which made her heart beat quickly — and a 
 gleam of happiness shone into it, to which she had 
 hitherto been a stranger. With ready tact Raymond 
 guessed Ethel's feelings with regard to observing the 
 Sabbath ; little as he minded speaking his own words 
 on that holy day he considered his companion's feelings, 
 and resolved to lead the conversation into a more 
 serious vein than he usually indulged in. 
 
 " I suppose Mr. Bevan is a good man. But he 
 is only a dry preacher after all ; and really, such a 
 manner as his, gives one a feeling of drowsiness and 
 inattention during the service — very hard to over- 
 come." 
 
 " I believe some people do think his style rather 
 heavy ; but it grows upon you very much. I never 
 notice the peculiarity now." 
 
 " I believe there is a difference between us, Miss 
 Woodville ; you enter into the substance of the sermon, 
 I only care for the discourse as an oration, and listen 
 as I would to a burst of eloquence of any kind." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear you say so. Perhaps, if you 
 really gave your mind to the consideration of the 
 subject you would think as I do." 
 
 " But it does not interest me. It has grown 
 wearisome — the same thing over and over again, 
 the same doctrines, the same way ; until I am 
 quite out of patience with the preacher's prosy 
 repetition." 
 
 " And what sort of change would you desire ? 
 What other method of salvation would you have 
 
woman's ministry. 145 
 
 preached, than that one way by which sinners may 
 obtain remission of their sins and a title to heaven ? 
 St. Paul was determined to know nothing among the 
 Corinthians, 'save Jesus Christ and Him crucified.' I 
 cannot help thinking, that if our hearts are right before 
 God, and filled with love to our Saviour, we shall 
 never grow weary of listening to the glorious plan of 
 redemption which he has laid down for us." Ethel 
 paused, astonished by the length of her speech, and 
 blushed deeply. 
 
 "You may be right — I should not like to doubt 
 it ; for you seem to feel these things : yet I cannot 
 say that / do. And surely we shall both agree 
 that forced religion will never do any good. My 
 inclinations are decidedly opposed to participating 
 in the pleasures Christians enjoy, and I therefore can- 
 not make myself appear what I am not : it would be 
 hypocrisy." 
 
 "I do not think the inclination should influence 
 us at all. We are all naturally averse to that which 
 is good in consequence of original sin, but I think 
 God will give us power to overcome those sinful 
 propensities if we ask in faith for his assistance ; for 
 then we shall love those things which please him," said 
 Ethel, timidly. 
 
 " I do not ask for guidance in those matters, now. 
 Indeed, I am often opposed to being a Christian from 
 other motives." 
 
 " But have you never any desire for a calm, 
 peaceful feeling, such as a true Christian has?" 
 
 " I will not deny that I have had, occasionally, such 
 desires. You see I am uncertain about mysterious 
 doctrines, and so forth. I am beginning to think it is 
 better to leave all these things, and let the mind be 
 unfettered and allow Reason to have her full sway, and 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 all will come right in the end. Even according to the 
 Calvinistic doctrine of election it will ; if I am to be 
 saved I shall be, and without any effort of my own. 
 I think Ada and you had some conversation on this 
 point, but excuse me if I say your reasons on the 
 matter did not quite convince me, although she seemed 
 no little relieved about it," said Raymond, with a 
 smile. 
 
 a I dare say not," Ethel replied, much shocked by 
 his sentiments. " You are very different from your 
 sister. Her mind is open to a conviction of the truth, 
 and she is earnestly seeking to know the will of God. 
 Yours, by your own confession, is not, and therefore 
 you are more inclined to dispute and cavil about those 
 doctrines which suit or do not suit you. You do not 
 so much wish for explanation as for argument. You 
 do not believe implicitly that everything God has 
 revealed must be right, as that you begin to question his 
 wisdom. The very fact of there being mysteries in 
 religion is an evidence of an all-powerful, all-wise 
 God, whose infinite wisdom is so far above the 
 comprehension of his creatures, that they cannot 
 understand fully all he has revealed to them. If he 
 had made everything perfectly plain, where would 
 have been the necessity for faith?" 
 
 " You are rather hard upon me. I trust I am not 
 quite so bad as "you represent me, Miss Woodville." 
 Raymond spoke good-humouredly, but there was a 
 shade of sadness in his eye. 
 
 " I do not wish to appear uncharitable. I hoped 
 you would not misunderstand me," said Ethel, dis- 
 tressed that he should have thought her harsh. 
 
 " I am not serious, Miss Woodville. I only grieve 
 to lose your good opinion. Still, painful though it 
 may be, I would rather know how I stand in your 
 
woman's ministry. 147 
 
 estimation," Raymond said gently, and slackening his 
 pace so as to listen to her sweet earnest voice as long 
 as possible. However much he might disagree with 
 her sentiments on religion, he delighted to hear her 
 speak, and to watch her grow enthusiastic, as she did 
 on these subjects ; and the thought would even then 
 strike him occasionally, " Surely with such love, such 
 faith, such hope, there must be a something in religion 
 of which he was unconscious!" 
 
 " Perhaps I ought not to speak so decidedly to 
 you. I was only judging of your opinions from what 
 you have expressed. But I have said what I believe 
 to be consistent with divine truth." 
 
 " I know it ; and, believe me, I should feel really 
 grateful if you would explain further. Now, about 
 election ; has it never perplexed you ? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly, it did once." 
 
 " And what did you do?" 
 
 " I prayed that the Holy Spirit might dispel my 
 difficulties and show me what was right, and now I 
 may safely say I have no distress on the subject. I 
 do not mean that every one sees the doctrine in the 
 same light as I do, for there are many different 
 opinions about it ; this, I think, is by no means incon- 
 sistent with truth — I judge from analogy. No two 
 leaves are alike, no two flowers, or blades of grass, 
 and as we frequently may learn divine lessons from 
 nature, we may infer from this that the Spirit acts 
 differently on different minds, and that no two persons 
 are acted upon exactly alike." 
 
 "Then how did your difficulty vanish?" 
 
 "First, I felt that election is not a doctrine to 
 be dwelt upon by the wavering and unestablished 
 Christian. It is almost exclusively for believers. 
 When the Spirit of God has really illuminated the 
 
148 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 heart, then it is that the child of God feels it is a 
 glorious doctrine that he should have been chosen 
 before the foundation of the world, and have God's 
 love set upon him. But at present we have nothing 
 to do with election. I believe God will not doom any 
 to perdition without giving them a chance of being 
 saved. He sets before all, two ways, — the broad and 
 the narrow : their own natural inclination leads them 
 to the broad way ; but he has promised his assistance 
 to any who will ask it, to enable them to walk aright. 
 I do not believe, further, that there is any one 
 who, at some time of his life, has not the strivings of 
 the Spirit within him. If he resist those strivings, 
 which may never return again, he is lost. I should 
 think it highly presumptuous to question God's know- 
 ledge from the beginning who would, and who would 
 not, accept his proffered mercy ; and also, that he 
 should set his love on those who would choose to 
 obey his commands. But that all have opportunities 
 for repentance I am sure, because God hath said : 
 1 Whosoever will, let him come and take of the water 
 of life freely.' ' Have I any pleasure in the death of 
 a sinner ? ' Besides numberless assurances expressive 
 of his willingness to save all that come unto him. 
 But, even were you to take election in an extreme 
 view, it is certainly not for us to cavil at it. ' Hath 
 not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump 
 to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto 
 dishonour ? ' And who shall hinder him ? for, for his 
 pleasure we are and were created ! This is strong 
 language ; but I am sure it has no such meaning as to 
 be opposed to the equally strong declaration that I 
 find in my Bible, that ' God will have all men to be 
 saved.'" 
 
 " Really I do not know how you can reconcile these 
 
woman's ministry. 149 
 
 things. They seem to me very contradictory. I 
 cannot believe every one is permitted to have oppor- 
 tunities for entering heaven. At least, if we take 
 the Bible for an evidence. But sometimes I am half- 
 inclined to doubt whether the Deity has given a 
 revelation to man. These contradictions are so ex- 
 traordinary, — What does it mean? 'He hath made 
 even the wicked for the day of judgment!' How 
 inconsistent it seems with the passages you have 
 quoted ! " 
 
 Indignant with his scepticism, Ethel exclaimed 
 warmly, with a trembling voice, — 
 
 "There are no contradictions in the Bible! The 
 careful student of God's word, the earnest inquirer 
 after truth, who is taught by the Holy Spirit, will 
 never find difficulties to cavil at. The text you have 
 just quoted has no reference to election. I believe 
 the simple meaning of it is, that in the awful con- 
 demnation and punishment of the wicked, the glory, 
 justice, and majesty of God will appear. His power 
 and victory over those who have defied him hitherto 
 shall be manifested ; and thus will every tongue be 
 made to confess that there is ' none like unto the 
 Lord.' We have not the least reason for supposing 
 that he is the less merciful because he is just in 
 punishing the ungodly. Oh ! why should you let a 
 single doubt of his willingness to save enter your 
 mind ? it is but the suggestion of the tempter," she 
 exclaimed, raising her beautiful, earnest eyes to his 
 face, with an almost irresistible look of appeal. 
 
 " How I wish my faith was firm, like yours ! But, 
 alas ! it is not easy to believe. I do not feel myself 
 the object of the Spirit's teaching, and therefore 
 things are not plain to me, even after all that you 
 have said about election!" 
 
150 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " Do let me entreat you not to think about elec- 
 tion. It does not and cannot lessen your responsi- 
 bility to God. Pray earnestly for the outpouring of 
 the Holy Spirit, all difficulty will then be removed." 
 
 " But I cannot believe in the efficacy of prayer in 
 all cases. I remember a time when I prayed very 
 earnestly for something which I knew there was no 
 harm in desiring, believing then my prayer would be 
 answered. I firmly determined, if it were, that I would 
 give myself up to God. I waited long in anxious 
 
 expectation, but it was never answered ; and " 
 
 (he paused a moment) "I have never prayed since !" 
 
 Ethel was silent, and tears rose to her eyes ; she 
 was indescribably shocked. 
 
 " Dear Miss Woodville, I fear I have wounded 
 your feelings. I know I am very far astray; and 
 I thought you might, perhaps, show me my error — 
 you, who are so sincerely a Christian. Forgive me if 
 1 have hurt you ! " he said, in a gentle tone, bending 
 over her, and speaking in an agitated voice. 
 
 " Oh ! do not fear to grieve me ; but rather 
 mourn over your resistance to the striving of God's 
 Holy Spirit," Ethel replied, her voice trembling with 
 the painful emotion which oppressed her. And a 
 prayer rose to her heart for her companion, that he 
 might be led to see the awful sin of which he had 
 been guilty in thus tempting God. Raymond hoped 
 she would have said more, but Ethel continued silent. 
 Words, indeed, rose to her lips, but she feared to give 
 utterance to them, lest they should be too feeble to 
 have any effect, and lest Raymond should think her 
 presumptuous in dictating to him. 
 
 " And you believe me to have been wrong in ex- 
 pecting God would answer my prayer?" Raymond 
 inquired, at length. 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 151 
 
 "It depends entirely upon the nature of your 
 request. I should fear it was not for a spiritual 
 blessing, because it is to such only we have a right to 
 expect an answer." 
 
 " I confess it was for something which, though 
 innocent in itself, could not be what you would term 
 spiritual." 
 
 " Then I do not see how you could expect an 
 answer, since if God had vouchsafed it to you it 
 might have proved a curse instead of a blessing. Oh, 
 Mr. Raymond, do let me entreat you to tempt God 
 no longer by your neglect of prayer, for I am sure he 
 will hear you if you ask earnestly for the blessing he 
 has promised, and you so much need,". Ethel said, 
 timidly. 
 
 " You are indeed persuasive, and I feel that there 
 is not another being on earth who could have so much 
 power in influencing me. Since I met you, Miss 
 Woodville, I have learnt in some measure to appre- 
 ciate a truly consistent Christian. It has not, hitherto, 
 been my lot to live among any such ; either they have 
 been persons entirely devoid of religion, or mere pro- 
 fessors. This latter class I particularly despise ; I like 
 a person to be consistent : now these people have so 
 much hypocrisy, so much worldly conformity, and so 
 much self-satisfaction, that, upon my word, I prefer the 
 former class, who profess nothing and act accordingly. 
 I have closely watched you, and I hope you will pardon 
 me saying, there is not one thing I have ever observed 
 you do or say which has not been in conformity with 
 the spirit of a Christian. If I could be like you, I should 
 wish to be one also ; but it is out of the question, 
 at least with my present feelings. I trust, at some 
 time I may have a more earnest desire than I now 
 have. Somehow, I feel you would rather hear all 
 
152 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 this, than that I should be silent, or else profess to 
 agree with you when I do not: the latter course I 
 certainly should scorn to take. I am, however, sin- 
 cere in all I say, and I can truly tell you, I do like 
 to hear you speak on these subjects. I am desirous 
 to know, whether there is any real solidity in religion, 
 or whether it is a mere delusion in which Christians 
 indulge?" 
 
 " Thank you for your candour, Mr. Raymond ; you 
 have judged me correctly: I would rather know your 
 real sentiments. But, ah ! how glad should I be, 
 could I convince you of the solid comforts the Gospel 
 affords. I can assure you there is a joy and peace 
 in believing, which / have felt myself, and which has 
 been my support in many a bitter hour." 
 
 "And how could /attain to this?" inquired Ray- 
 mond, earnestly. 
 
 " By the means of grace which God has appointed. 
 The study of his word ; attendance on the preaching 
 of the same ; and by prayer, fervent prayer to God, 
 through the merits of the Saviour, for the outpouring 
 of his Spirit — these are among the chief means of 
 grace." 
 
 " I own to my neglect of a regular attendance at 
 church, and I have before confessed that I have ceased 
 to pray. But you must not suppose I do not read 
 the Bible sometimes, yet not, perhaps, with as pure 
 a motive as I ought. I think some parts of it are 
 magnificent in the sublime language used. The Pro- 
 phets and the Revelation are splendid; these are what 
 I still have great pleasure in reading, on account of 
 their poetical beauty." 
 
 " Ah, there lies your error ! you read to please 
 your senses, not because your heart is thirsting to 
 know God's will. And do you never read the rest — the 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 153 
 
 Gospels and Epistles, where the way of salvation, is so 
 plain?" 
 
 " I have read the whole Bible, but I believe it did 
 not profit me, as I before said: the difficulties and seem- 
 ing contradictions I sometimes met with stopped my 
 progress. My reason did not respond." 
 
 " Oh, don't speak of reason ! What is our reason 
 when compared with God's wisdom ? How can we 
 understand those hidden mysteries ? Is it not enough 
 that the way to be saved is plainly put forth, so that 
 a child may understand it ? May I show you from the 
 Bible itself why the reading of it did not profit ?" 
 
 " Yes, certainly ! " 
 
 " 'The word preached did not profit them, not being 
 mixed with faith in them that heard it.' ' The natural 
 man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God, for 
 they are foolishness unto him ; neither can he know 
 them, because they are spiritually discerned.' 'In 
 whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds 
 of them which believe not, lest the light of the glorious 
 gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine 
 into them.' Now here, you see, are three things 
 which hinder the word being profitable ; faithlessness, 
 want of the guidance of the Spirit, and being under 
 the influence of the god of this world. It must profit 
 otherwise, because 'it is the power of God unto sal- 
 vation, to every one that believeth,' " said Ethel timidly, 
 her colour again rising painfully. 
 
 " I believe there is a great deal of truth in what 
 you say with regard to me. I do not think I have 
 faith, at all events not so much as to enable me to 
 profit by the word of God; and want of faith strikes 
 at the root of the matter. Alas ! you little know 
 the wicked, wretched doubts, which spring up into 
 my mind. I doubt everything sometimes; but God, 
 
154 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 I hope, will have mercy upon me, for I know not 
 where all this will end." 
 
 He spoke in a very agitated voice. Ethel looked 
 dreadfully pained. This was the man whose conver- 
 sation and whose kindness and attention had so de- 
 lighted her. He seemed almost an infidel — wretched 
 thought! which brought a sharp pang to her heart, 
 and caused her to grow pale with emotion. 
 
 " Do not completely cast me off ; I wanted to beg 
 you to pray for me, if it will not be too great a boon 
 to ask. Pray, that your God will have mercy upon 
 me. Do not, if you please, wish me to tell you all my 
 doubts now; I cannot do so to-day. But will you pro- 
 mise me one thing ? let me hope that, at some early 
 opportunity, I may come and talk to you about these 
 points; and will you give me all the reasons you can 
 think of for believing in revelation? Now I hope you 
 will not be offended with me for asking so much ? " 
 he inquired, anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, no ! You have certainly not offended me : 
 but I would entreat you, without delay, to carry your 
 doubts to Jesus, lay before him everything, and pray 
 that he will dispel the rising temptation. I will, 
 indeed, pray for you ; but you must pray for your- 
 self, too. Do not resist the opportunities God is now 
 affording you of coming to him. ' To-day,' he says, 
 'if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts.' 
 e Now is the accepted time : now is the day of salva- 
 tion.' I could not bear to think of you being on the 
 left hand when Christ shall come to judge the world. 
 If you do not repent now, a day must come when you 
 will bitterly bewail your neglect. Oh! do pause and 
 consider, while you have yet time, the course you are 
 pursuing ; or the door of mercy will for ever be closed 
 against you." 
 
woman's ministry. 155 
 
 Ethel spoke solemnly, and with intense earnest- 
 ness, for her whole soul was bent on bringing him to 
 that Saviour she had found so precious. But when 
 she paused, she wondered how she had found courage 
 to say all she did, she so young and (as it seemed 
 to her) so ignorant, and to a man far above her in 
 intellect. But a spell was round her of which she 
 was unconscious, which made her more eager to bring 
 Raymond back to the fold from which he had 
 wandered, than any one in the whole world. Ethel 
 loved him even then, severed as they were in religion; 
 an irresistible impulse had drawn them together, and 
 a mutual bond of affection bound them closely to one 
 another. She would have given the whole world to 
 have seen him at the feet of Jesus ; not for her own 
 sake — she had no feeling of worldly anxiety, for she 
 dreamt not even of the possibility of either loving or 
 being beloved by him — but that he might taste and see 
 the blessedness of which she was herself a partaker. 
 There was a pause. 
 
 Raymond's conscience was not silent, and he was 
 trying to stifle its voice. He knew Ethel's words 
 were true; something seemed to tell him they were; 
 and yet he could not bring himself to own that such 
 was the truth. He spurned the Gospel invitation, 
 because it involved the surrender of cherished sins 
 and pleasures which he believed secured him much 
 happiness. He felt powerfully agitated by what Ethel 
 said, and was tossed about on the restless waves 
 of doubt; wishing, yet hardly daring, openly to 
 defy the God of heaven and earth, but scorning to 
 own his sway. He did not want to be a Christian. 
 He desired to follow in the world's path, and sin with 
 impunity: so he cast his serious thoughts from him 
 once more, and relaxing the stern compression of his 
 
156 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 features he turned to Ethel and said, gaily, " I think 
 it very kind in you to speak so plainly to me; I know 
 you really feel these things. I confess I am not at 
 present prepared to answer all your arguments, being 
 as yet very undecided on many points, but I will think 
 over all you have said and let you know the result, if 
 you care to hear it. Meanwhile I could not bear to 
 know you would despise and avoid me because we 
 differ in some respects as to religious opinions." 
 
 " I shall not do that ; but, in your present un- 
 certain state, I cannot conceive how you can be 
 happy." 
 
 " Oh, you must not suppose me the reverse ! I 
 grow morbid now and then, and sometimes, as Long- 
 fellow says, there steals over me, 
 
 'A feeling of sadness and longing, 
 
 Which is not akin to pain, 
 And resembles sorrow only 
 As the mist resembles rain.' 
 
 You must not think there is anything more." 
 
 " I think that enough. What can that ' longing ' 
 mean? Is it not the yearning of your heart after 
 Him who has set his love upon you, and redeemed 
 you?" 
 
 " I think not. I long, — yes — you know not how 
 I long for a kindred spirit to be linked with mine. 
 A heart that would share my joys and sorrows, and 
 feel with me in all. But perhaps these sentiments are 
 not agreeable to you," he said, abruptly. 
 
 Ethel blushed violently and felt extremely uncom- 
 fortable, conscious that Raymond's eye was upon her. 
 
 " I had no idea I had taken you so far from 
 Thurlston. I am sorry Ada should have walked on 
 so fast, — I did not perceive it," Ethel said, hurriedly, 
 seeing they approached the beginning of Park Row. 
 
woman's ministry. 157 
 
 Raymond sighed gently. " She does not love me," 
 he thought, sorrowfully. " Well, there has hardly 
 been time to win her yet. I will try by every means 
 to gain her for my own. All my doubts and longings 
 must be satisfied were she my wife." Then he added 
 aloud, " Can you think for one moment I can regret 
 the lengthened walk, when the subjects we have been 
 discussing have been so intensely interesting ? " 
 
 Ethel gave a somewhat doubtful invitation to the 
 Raymonds to enter when they reached home, but they 
 saw with ready tact she did not like Sunday being 
 made a visiting-day, and declined. 
 
 Laura was extremely indignant, and blamed Ethel 
 for not pressing the point; hinting, the Raymonds 
 would probably have liked to see her. 
 
 Ethel replied gently, she thought it was not 
 desirable to have any Sunday visitors, that plenty of 
 opportunities were afforded for seeing their friends 
 during the week. Laura grew only more irritable, 
 and to Ethel's question, " Where was Minnie?" she 
 replied, "she did not know anything about her, she had 
 gone out with Sally." Minnie, however, soon made 
 her appearance, her little face glowing with excite- 
 ment. She did not know what to do when Ethel 
 left, and as Laura would not read to her at all, she 
 had begged Sally to take her to the church she was 
 going to, and Sally had at length consented. They 
 had been to St. John's together, and Minnie had a 
 great deal to tell Ethel, about what she had seen and 
 heard there. 
 
 "And what did you hear, Minnie?" Ethel in- 
 quired, kindly. 
 
 " I know, and Queen Victoria knows, whose 
 minister she is. And I heard the clergyman pray 
 
158 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 for Prince Albert, and the Prince of Wales, too. 
 Cannot they pray for themselves ? " 
 
 "Yes, dear: but people should pray for them, too, 
 that God will keep them, and grant also that the 
 Queen may govern the land well." 
 
 " Then I heard in the sermon, Ethy, about the 
 place where mamma has gone to, heaven; that it is 
 up above the sky. And I asked Sally about it, but she 
 could not tell me as you do, Ethy. And all the way as I 
 came home I looked up to see if the clouds would 
 move a little bit away that I could get a peep into 
 heaven. I thought it would be so nice to tell you I 
 had seen mamma when I came home, Ethy ! " 
 
 Then Ethel took her little sister on her knee, and 
 explained to her, that though we suppose heaven is 
 above, we cannot tell where that blessed region really 
 is, or what it is ; but we know that God is there, and 
 that the righteous dwell with him in glory: but "eye 
 hath not seen, nor ear heard," the endless beauties of 
 that holy place until after death, when the righteous 
 " shall know even as they are known." But until that 
 time arrives we cannot obtain any correct idea, or 
 catch one glimpse of that " city of God." 
 
 In the afternoon Miss Grant came in, or rather, 
 was brought in by Mr. Woodville, who had called on 
 her as he returned from a walk ; and the rest of the 
 day was not kept holy. The light and vain words, 
 idle jests, and sharp witticisms which passed, were 
 inexpressibly painful to Ethel. She contrived to use 
 her influence over Harry to induce him to accompany 
 her to evening service, by reminding him of their 
 mother's wishes that he should study and attend to 
 religious duties. The name of "mother" acted like a 
 talisman on the wild schoolboy. He had loved her 
 
woman's ministry. 159 
 
 devotedly, and was desirous of keeping her memory 
 sacred by following out all her wishes. He loved 
 Ethel, too, very devotedly ; she was so like his mother, 
 both in her ways and features, that Harry irre- 
 sistibly yielded to her gentle influence. Thus Ethel 
 was enabled, to some extent, to counteract the bane- 
 ful effect of her father's example, whose open pro- 
 fanity and indifference to religion only became more 
 apparent each day, and brought many a pang of sor- 
 row to Ethel's heart, mingled with a feeling of thank- 
 fulness that her beloved mother had been mercifully 
 taken away before the evil had reached such a crisis. 
 
160 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " Tell me not in mournful numbers, life is but an empty dr- 
 For the soul is dead that slumbers, and things are not what 
 
 they seem. 
 Life is earnest! Life is real! And the grave is not its goal : 
 * Dust thou art, to dust returnest,' was not spoken of the soul. 
 Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, is our destined end or 
 But to act as each to-morrow finds us nearer than to-day. 
 Trust no future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead past bury 
 
 its dead ! 
 Act, act in the living present, heart within and God o'er li 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 " Charge them that are rich in this world, that they d 
 that they be rich in good works, ready to distribute, willing to 
 commtmicate ; laying up in store for themselves a good foun- 
 dation against the time to come, that they may lay hold vu 
 eternal life."— 1 Tim. vi. 17-19. 
 
 Winter had now set in, and, as Ethel had antici- 
 pated, the distress in Carysford was very great. Day 
 after day, whenever she could spare time, she went 
 about among the poor people, listening with untiring 
 patience to the tale of M hard times."' She denied 
 herself in everything she could, in order to relieve 
 the want and woe around her. Small was the allow- 
 ance Mr. Woodville made her for household expe: 
 and still smaller the amount he gave her for her pri- 
 vate purse, out of which, however, he expected her to 
 dress well, and have a surplus for extra occasions. 
 
woman's ministry. 161 
 
 Many an anxious hour did Ethel spend studying a for- 
 midable looking account-book, and in seeing wherein 
 she could save for charitable purposes. But the task 
 was a hard one, for Mr. Woodville expected her to 
 provide so amply for the house as to enable him at 
 any time to bring one or two of his friends in 
 to dinner, and Ethel found it extremely difficult so 
 to arrange matters. Many a little luxury she denied 
 herself, in order to give to the poor; and being a very 
 beautiful fancy-worker, she contrived, by occasionally 
 asking her acquaintances to purchase small articles 
 of her for this purpose, not to be without the means 
 of doing some good. Small though her donations 
 might be, she remembered, that even a cup of cold 
 water given in the name of Christ should not lose 
 its reward. 
 
 The Raymonds had been from home some weeks 
 with Lady Harcourt, but Ethel had seen them several 
 times before they went, for they lost no opportunity of 
 cultivating her acquaintance. 
 
 Ethel found in Ada a friend whose sterling quali- 
 ties gradually manifested themselves as she was better 
 known, and whose abruptness and impulsiveness of 
 manner all vanished as their friendship increased. 
 Ada was very glad to return to the quiet of Thurlston 
 after the round of gaiety in their mother's home. She 
 had not forgotten the remarks made by Ethel respect- 
 ing the poverty and distress there was likely to be in 
 Carysford during the winter, and as soon as they re- 
 turned she resolved to remind her friend of her pro- 
 mise, to take her to some of the wretched abodes she 
 herself visited. Ethel rejoiced to have her friend home 
 again ; her life was indeed a dreary one, for Laura only 
 grew worse in her selfishness, and there was no sym- 
 pathy to be expected from her. Miss Grant continued 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 to reside in Carysford, and scarcely a day passed that 
 Mr. Woodville did not either visit her, or invite her to 
 come to them. Laura had already become weary of Miss 
 Grant's society, though she did not yet discern the turn 
 events were likely to take, or sufficiently divine her 
 true character. Miss Hackett and the Raymonds were 
 the only people who really seemed from the first to have 
 been conscious of the issue of things, but they forebore 
 to mention the subject to Ethel from feelings of 
 delicacy. Poor old Miss Hackett was fading away ; 
 the dark night of Death threw his shade around her 
 slowly, but most surely was she marked for his victim. 
 Still, as life grew more burdensome, heaven grew 
 brighter in prospect, and her mind expanded to the 
 blessed hope of eternal life through Jesus Christ. 
 Ethel now devoted some hours during the week to her, 
 and in this case the young girl had a clearer insight 
 into the truths of redemption than her old friend. 
 By the bedside of suffering, and in the time of sor- 
 row, Ethel's character appeared in its most beautiful 
 light. She was ever ready to pour hope and whisper 
 words of peace into the sinner's ear, and to lead 
 the heart to the Saviour she had herself found so 
 precious ; thus Miss Hackett had learned to look upon 
 the child of her friend in the light of an instructor, so 
 able did she seem to lead her and guide her to " the 
 Lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the 
 world." 
 
 A few mornings after the Raymonds' return, Ethel 
 was surprised by a call at an early hour from Ada, 
 who begged she would, if at liberty, take her to see 
 some poor people, as she was very anxious to begin 
 those deeds of charity Ethel had pointed out as her 
 duty. Ethel was but too glad to accompany her, and 
 they set out without delay. It was a bitterly cold 
 
 v 
 
woman's ministry. 163 
 
 tnorning- in December. The snow lay in thick, crisp 
 masses on the house-tops ; scarcely white now, but 
 still leaving no doubt on the minds of people that it 
 was snow, nevertheless. The air was not only intensely 
 cold, but an uncomfortable thickness in it rendered it 
 peculiarly unpleasant in the town, and by no means 
 tempting to those who merely walked for pleasure. 
 But the two friends heeded it not, as they trudged along 
 the street, bent on their errand of mercy. 
 
 " Now, dear Ada, I must prepare you to meet with 
 many discouragements ; you will probably be startled, 
 and even disgusted, by what you may see and hear 
 among the poor here. They are very rough, and often 
 it is impossible to distinguish between what is meant 
 for civility and incivility. There is a feeling of in- 
 dependence among many, which leads them to believe 
 they have no betters — that they are as good as any- 
 body else, and have no occasion to render ' honour 
 to whom honour is due.' " 
 
 " Oh, I am quite prepared for it," replied Ada, 
 smiling. 
 
 " There is an old friend of mine coming down the 
 street, I see," said Ethel, as an old man, very tall, 
 painfully thin, and badly dressed, crossed over to 
 them, trembling with cold. 
 
 " Well, Sammy, how are you to-day ?" 
 
 " Varrer bad, Miss, varrer. Hard set to get a bit 
 o' bre-arth. But I thout I mon turn out to ax ye to 
 gi' me sixpence to buy a few coils,* for I'm varrer 
 near starved to dee-arth i' yon hoilf o' mine." 
 
 " What does he mean ? " inquired Ada, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " He wants some coals, he has no fire to-day." 
 
 * Coals. t Hole. 
 
164 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " Oh ! then let me give him something," whispered 
 Ada. 
 
 " Thanks, I shall be glad if you will." 
 
 Ada took out a well-filled purse, and handed him 
 five shillings. 
 
 " Thank ye, my lass ; I'se fair set up wi' this ! 
 Woo is shoo ? " he inquired, turning to Ethel. 
 
 " Miss Raymond, from Thurlston Hall." 
 
 " I knaw ! I knaw ! Well, thank ye, and bless ye, 
 mony a time." And the old man hobbled off to pur- 
 chase firing. 
 
 " How delightful it is to give, and to see people 
 grateful!" exclaimed Ada, joyously. " Dear Herbert 
 has been kind. I had spent so much money in London, 
 I had really nothing to look for at present. He dis- 
 covered this, and do you know I found a letter on my 
 table last night, inclosing a fifty-pound note, as he 
 knew I had been extravagant. He is such a good 
 brother, and makes me so many handsome presents, I 
 really feel ashamed to receive them sometimes. I shall 
 spend most of it on the poor, and Herbert will be glad 
 to assist in any work of charity, he says ; so I hope we 
 shall do a great deal of good this winter. 
 
 " You will indeed find it pleasant, dear Ada ; I 
 feel almost inclined to envy you who are rich, it is 
 such a luxury to give," Ethel said, with difficulty re- 
 pressing the rising sigh. 
 
 " So it is, Ethel ; but being rich does not bring 
 happiness. I would readily become poor if I could 
 have the same blessed assurance as you, that I was 
 really a child of God." 
 
 " Yes, that is indeed the great thing, and I feel I 
 would not, for all earth's treasures, lose the blessed hope 
 of eternal life. Now, as we are near the first house, I 
 must warn you that you will perhaps not meet with 
 
woman's MINISTRF. 165 
 
 great civility, or even be thanked for what you may 
 bestow." 
 
 " That is sad, but still we must not do good hoping 
 for gratitude. I desire to have a higher motive than 
 merely wishing for thanks." 
 
 They had now turned up a narrow, dirty street, 
 with low dilapidated-looking houses in it, broken win- 
 dows, crazy doors, and where filth and wretchedness of 
 all kinds met the eye. Ethel stopped at the door of 
 one of the worst-looking places, and knocked. 
 
 " Are you sure we are safe here ? This seems 
 such a wretched place, and Herbert told me we ought 
 to be careful, there were such dreadful people living 
 in these low streets," whispered Ada, nervously. 
 
 "We are all right, dear — no fear," said Ethel, 
 knocking again. 
 
 A feeble voice called out " Come in ! " and they 
 entered. The room was almost without furniture, the 
 floor damp, and no fire burnt in the grate. Upon a 
 wretched bed, shivering with cold, sat a sad, broken- 
 hearted looking woman, while covered up among the 
 rags lay a girl of about fourteen, in a state of almost 
 stupefaction from starvation. The cold dews of 
 want rested on their faces, while each had a ghastly, 
 pinched look about them, very dreadful to behold. 
 Ada shuddered, and drew her warm cloak and furs 
 closer round her. She had never before seen sorrow 
 like this, and though she had a warm heart had never, 
 until requested by Ethel, thought of seeking out for 
 cases like the present on which to bestow her charity. 
 
 " Jane, how is this ? Why did you not come and 
 tell me you had no coals ? I would have tried to get 
 some for you," said Ethel, kindly. 
 
 " Like enow ye would. But I've troubled ye so 
 offens, I were fair shamed, and I've no other friend 
 
166 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 but ye. We've had nowt to eat sin' yesterday fore- 
 noon. But I must hae done something soon for sake 
 o' that poor thing there," pointing to the girl on the 
 bed. 
 
 " I am very sorry you did not come sooner," said 
 Ethel, taking out her purse. 
 
 " Please, Ethel, do let me give to-day," said Ada, 
 earnestly. 
 
 " Thank you, I will not refuse." 
 
 "How much shall I give — half a sovereign?" 
 whispered Ada. 
 
 " Oh, no ! Half a-crown will be abundance." 
 
 " So little?" 
 
 " Yes. At present, quite sufficient." 
 
 Ada handed the money to Jane. 
 
 " May the Lord bless ye, whoever ye be. It's just 
 seemingly like a answer to prayer. Ye see, when 
 we was clean done out, I knelt me down and prayed 
 a bit, that the Lord would send me summut. And 
 thinks I to mesen, if he cares for them lile burds* as 
 flies about t' skies, so as none on 'urn falls to t' ground 
 without he knows on't, and even counts t' hairs o' 
 folks' heads, he'll not forget us. And he hasn't, ye 
 see. He's sent ye to me. God bless ye ! " said the 
 poor woman, wiping the streaming tears away with 
 her apron. 
 
 " You are very welcome, I am sure," Ada said, 
 tears glistening in her eyes. 
 
 " Now go and get something, Jane, at once. We 
 will not keep you waiting," said Ethel. 
 
 The woman threw an old shawl on, and, covering 
 her daughter up in the rags, went out. 
 
 Ethel stooped and said a few kind words to the 
 
 * Little birds. 
 
woman's ministry. 167 
 
 girl, who seemed too numbed to speak or notice much, 
 and then they left the house. 
 
 " Oh, Ethel, to think of my having wasted all this 
 time before doing anything for these poor creatures ! 
 I must try to make up for its loss. I will tell Herbert 
 when I return ; and he will have something done, 1 
 am sure." 
 
 " I dare say he will. I do, indeed, trust you will 
 be able to do much for them. People seldom know 
 how wretched the poor are, unless by personal 
 visiting." 
 
 " I am very glad I came with you," replied Ada, 
 as they stopped at the door of another house. There 
 was a small fire here, certainly ; but the smell of oil, 
 and the dirtiness of the room altogether, were almost 
 overpowering to Ada. There was a very untidy, 
 sallow-looking woman, who was kneading some flour, 
 with hands which, when the white meal was shaken 
 off, showed them really black with want of cleanli- 
 ness. There was a man, also, working in a little 
 back place, whose appearance, as his fierce grey eyes 
 glared at them through the open door, was more 
 like that of some wild animal than a human being. 
 His uncouth, matted hair, stood almost straight on his 
 head ; the lines on his forehead were strongly marked ; 
 and his face was very thin and attenuated ; while the 
 expression was one of dogged determination, and sullen 
 independence. Ada started slightly, as if she almost 
 expected he would rush out upon them, brandishing 
 one of his tools, and threaten their lives. So she 
 seated herself on the low, broken chair, the woman 
 offered, where she might see all the man's proceedings, 
 and effect her escape readily, if necessary. Ethel 
 had seated herself on a stool, which, with the intention 
 of clearing off the dust, the woman had carefully 
 
168 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 wiped with lier floury apron ; making it worse than 
 ever ; for the meal settled on Ethel's dress, much to 
 her discomfort." 
 
 " Are you better to-day ? How is your leg ? " 
 
 " War' and war', and never will be owt else i' this 
 world ; but when I gets ' home,'* maybe the Lord '11 
 gie me another ; for we'se all be changed there." 
 
 Saying which, the woman began to unloose the 
 bandages round her leg, to show Ethel how the dis- 
 ease had progressed. 
 
 " Never mind to-day, Sarah. I can look another 
 time," Ethel said, out of respect to Ada's sensitive 
 feelings. 
 
 But Sarah would not be satisfied, and displayed 
 a leg almost consumed by the most loathsome disease. 
 
 Ada shrunk in horror, and turned away with a 
 feeling of faintness. 
 
 Ethel almost insisted upon the woman covering 
 it up again, and even rendered her some slight assist- 
 ance in doing it. 
 
 " I hope there's no offence, ma'm," she said, mildly, 
 as Ada, a smelling-bottle still applied to her nose, 
 turned round again. 
 
 " No, none, I assure you ! I am sorry to see you 
 so bad ! Do you suffer much ? " she inquired, gently. 
 
 " A varrer deal, ma'm. But it'll soon be o'er 
 now wi' me. I've had a hard tew in life ; but sin' 
 Miss Ethel has come tull me, and our parson, I've 
 
 * A beautiful (but, I fear, often a mistaken) idea is held by 
 many of our poor, that to die is " to go home." Many seem to 
 look for a reward for all they bave endured on earth in the 
 other world; without a thought whether the lives they have led 
 here, warrant such a hope in Christ's mercy. Others, no doubt, 
 rest their hopes on a sure foundation, as in the case now 
 alluded to. 
 
woman's ministry. 169 
 
 like heerd there's a better country, where there's 
 neither bad legs nor arms, nor pining nor hard wark. 
 And I'se right willing for the Lord to 'flict me, if he'll 
 nobbut wash me i' t' blood 'at was shed for me. I'se 
 be all right when I get home. Hope no offence ; but 
 have ye brought your book, ma'm ?" 
 
 " Yes. Now I will read to you a little," Ethel 
 replied. 
 
 She opened her little pocket Testament, and 
 read in a slow, distinct manner, part of the fourteenth 
 chapter of St. John. The rattling noise in the work- 
 room ceased, and Ada noticed the wild grey eyes of 
 the man were fixed thoughtfully, while he listened to 
 Ethel, not knowing that he was noticed. 
 
 " It's fair grand like. Just to think o' me having 
 a mansion i' t' skies, same as you, ma'm ! " said Sarah, 
 when Ethel finished. 
 
 " Yes, Jesus has prepared one in heaven for all 
 who love him. There will be no difference of persons 
 there." 
 
 " Yes ; that's just what as I tells Simon. TVe'se 
 all be illike there, so it doesn't mean what as happens 
 here wi' t' masters. Hope no offence, ma'm." 
 
 " No," returned Ethel, quietly. 
 
 " Are yer going, ma'm?" as Ethel rose. 
 
 " I will just speak to Simon," she said, advancing 
 to the work-room. The man pursued his work, though 
 he saw her come in. " How are you off for work now ? " 
 
 " Err ! " muttered or rather growled the man. 
 Ethel repeated her inquiry. 
 
 " Varrer short. Seven shillings i' t' week is most 
 as I can make. And wi's five mouths to fill, and 
 rent and firing, there's nowt much to boast on," 
 replied Simon, bitterly. 
 
170 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 " Will this be of use to you?" said Ada, taking 
 alarm at his repulsive manner, and thinking to con- 
 ciliate him by offering him money. 
 
 " Nay. Keep thee brass. I doesn't want nowt 
 but wark; and I'd be right satisfied to do it for't t' 
 present. But our trade's spoilt wi' them cursed 
 machines : they've ruined us, and we've nowt to turn 
 to. I wish, with all me heart, some o' them masters 
 was killed on 'um. They none care for us ; but t' 
 time '11 come, maybe, when we gets t' power j' our 
 hand, as we will level 'um. We will that" 
 
 Ada felt half inclined to rush out of the house, 
 had she not seen Ethel's unmoved countenance. 
 
 " Simon, do you not think it wrong to speak in 
 this way? Ought you not to give 'honour to whom 
 honour is due ? ' And has not God ordained that 
 while we live on earth there shall be differences in 
 station ? " replied Ethel. 
 
 " I reckon nowt about them sort o' things ; I'm 
 as good as any on 'um. Why there's Stott, as I work 
 for, he was nobbut same a.3 I am once, and now 
 he pays me for warking for him. Why is I to be 
 worse off than him?" said Simon, angrily. 
 
 Ethel said a few words more quietly, knowing that 
 they often had effect when Simon had cooled down ; 
 then wishing him good morning they returned to the 
 woman. Ethel whispered to Ada that she might 
 bestow something on her if she chose, and they de- 
 parted after the woman had thanked them much, and 
 again hoped her gratitude gave no offence." 
 
 " Oh, Ethel, what dreadful people ! That woman's 
 leg, and that man's manner, I hardly knew whether 
 to remain in the house or not." 
 
 " I saw you were frightened ; but had we left 
 
woman's ministry. 171 
 
 abruptly we might have grieved them, which was not 
 desirable, and I knew that no real harm would be 
 done." 
 
 " But do they often show you their wounds ? " 
 inquired Ada. 
 
 " Not always. I prevent them if I can, but 
 sometimes you cannot; and it is well, after all, to 
 overcome your disgust to such sights, as you know 
 not in what situation you may be placed to re- 
 quire a strong control over the feelings. As for 
 the man, he is by no means without some good 
 points, wild and bearish as he seems. I am much 
 interested in him, and have offered up many a prayer 
 for him." 
 
 " Pray for that man ! Oh, Ethel, how good you 
 must be ! " 
 
 " There is no goodness in it; it is a plain duty, 
 dear Ada. ' Pray one for another ' is a scriptural 
 command ; and when any particular case of spi- 
 ritual destitution comes before you, I think you are 
 bound to intercede with the Saviour of the needy 
 ones." 
 
 As Ethel spoke, they stopped at the door of a low, 
 dilapidated house, up an entry. There was a sharp, 
 fiery-looking woman within, and three little starved 
 children under six years of age. There was not 
 much more than a handful of fire in the grate, round 
 which they were clustering, crying bitterly for bread. 
 " I ha'e none ; I've telled ye so afore," the woman 
 said, as Ethel and Ada entered. 
 
 " Is your husband out of work that you are so 
 badly off?" Ethel inquired. 
 
 " Ay : he's left us to seek some, and while I hear 
 frae him we've nowt. We've just pined to dee-arth — 
 fair dying wi' pination. This morning t' barns went 
 
172 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 out and begun eating t' taty* parings off a dunghill, 
 they was so pined." 
 
 " And will the parish allow you nothing now that 
 your husband is away?" inquired Ethel. 
 
 " Nowt. T ' overseer fair laughed i' my face when 
 I axed him. He telled me to come into t' bastille "f if 
 I were in want. But how can I? My master '11 be 
 coming home soon ; and so we mun shift as well as 
 we can. But it's a fair shame when one can wark and 
 is willing, for folks to turn one away and not gie none." 
 
 " You must get some food with that," said Ada, 
 kindly offering her money. 
 
 " And we will take care of the children until you 
 come back," added Ethel. 
 
 " Well, thank ye," the woman said, not very 
 graciously ; then putting on her bonnet she left the 
 house. 
 
 The eagerness of the famished children as they 
 seized the bread was dreadful ; they almost tore it 
 from their mother's hands. Tears rose in the two 
 girls eyes to witness such a scene. After waiting a 
 few moments they withdrew, leaving them in great 
 enjoyment. 
 
 " It was of no use either to talk or read there. 
 Hunger had to be satisfied before any good could be 
 done. The next person I will take you to, Ada, is a 
 primitive Methodist, and very demonstrative in her 
 feelings : but I hope she really is a good woman. I 
 am not tiring you, am I ?" 
 
 " No : not the least. I have until half-past one, 
 and then I must meet mamma at the Library." 
 
 Betty Jackson was at home, attending on a sick 
 son. Ethel sat down by his bedside (which was 
 
 * Potatoe. A fact. t Workhouse. 
 
woman's ministry. 173 
 
 down-stairs) and talked a little to him. The pale 
 face of the invalid brightened up at the voice of 
 Ethel, and he listened eagerly to the words of truth 
 and love which fell from her lips, while she spoke 
 simply of the love of Christ, his willingness to save, 
 of heaven, and the happiness of dwelling for ever 
 there. Then she read a little to him from the Bible, 
 such passages as were calculated to soothe and cheer 
 his dying bed. 
 
 "Thou'll like that, Billy — it's right hearing is 
 that. Now will ye pray, Miss?" 
 
 " I would rather not, Betty ; you know I always 
 tell you that I pray for your son at home," Ethel 
 replied. 
 
 " It's a rare pity ye will not pray. But it's like 
 all t' church folks. Now there's Mrs. Williams as 
 lives near here, why she'd raise anybody. Ay, how 
 she can pray ! She has such a gift. I tell Billy he's 
 well off. Mrs. Williams to pray, me to sing, and ye 
 to read, for ye fair mak' tears roll down one's cheeks, 
 ye read so grand. I wish I could read like ye ; but 
 there's different guts, as t' Scriptures says. I sings, 
 ye see. Last night I sung to Billy, ' Oh, that '11 be 
 joyful,' and he liked it week Did'unt thou, lad?" 
 
 " Ay," replied Billy, feebly. 
 
 " Hae ye ever been at a love-feast, Miss ? " in- 
 quired Betty of Ada. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Ye're just same as Miss Ethel: I can't get her 
 to go, for all I promised to gie her my ticket t' last 
 time. Ye would like it, I'm sure. Such praying ! I 
 got converted at one, and I've never fallen from grace 
 since." 
 
 " Indeed ! you are very different to other people, 
 then, I think," Ada replied, no little disgusted. 
 
174 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " I wish you would ask Mr. Bevan to come and 
 see Billy; I am sure he would talk to him very 
 nicely," Ethel said. 
 
 " Nay, I'll hae none o' your church parsons. I 
 don't get raised up wi' 'urn. I'll send for Hezekiah 
 Stephens, t' local preacher, if I must hae some one 
 besides Mrs. Williams and ye." 
 
 " I like Miss Ethel a deal better nor Heze- 
 kiah ; he makes such a din wi' his praying, mother ; 
 and I'd a deal rather hae Mr. Bevan," said Billy, 
 meekly. 
 
 " Why, Billy, if ye've a fancy for any one ye s' 
 have him, I sure ; only I dunnot like any church folks 
 generally." 
 
 Ethel, however, urged the point, and the boy 
 looked so imploring, that Betty promised to send for 
 Mr. Bevan to please them, though very doubtful as to 
 the good he would do. 
 
 " She is a queer woman, Ethel. What did she 
 mean by saying she had not fallen from grace ? " 
 
 " She meant, she had not knowingly sinned since 
 she believed herself converted. I cannot look upon 
 this sort of doctrine without great doubts as to the 
 certainty of such conversions as these. ' The king- 
 dom of God cometh not with observation,' which I 
 believe means, that great physical excitement and 
 violent emotions are not often the effects of true and 
 saving conversion. I think the least said the most 
 felt, generally; but God looks at the heart, and I 
 should be slow to judge of another's feelings. At 
 love-feasts people relate the history of their conver- 
 sion, and their religious experience; very loud ex- 
 citing prayers are often heard, accompanied by strong 
 groans and cries. People frequently get themselves 
 worked up into such a state of agitation that they 
 
woman's ministry. 175 
 
 mistake excited feelings for an evidence of con- 
 version, which springs from saving faith. Acting on 
 this supposition they run into grievous errors, and, I 
 fear, oftener fall from grace than they have any idea 
 of. Nevertheless, some of these impressions may, and 
 I hope are, lasting ones. Still I am ever afraid of 
 mistaking conviction for conversion." 
 
 " But do you not think conviction is one great 
 step towards conversion ? " 
 
 "Undoubtedly it is, but I believe many persons 
 have strong convictions who never forsake sin ; there- 
 fore these impressions may, or may not, result in that 
 saving faith Avhich is necessary for our salvation." 
 
 " But what do you mean by conversion ? Really, 
 I do not quite understand you." 
 
 " I will tell you as well as I can. Conversion 
 consists in a change of nature, so complete that the 
 carnal mind, which disliked God, and was opposed to 
 his will, is exchanged for a spiritual mind, which 
 loves God, and desires, above all things, that his will 
 may be done. As soon as any one believes from 
 the heart that Jesus is the Son of God, and his Sa- 
 viour, he will be the subject of conversion ; for 'no 
 man can call Jesus Lord, except by the Holy Ghost.' 
 It is not enough to profess a deep contrition for sin, un- 
 less we show forth the fruits of the Spirit within us. 
 Now this is what I always fear with regard to such 
 people as Betty Jackson. She believes herself con- 
 verted, and therefore safe, and does not take that 
 pains to make her calling and election sure, — which 
 would be the evidence of true conversion. But here 
 we are !" said Ethel, as they stopped at the door of 
 an old hou?e down another entry. 
 
 The small, broken windows filled up with rags, 
 the rotten door, and miserable tumble-down house 
 
176 ETHEL; OK, 
 
 itself, betokened extreme poverty. An old woman 
 and her daughter lived here, the former suffering 
 from an asthmatic complaint, the latter, in the dialect 
 of the country, "not over-bright," but still able to 
 attend upon her mother. 
 
 " Well, Hannah, how are you to-day ?" said Ethel 
 briskly, and in rather a loud voice, as the woman was 
 deaf. " This cold weather is against you, I fear." 
 
 " Ay, it is that. Sit down. I thought I should 
 never hae see'd ye again. I were near sending Zillah 
 up for ye. I had sich a bad gird* yesternight ; sich 
 coughing, and spitting, and shortness o' bree-arth ; 
 my side, it war bad." 
 
 " Ay, I thowt shoo were going right for sure this 
 time. Shoo fair crewed like a lile cock," said Zillah, 
 planting herself before Ethel, and staring wildly. 
 
 " You mon excuse her, t' barn's none right," said 
 Hannah to Ada, who showed symptoms of uneasiness 
 at Zillah's Mightiness. Ada assured her she would. 
 Then the woman turned to Ethel, and entered into a 
 minute detail of every pain, feeling, and symptom she 
 had endured since she had last seen Ethel, who sat by 
 listening patiently. Ada found it difficult to help 
 laughing, when, at the conclusion, Hannah addressed 
 herself to her, and pointing to Ethel, she said, " You 
 see, Miss, I halus tells her everythink. I talks tull 
 her just same as if she were my own sister." 
 
 The idea of the sisterly feeling between her lovely 
 friend and the dirty, vulgar old woman among the 
 rags, was almost too much for Ada's composure. 
 
 " How much does the parish allow you, Hannah?" 
 Ethel inquired, to relieve Ada. 
 
 " Only three shilling i' t' week. But little as it 
 
 * Attack. 
 
woman's ministry. 177 
 
 is, I'se thankful for't ; if one can get one's drops 
 o' tea and bits o' bread, it's all as is needful here. 
 I sometimes does wish for other things, but the 
 Lord knows best, and he'd send me more if it war 
 right." 
 
 " And what would you like most ? " said Ada, who 
 had recovered her gravity when she heard of two 
 people living on three shillings a-week. She remem- 
 bered that only the day before she told Herbert one 
 hundred a-year was not sufficient for her allowance, 
 she must have fifty more ; and though Herbert had 
 instantly acceded to her request, and would have done 
 so had it been twice as much, he had told her laughingly 
 it was the income of most curates. 
 
 " What does I want most ? Why, there's a deal 
 o' lile things. Her shoes (pointing to Zillah) is done. 
 I have no petticoat. But happen a blanket would be 
 t' most useful after all. T" rain comes in here at this 
 hoil sadly. Zillah doesn't feel it, because it's not of 
 her side, ye see ; but my legs is fair like stanes : 
 Miss Ethel, feel 'urn!" 
 
 To Ada's surprise Ethel placed her gloved hand 
 on Hannah's foot, to satisfy the old woman. 
 
 " Yes, you are very cold, Hannah ! " 
 
 Then turning to Ada she said, in a low voice, " A 
 blanket is really needed here." 
 
 " "She shall have one. I will send Lambert about 
 it to-day." 
 
 " Miss Raymond says she will give you a blanket." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Miss Raymond — that lady." 
 
 " God bless ye ! Let me shake hands wi' ye." 
 
 Ethel trembled lest Ada should refuse this un- 
 welcome familiarity, but her example in touching the 
 
 N 
 
178 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 foot had been of use. Ada stepped forward and 
 placed her tiny hand in the large bony palm of the 
 old woman, and did not feel any worse for the kind 
 act when she withdrew it from its hiding-place. 
 
 " Now I will read a little to you," said Ethel. 
 
 "Ay, do!" 
 
 Ethel opened her Bible and read a psalm, after 
 which they took their departure, much against 
 Hannah's wishes, who thought they had stayed a very 
 short time. 
 
 " Now we have done for to-day, and I believe it 
 is time for you to hasten to meet Lady Harcourt. I 
 hope you have not been tired ?" said Ethel. 
 
 " Oh, no ! indeed I have not. Do you know, 
 Ethel, I never felt so happy before. I confess the 
 idea of going was at first irksome to me, but I have 
 not regretted it, I assure you. I am very much 
 obliged to you, dear Ethel, for placing this duty 
 before me ! " 
 
 " I do feel very glad to hear you speak thus. I 
 am sure God has put it into your heart to do his will. 
 I can so well imagine your feelings of repugnance. 
 It often costs me an effort, even now, though I am 
 accustomed to it, to go on these visitations ; yet I 
 never remember a single time when I have returned 
 dissatisfied. And I have, in a great measure, over- 
 come my dislike. I have heard some people contend 
 that we have no right to feel a satisfaction in the 
 performance of duty. This I think wrong. So much 
 depends on the motive with which we perform that 
 duty. If we simply do it as a sort of penance, and 
 attach any degree of merit to the sacrifice, we had 
 almost better leave such a work unperformed, as it 
 can never be acceptable to God; and if any one 
 
woman's ministry. 179 
 
 supposes that they bring themselves nearer to heaven 
 by such labours, they will find themselves in grievous 
 error, for there never can be any goodness in our 
 works. ' All our righteousnesses are as filthy rags !' " 
 
 " Then what should be our motive ?" 
 
 " Love to Christ ! We do it for his sake ; we 
 strive to follow his blessed example, and to do those 
 things which will please him, because we love him ! 
 You know what pleasure it gives to please a dear 
 earthly friend ; how much more our Heavenly Friend, 
 who has laid down his life for us ! " 
 
 Ada sighed heavily. 
 
 " There are many benevolent people who do good 
 simply from love to their fellow-creatures, not for 
 merit, neither for love to Christ. What of their 
 deeds?" Ada inquired. 
 
 " It matters not how amiable or benevolent a per- 
 son's character may be, if his charities are not per- 
 formed from the right motive they are valueless in 
 God's sight." 
 
 Ethel looked very sorrowful as she spoke ; Ada 
 and she were thinking of the same thing. 
 
 " I believe you are right," sighed Ada again. She 
 remembered Herbert, who was so generous to societies 
 where the spread of the Gospel was not the design ; 
 so liberal to people in distress ; so kind and noble- 
 hearted to those who were in trouble, when their cases 
 came under his observation, and yet without one spark 
 of love to kindle a flame in his heart at the name of 
 Jesus — the precious Saviour, the Redeemer, the Jus- 
 tifier, the " Author and Finisher of our faith," our " all 
 in all." She knew he had declined Mr. Bevan's appli- 
 cation that he would subscribe to a Missionary So- 
 ciety, only the other day, and she had often heard him 
 
180 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 refuse similar applications, because he would not be- 
 lieve that any means should be employed to further 
 the Gospel, the spread of which he viewed with alarm 
 rather than pleasure. 
 
 Neither spoke until they emerged into the main 
 street again. 
 
woman's ministry. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " I love thee as a kindred heart so closely linked with mine, 
 That all our joys and griefs are one, and all my hopes are 
 thiner— A. 
 
 " Few note the virtue that from view retires, few prize the worth 
 that every moment sees ; 
 We mark the tempest's rage, the comet's fires, forget the 
 showers, the sunshine, and the breeze." 
 
 W. SilYTHE. 
 
 " Enwrapt in thick Egyptian night, 
 And fond of darkness more than light, 
 Madly I ran the sinful race, 
 Too proud to seek a hiding-place." — Brewer. 
 
 " You must come with me to the Library, Ethel ; I 
 promised mamma I would bring you to see her this 
 morning," said Ada, as Ethel was about to take 
 leave. 
 
 u But I hope to call at Thurlston to-morrow, 
 Still, if you wish me, I will go," Ethel said, fearing 
 Ada would think her rude. 
 
 " Oh, yes, please do ; mamma is so anxious to see 
 you. Her expectations are raised very high, for I 
 have never had a friend before ; and mamma says 
 she is quite curious to see any one I can love." 
 
 u You make me nervous," began Ethel. 
 
 " Nonsense, Ethel ! no one could be disappointed 
 
182 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 with you. But now about these blankets ? I had 
 better get in a stock, and you send the poor people 
 up to Thurlston for them." 
 
 " Perhaps it would be the best way." 
 
 " What a dreadful thing, to think of those poor 
 creatures living on three shillings a-week ! I had an 
 impression, that when the parish allowed anything 
 they always had enough to live on quite comfortably." 
 
 " Oh, no ; that could not be. It is only a sort of 
 assistance to them, you know. Sometimes people have 
 not quite so much as Hannah." 
 
 " How dreadful ! They must almost starve. But 
 still, as they can do nothing, they ought to be better 
 supported, I am sure." 
 
 " Dear Ada, we must not presume to interfere in 
 parish matters. One thing I must say, however : the 
 overseers are, with few exceptions, the hardest and 
 most unfeeling set of men. Many instances of their 
 harsh treatment have come under my observation. I 
 have sometimes intreated them to inquire into cases 
 of distress, which it was evidently their duty to do. 
 I did not meet with personal abuse myself, but the 
 poor people have. There is this to be said of them; 
 many would impose on them if they could, which 
 makes them suspicious of every one, and often the 
 most deserving come in for much unjust accusation. 
 I have heard it said, that if you were to appoint the 
 most kind-hearted man as overseer, he would quickly 
 become one of the hardest, on account of the bad 
 characters he has to deal with." 
 
 " But a Christian would not," replied Ada. 
 
 " No. They would remember the injunction, 'Be 
 ye also merciful, even as your Father also is merciful.' 
 But, speaking on the subject of living on a little, there 
 was a most affecting instance came under my notice 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 183 
 
 last winter, — a young woman who, I know, lived on 
 ten pence for a fortnight ! " 
 
 Ada started in horror. 
 
 "It is true,- or I should not have named it." 
 
 "But how could she? I cannot conceive such a 
 thing." 
 
 " I think she had two or three bread-cakes (such 
 as you saw in Betty Jackson's window) during the 
 week, and a mug of coffee now and then, which can be 
 procured from places in the town, where they make it 
 for the mill-people. God alone knows how this kept 
 her alive. She worked all the time in the mill besides. 
 She had a father and mother, who were in a dreadful 
 state of need, and two brothers ; one was half-witted, 
 the other on his death-bed. This young man was her 
 favourite brother, and for his sake she underwent all 
 this privation. He had expressed a craving desire for 
 some luxury which it was not in their power to pro- 
 cure for him, so the poor girl saved her money to pur- 
 chase it. She would not have been obliged to endure 
 so much, as the wages, though low, were not worse 
 than they have sometimes been before, but she worked 
 at a mill at a considerable distance from home, and 
 Was compelled to lodge near it, and this, and paying 
 for washing and helping her parents, reduced her 
 earnings to a very small sum." 
 
 " I call that an heroic girl. And I say, if ever the 
 blessing of God descended upon a noble, generous heart, 
 it will on that poor creature's," exclaimed Ada, warmly. 
 
 " It is indeed an affecting instance, and really 
 made me cry when I heard of it," replied Ethel. 
 
 " And what became of her ? " 
 
 " Better times have come to the family since the 
 
 * A fact. 
 
184 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 brother died. The father has work, and the other 
 brother does something, and kind friends have been 
 raised up who give them many little helps, such as 
 tea-leaves, scraps of bread left from dinner, broken 
 meat, &c. — things not always made useful by careless 
 servants, but invaluable to the poor." 
 
 " I wonder what is done with ours ? Why, the 
 bread crumbled at table alone would keep a person ; 
 and as for tea, it really is wasted. Herbert will have 
 it so very strong, that there must be a great deal that 
 would boil over again with water added. I never 
 thought of these things. You must tell me of some 
 one who is in need, and I will order them to be saved 
 for them." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Ada ! that is very kind of 
 you!" 
 
 " I wish you would do me a favour, Ethel." 
 
 " I will if I can, with pleasure." 
 
 " I want you to ask Herbert to have something 
 done for these poor people. He is so generous when 
 really interested, and he would do much if you would 
 ask him." 
 
 " Indeed, Ada, I think you would be a much 
 better advocate. I fear Mr. Raymond would think 
 my interference an unwarrantable impertinence. Be- 
 sides, dear, you really are the proper person." 
 
 " No, I am not ! Herbert would do more for you 
 than me. I dare say, if I asked him, he would give me 
 ten or twenty pounds, and tell me to do what I 
 pleased with it ; but I want him to be interested in 
 these poor people." 
 
 " Then I certainly think you would interest him 
 more than I should." 
 
 " Sisters cannot do so much good as — as " Ada 
 
 stopped, and blushed violently, fearing she had gone 
 
woman's ministry. 185 
 
 too far. Ethel's colour rose, too, and her heart beat 
 wildly. What did Ada mean ? No ! it could not be 
 — Raymond would never think of her! And yet a 
 strange sensation of mingled joy and pain rushed 
 through her heart, but the thought passed too rapidly 
 to be denned. Poor Ethel ! it might have saved her 
 some suffering had she recollected then, that she must 
 not think of Raymond ; there was an insurmountable 
 barrier between them. 
 
 " Try your influence first, and then, if you do not 
 succeed, we will think of some other means to arouse 
 his sympathy." 
 
 " Thanks ! I suppose I must be content for the 
 present." 
 
 A pause ensued, which Ada broke abruptly by 
 saying, " I wish my brother was married. I mean, to 
 a really good wife ; one who would influence him 
 aright. You don't know what noble qualities dear 
 Herbert has, and what an excellent, devoted husband 
 he would make where he really loved. You see he 
 requires a mind of the same power as his own. 
 Mine is not equal, and therefore I cannot do all I 
 would. Then, a wife's influence is so different to a 
 sister's." 
 
 Ethel felt most uncomfortable, but Ada did not 
 perceive it, as her thick veil was down, and her reply 
 showed none of the agitated feeling within. 
 
 " I should say, it would be most difficult for Mr. 
 Raymond to meet with a woman whose mind had the 
 power of his own ; there are few such. But what you 
 say with regard to a wife's influence, dear Ada, is 
 not, I fear, generally true. If the desirable change is 
 not effected before marriage, there is little chance of 
 its being so afterwards. Increase of worldly happi- 
 
186 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 ness has a great tendency to increase worldliness, and 
 to a forgetfulness of heavenly duties." 
 
 " But not always, dear Ethel ! In Herbert's case 
 I feel confident there would be an exception to the 
 rule," replied Ada. 
 
 " And pray, to what rule am I to be an exception ?" 
 said a deep, rich voice behind them, and Raymond's 
 hand was laid on Ada's shoulder. 
 
 Both girls started, and Ethel felt in an agony lest 
 he should have heard all ; and grieved, too, that he 
 should have known they were speaking of him : it 
 seemed to her there might be a want of delicacy in 
 the idea. 
 
 " I shall not tell you, Herbert; you are so curious 
 always to know what we speak about," Ada replied, 
 blushing, as her brother shook hands with Ethel. 
 
 " I confess to the weakness. But it descends 
 from the female side, you know." 
 
 "Is mamma here?" inquired Ada, for they had 
 entered the Library. 
 
 " Yes, in the recess." 
 
 Ethel's attention was directed to an extremely 
 handsome woman, who was reading a periodical. She 
 looked up as Ada approached. 
 
 " Is that you, my dear ? Where have you been ? " 
 
 " I hope I have not kept you ! " 
 
 "No! I have found 'Blackwood' very enter- 
 taining." 
 
 " I have brought my friend to introduce to you, as 
 I promised." 
 
 Lady Harcourt rose and approached Ethel, who 
 was more than ever struck by the queenly presence 
 before her. There was a great likeness between 
 Raymond and his mother. The same flashing, bril- 
 
woman's ministry. 187 
 
 liant eye, though her son's possessed more feeling in 
 its expression ; the same beautiful, ebon -coloured hair, 
 and aquiline nose ; while the haughty lips curled 
 more frequently than Raymond's, and gave an habitual 
 hauteur to the face. She still possessed a very good 
 figure, slightly inclined to embonpoint, which rather 
 improved than diminished the effect. Altogether she 
 was what would have been styled a magnificent wo- 
 man, and one who could not fail to command atten- 
 tion and respect wherever she might be. Ethel felt 
 a little awed by the tall lady's scrutinising look at 
 her, though her manner was extremely gracious. 
 
 " Miss Ethel Woodville, I am most happy to make 
 your acquaintance. I have heard much of you from 
 Ada," she said, offering her hand. Ethel could not 
 resist feeling honoured by this attention, which was 
 evidently unusual to a stranger. Lady Harcourt was 
 beginning to talk to Ethel when Laura entered. She 
 immediately perceived the party, and turned to speak 
 to Ada, who, not a little annoyed, felt obliged to 
 introduce her to Lady Harcourt, whose attention she 
 instantly secured. But Raymond heard the carriage 
 coming down the street, and as it was cold he 
 begged his mother would not keep his horses stand- 
 ing, and so the party separated. As Raymond shook 
 hands with Ethel, he inquired if they were to be 
 at the concert that evening. She replied in the 
 affirmative. 
 
 " In what part, may I ask, are your places ? " 
 
 Ethel described their seats. 
 
 " Ah ! I am very glad we shall be near you. I 
 should much like to hear what you think of Alboni. 
 I never heard her in a concert, but in the Opera-house 
 I have been much delighted with her. Good-by for 
 the present ! " 
 
188 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 "I am a little surprised at your taste, my dear, in 
 admiring your friend Ethel more than her sister. 
 Really Miss Wooodville is a bewitching little creature, 
 quite a fairy. Herbert, you have not admired her ; 
 though, of course, no one in Carysford would suit you 
 as regards marriage." 
 
 " I don't see why Carysford should not furnish me 
 as well as any other place. If I met a woman who 
 suited me, either in Kamschatka or the Sandwich Is- 
 lands, I should marry her," replied Raymond, laughing. 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! how can you talk about Laura 
 Woodville being prettier than Ethel ! She does not, 
 perhaps, strike so much just at first ; Laura is so 
 dazzling : but she has no mind in her face, while 
 Ethel's is that high style of intellectual beauty which 
 is so much finer." 
 
 " I do not wish to disparage your friend. And 
 she is certainly a finer woman, and may be a nicer 
 character ; but her sister is so very fascinating : that 
 naive manner, and pretty little toss of her head, and 
 merry, ringing laugh, are quite irresistible." 
 
 " Her face is better than her character, for she 
 is frivolous, heartless, and selfish ; and as determined 
 a little coquette as I have ever met," said Ada, 
 warmly. 
 
 " She does not seem so, at all events ; but you 
 have rather strong prejudices, and your enthusiasm 
 carries you too far sometimes," replied Lady Harcourt. 
 
 "Now, Herbert, what do you say?" interposed 
 Ada. 
 
 " I say, dear Ada, if mamma likes to admire Miss 
 Woodville, let her do so ; the charm of her dollish 
 beauty will soon vanish, while her sister's loveliness 
 will only continue to increase," replied Raymond, 
 quietly; to whom it was a matter of indifference 
 
woman's ministry. 189 
 
 whether his mother admired Ethel or not, — it did not 
 alter his opinion in the least. 
 
 " Perhaps it may. You are a judge of beauty, 
 and can consider it calmly, since it must be a matter 
 of no moment to you personally." 
 
 Ada watched Herbert's face, but not a muscle of 
 it stirred ; and he quietly turned the conversation into 
 a different channel, for he did not much like these un- 
 meaning discussions on Ethel's beauty : he considered 
 her far above all such worldly comparisons. 
 
 The Woodvilles and the Raymonds met at the 
 concert that evening, and, as Herbert hoped, were 
 almost close to each other, though he had no oppor- 
 tunity of speaking to Ethel during the first part of 
 the performance. 
 
 Miss Grant was with them ; and Mr. Woodville's 
 attentions to her were the subject of much remark to 
 the many, and a good deal of ill-judged conversation 
 as to the likely turn of affairs was the result. 
 
 Laura was attended by her devoted admirers, 
 Captain Crawford and Lieutenant Thornhill; with 
 whom she flirted and laughed in a very unbecoming 
 manner, much to the scandal of sundry other young 
 ladies, who would have done the same if they had 
 had the opportunity given them. 
 
 After the first part of the performance was over, 
 the company generally dispersed for refreshments. 
 
 Raymond watched Ethel rise with a quiet dignity 
 to follow her father and Miss Grant, Laura having 
 instantly disappeared with Mr. Thornhill. 
 
 Neither took any notice of her, or seemed to care 
 whether she followed them or not. 
 
 Raymond, seeing his mother take her husband's 
 arm, indignantly sprung forward to offer his to 
 Ethel. 
 
190 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 Ada was with him, sharing alike his indignation 
 at Mr. Woodville's neglect. 
 
 " Do allow me to take you to the refreshment- 
 room," he said, gently. 
 
 Ethel started slightly ; and as she raised her face 
 to reply, he saw she looked unusually ill. 
 
 " You are very kind ; but I had, perhaps, better 
 follow papa," she said. 
 
 " No, your father has gone. We will take care 
 you are not lost," Ada said, eagerly. 
 
 Ethel saw, while she had stayed to answer, Mr. 
 Woodville and Miss Grant had disappeared in the 
 crowd, so she was compelled to go with the Ray- 
 monds. 
 
 " What shall I get for you ? " Raymond inquired, 
 when they entered the refreshment-room, where a 
 crowd of gaily-dressed ladies and gentlemen were as- 
 sembled, busily employed in demolishing the pro- 
 visions on a long table, about which they were clus- 
 tering, as eagerly as if they had not tasted food all 
 day. 
 
 " Nothing, thank you ! " 
 
 " You must have something, or you will be over- 
 powered by another of Alboni's songs," said Ada. 
 
 " Do take something. A cup of coffee — an ice — 
 or a glass of wine ? " suggested Raymond. 
 
 " Thank you ! Then an ice, if you please," re- 
 plied Ethel, feeling every moment more oppressed; 
 while her head throbbed wildly. 
 
 Raymond brought it almost immediately. 
 
 " Shall we go and walk outside in the passages ? " 
 said Ada, after she had finished her ice. 
 
 " Yes, we had better," replied Raymond. 
 
 " How rude people are ! They should be careful," 
 said Ada, as an unfortunate little man stepped upon 
 
woman's ministry. 191 
 
 her beautiful lace dress, and almost tore off one 
 flounce. 
 
 " My dear, you must have that fastened up ; you 
 cannot walk unless you do," said Lady Harcourt, 
 turning round at Ada's exclamation. 
 
 " Yes, we can go to the cloak-room. Do not come, 
 Ethel ; I had rather have mamma," said Ada, as she 
 put her arm through her mother's. 
 
 " But I can help you, I am sure," Ethel exclaimed, 
 disengaging hers from Raymond's. 
 
 " No, no, we shall not be a moment ! " said Lady 
 Harcourt, kindly, as she took Ada away. 
 
 Ethel feared she might offend the stately lady, if 
 she persisted in following when she had waved her 
 back with so determined an air, and she remained. 
 
 The passages were now almost clear ; people were 
 returning to the music. Ethel was glad of the cool 
 air which blew through some open windows. 
 
 " It is very drafty. I fear you will take cold, 
 Miss Woodville," said Raymond, gently, as Ethel 
 stood in a dangerous part for feeling the breeze. 
 
 " Oh, no, I am not afraid — it is a relief, thank 
 you!" 
 
 " I fear you are ill ! " he said, anxiously. 
 
 " I have a bad headache. And it makes me feel 
 very stupid to-night," replied Ethel, with difficulty 
 restraining her emotion, for she had been dreadfully 
 tried that night by witnessing her father's and sister's 
 behaviour ; and sorrowful forebodings and anxiety had 
 brought on a most violent pain in her head, together 
 with a nervous feeling, which made her unwilling to 
 speak. 
 
 " Oh, do let me get you something. I have Ada's 
 Eau-de-Cologne bottle and my mother's vinaigrette 
 iu my pocket," he said, producing them. 
 
192 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 Ethel was very thankful for them. 
 
 " Is there anything else I could do for you?" he 
 inquired, as he looked earnestly at her for a moment, 
 noticing her quivering lip and pale face. 
 
 Raymond could not fail to please when he tried ; 
 there was something irresistibly soothing in his kind, 
 earnest manner to Ethel, and the evident anxiety he 
 felt about her. 
 
 " Thank you, there is nothing else ! It will have 
 its time ! " she replied, with a faint attempt at a smile. 
 
 " Might I ask a very impertinent question ? But, 
 no ! I have no right to expect your confidence," he 
 said, hastily. 
 
 She raised her eyes inquiringly to his face, which 
 encouraged him. 
 
 " I fear — I do not think a headache is all you are 
 suffering from ; there is a hidden sorrow. Oh, if I 
 mi^ht but do anything for you ! if you could but — 
 (he hesitated) — it would give me the greatest happi- 
 ness to be useful to you in any way, might I only 
 share your grief, if I could do nothing else ; but I 
 fear you will think me too presuming." 
 
 Raymond spoke in a low, gentle voice, and his 
 precious sympathy sunk but too deeply into poor, 
 lonely, Ethel's heart. It was no use ; a tear would 
 come ; it had been ready in her eye for some time ; 
 and now it dropped, in spite of her efforts to restrain 
 it. But that one tear was a relief to her, and roused 
 her to a violent effort at self-command. She hastily 
 wiped it away. 
 
 " How can I thank you for your kindness ? You 
 are too good ! But — but, though I will not deny a 
 headache is the least part I am suffering, still there 
 are some things which it would not be right to speak 
 of to you. I am sure you will readily understand me. 
 
woman's ministry. 193 
 
 No one can help me. Things must take their course," 
 she replied, with her usual composure. 
 
 " I am very sorry I cannot do anything, but I do 
 perfectly understand you. Yet might I ask one 
 favour ? " 
 
 " Certainly, if I can grant it." 
 
 " Will you promise, if at any time or in any way 
 I can serve you, you will not hesitate to tell me? You 
 know not the happiness this will confer upon me." 
 
 Alas ! Raymond grew more and more irresistible. 
 His kind, gentle attention ; his rich, subdued voice, 
 as he bent his tall figure over her in his earnest re- 
 quest ; his brilliant-sparkling dark eyes, fixed upon her 
 with such a depth of love and devotion, drew her heart 
 to him with the touch of a loadstone. How could she 
 resist him — unconscious of her danger, standing there 
 alone, uncared for, unheeded ! Her life a daily cross, 
 her affection slighted at home, her hopes crushed, her 
 feelings wounded, her self-denials ridiculed, and her 
 religion made the theme of idle jests ! Here was 
 Raymond, a man possessed of everything that heF 
 heart could desire, whose feelings and sympathies 
 were so much her own; who, though an unbeliever 
 himself, admired her religion, and even liked to talk to 
 her on what he avoided with all others. Ethel's heart 
 had yielded. Herbert Raymond was beloved, deeply, 
 unchangeably — a love which such a heart as Ethel's 
 alone can know — a love true, devoted, yet too deep 
 for utterance. But she was unconscious of it now, 
 the overwhelming fact had yet to start into her mind, 
 and shake her very system with the violence of 
 her conflicting feelings. It is seldom we pause to 
 ask the question — " Do we love, and if our affections 
 are well placed ?" Unconsciously the heart is yielded 
 
 vol. i. o 
 
194 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 to the beloved one, wrapt, for the time, in a sense 
 of exquisite enjoyment. We are forgetful of all, 
 save the object of our affection. Thus it was with 
 Ethel. For a short time all was forgotten ; her home 
 trials, her wearisome duties, even her God, was un- 
 thought of. A shadow seemed to have passed, as it 
 were, between her and the Sun of Righteousness, and 
 blinded her to a sense of the duty which lay before 
 her, and that shadow was Raymond. His kind words 
 so absorbed her, she even forgot to answer his ques- 
 tion. He repeated it more earnestly, and the anxious 
 tone of his voice as he asked, " Will you not grant 
 me this ?" roused her. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I do not know how I can thank 
 you." 
 
 " And is there nothing I can do now ? " he in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Did Ada tell you of our visits the other day?" 
 she asked, regaining her former cheerfulness. 
 
 " Yes ; and I was to question you further about 
 what would be best to be done. I was truly sorry 
 to hear of such distress. Surely the poor must be 
 neglected here?" 
 
 " Not more, perhaps, than in other places." 
 
 " But why don't these wealthy Carysford mer- 
 chants give? I have had hosts of charity lists brought 
 to me since I came, and the names of several of the 
 very men who ought to give most are wanting — how 
 is this?" 
 
 " It is sometimes the case. Those who ought to 
 give most do it least." 
 
 " But what do they say for themselves ? I have 
 no patience with such indifference and covetousness." 
 
 " The general plea is, ' so many calls ; they really 
 
195 
 
 cannot give to everything;' or ' they do not feel dis- 
 posed, or called upon,' " replied Ethel. 
 
 " How preposterous ! Men with thousands a-year 
 talking in that way, when they know how far a few 
 guineas go, and that as many hundreds would never be 
 missed ! It is shameful ! However, we will leave 
 the Carysford merchants (there are some good -hearted, 
 generous ones among them, too), and proceed with 
 our business. Now how shall I give ? I cannot go 
 personally ; shall I send money, and give clothing ? 
 and if I send, through whom ? " inquired Raymond. 
 
 " If you really are unable to make personal in- 
 quiries," said Ethel, emphasising her words, " I think 
 Mr. Bevan is the most suitable person through whom 
 to bestow your money." 
 
 Raymond's lip would curl contemptuously, though 
 it was the clergyman's name, not Ethel's words, that 
 caused it. 
 
 " Well, really, I don't know. 'Pon my word I 
 have an objection to conveying a few shillings to a 
 poor creature through such a channel." 
 
 " Why ? " inquired Ethel. 
 
 " It seems to me hard to send a clergyman to give 
 some money, and for him to be forcing religion upon 
 people at the same time, agreeable or not agreeable : 
 they are compelled to listen for the sake of the pe- 
 cuniary obligation. Now you or Ada giving, alters 
 the case ; you would not be so injudicious." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Raymond. I should 
 not like to visit any one where religion could not 
 be introduced. I generally take my Bible instead 
 of money, and I am seldom repulsed," Ethel said, 
 coldly. 
 
 "Now, I hope you are not angry? You know I 
 would not do anything to offend you, for the world ; 
 
196 etjiel; or, 
 
 and I will certainly give Mr. Bevan as much money as 
 he would like to have, if you think it desirable." 
 
 "I do think it the most proper way, unless you 
 give if yourself," Ethel replied, gently. 
 
 •• Wry well. I submit, since you request, and will 
 send it without delay; and have a stock of blankets 
 got for the old woman's cold feet you so obligingly 
 touched yesterday, and as many more as needful for 
 other people," Raymond said, laughing. 
 
 " I really feel very much obliged by your gene- 
 rosity. I am sure you will not regret such kind acts." 
 
 " I am sure I shall not. Giving is to me one of 
 
 the sweetest pleasures in life." 
 
 Ethel gave him a gratified look, which more than 
 rewarded him for the sacrifice he had made. 
 
 " flow much do you think a man should give 
 away as a duty during the year?" he inquired, after 
 a pan 
 
 " So much depends on cirr-urn-tances. One per- 
 son has many domestic claims — another none." 
 
 "But granting a man to have none of that kind, 
 M T have not (I arn sorry to say," he added, with a 
 half sigh), "how much do you say?" 
 
 " I always think a man should try to give at least 
 a tenth, whatever his claims. It seems to me a scrip- 
 tural idea — Jacob gave that." 
 
 " But I do not take Jacob for an example," Ray- 
 mond said, with a mischievous sparkle in his eye. 
 
 "Perhaps not. lint you requested my opinion, 
 and I was giving it." replied Ethel, smiling. 
 
 " Yes. I will not interrupt again." 
 
 "I was only going to -ay, you might, T think, be 
 able to give a fifth. It is such a blessed thing to 
 place a considerable portion aside, and feel it i-? for 
 God'.- service. People little know the luxury of which 
 
woman's ministry. 197 
 
 they deprive themselves, when they save all they can 
 instead of doing good with their money. Besides, I 
 am sure God gives more real happiness and prosperity 
 to the liberal, even in this life," said Ethel. 
 
 " Well, I will try to follow your advice, and give 
 a fifth. But if I were to marry, suppose my wife did 
 not approve of so much as that being spent?" He 
 said it to try her, but, happily, Ethel did not perceive 
 his aim, and looked unembarrassed. 
 
 " Then you had better not marry, if a wife would 
 be such a hindrance. What a long time Lady Har- 
 court and Ada are ! the music has begun ten minutes 
 ago," replied Ethel. 
 
 " Do you think it long ? The time seems all too 
 short to me. But here they are, you will be relieved," 
 Raymond said, rather sadly. 
 
 "You did not think — you could not " Ethel 
 
 began ; but not knowing how to say too little or too 
 much, she paused. Lady Harcourt made many apologies 
 for their lengthened delay. But neither Raymond 
 nor Ethel considered they had been too long together, 
 though the latter had felt rather uncomfortable at 
 being in the passage with Raymond, lest it should be 
 observed, and cause remark. 
 
 Many eyes were turned to see who were so late as 
 the Thurlston party entered, and it was forthwith 
 registered among the gossiping part of the audience, 
 that Miss Ethel Woodville had retired with her father 
 and returned with the Raymonds. Moreover, Mr. 
 James Smith (a devoted admirer of Ethel), reported 
 that he had seen her and Mr. Raymond in the pas- 
 sages together, and therefore there must be something 
 in it. But the old ladies shook their heads, and de- 
 clared "No, it was very unlikely;" while the young 
 ones glanced with indignant eyes at Ethel, and said, 
 
198 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 " No, indeed, Mr. Raymond would never think of 
 Ethel Woodville ! " The gentlemen looked knowingly 
 at one another while such opinions were circulated, 
 and did not think it so highly improbable. 
 
 Raymond had succeeded in gratifying Ethel, and, 
 to do him justice, there was not one word of insincerity 
 in what he said. He had a pleasure in relieving dis- 
 tress, and more so now, when he found it gave her 
 pleasure. Each day only served to show him how 
 much he loved his sister's friend, and how all his 
 thoughts and arrangements had reference to her. As 
 for her religion, he really admired it, though he be- 
 lieved it but a phantasy, and did not care to follow 
 her example. Raymond admired earnestness in any 
 purpose ; he did not stay to inquire into the correct- 
 ness of the cause so zealously advocated. It mattered 
 not whether it was a heathen in his idolatry, a 
 Moslem in his prayers, or a Romanist in his self- 
 imposed austerities ; if he were but earnest^ he could 
 admire him equally with the sincere and devoted 
 Christian. His views might be expressed in those 
 words of Pope's : — 
 
 " For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight ; 
 His can't be wrong whose life is in the right." 
 
 It is a very common but erroneous idea of the present 
 day, that earnestness of purpose is a correct indication 
 of sound doctrine. Mankind will worship something. 
 The human mind is so constituted as to enforce the 
 necessity of this ; and we cannot but become pain- 
 fully conscious that the idol most prominently wor- 
 shipped in the present day is the religion of ear- 
 nestness. Men will even support the most extra- 
 vagant theories, if adduced with earnestness. And 
 in these days of latitudinarianism we can hardly won- 
 
woman's ministry. 199 
 
 der that such should be the case. There is so much 
 false liberality and misapplied charity in the world, 
 that a man need but appear zealous in his opinions 
 and multitudes will espouse his cause, not pausing to 
 consider whether he has " the root of the matter " in 
 him or not. 
 
 Raymond's mind was rapidly darkening, and he 
 cared not to stop the progress of infidelity in his heart ; 
 he rather fostered his doubts, and fed them by search- 
 ing revealed truth only to find supposed contradictions 
 and inconsistencies in it. He permitted his powerful 
 imagination to grapple with mystery upon mystery, 
 only entangling himself still further in the labyrinth 
 of scepticism, until he was almost obliged to admit he 
 was an unbeliever. But sometimes, in better mo- 
 ments, the beautiful Christian walk of her he loved 
 appeared before him in all its loveliness, constraining 
 him to admit, if she were actuated by religion, it must 
 be a wonderful power that could work such a change 
 in a disposition naturally passionate and impetuous. 
 Then, if he could but call her his own, see for himself 
 the workings of the Spirit, and be satisfied she was 
 not by nature excellent, that religion had made her 
 what she was, then he would strive to be a Christian 
 too. But he could not at present bring himself to 
 believe it, and he often banished the thought from him, 
 and again allowed the tempter to suggest doubts and 
 difficulties to him. 
 
 He pressed her hand gently as he assisted her to the 
 carriage, and grieved to see the paleness of her cheek, 
 rightly divining how much the conduct of her father 
 and sister had distressed her, but forbearing to press 
 her confidence from delicacy of feeling, though longing 
 to soothe and comfort her. And Ethel, alas ! the idol 
 was already enshrined in her heart ; the soft pressure 
 
200 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 of his hand, his low, earnest tones, his devotion and 
 sympathy, had indeed told upon her : there was more 
 thought of Raymond than of her God ; less of earnest- 
 ness, and less inclination for heavenly duties, than 
 there used to be. So, in mercy, a blow must be sent, 
 which in its chilling blight would recall her again, 
 and make her remember with bitter pain her negli- 
 gence and forgetfulness of her heavenly Father. 
 
woman's ministry. 201 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " Oh ! Gertrude, Gertrude, when sorrows come, 
 They come not single spies, but in battalions ! * 
 
 Shaksfeahe. 
 
 " * * * * crushed hopes, 
 Blighted affections, benefits forgot, 
 A broken heart and an untimely grave, 
 These form no wondrous tale : 'tis trite and common, 
 The lot of many, most of all of those 
 Who learn to crowd into a few brief years 
 Ages of feelings ; as the o'ercharged pulse 
 Throbs high, and throbs no more." — H. Neele. 
 
 After they left Miss Grant at her lodgings Mr. Wood- 
 ville was unusually silent, and Laura very irritable. 
 She was rallying Ethel most unmercifully about being 
 out so long with the Raymonds. Ethel replied 
 quietly that it was unintentional ; but she felt she 
 could not regret the accident, considering all the 
 kindly feelings Raymond had expressed towards her. 
 Just as they approached home Mr. Woodville sud- 
 denly broke out in an angry tone to Laura. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Laura : once for all, I'll have 
 no more of this flirting and nonsense with Thornhill. 
 I wonder you have no respect for yourself. How 
 can you ever expect to make a good match ? No man 
 of any consequence would think of you, after seeing 
 the way you go on with that fool." 
 
202 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 Laura pouted her pretty lips, and replied saucily 
 that she must talk to some one, and Thornhill was the 
 most agreeable man she knew. 
 
 " Don't let me hear you say that again. A weak, 
 silly fellow, with hardly enough to keep himself from 
 starving ! I'd sooner see you in your grave than 
 married to such a fool. I'll allow no more of this, and 
 therefore I warn you," replied Mr. Woodville, an- 
 grily. 
 
 " Ethel flirts with Mr. Raymond more than I do 
 with Thornhill, and yet no notice is taken of her," 
 said Laura, pertly. 
 
 " Raymond is a man whose attentions are worth 
 having : there has been no impropriety in Ethel's con- 
 duct," replied Mr. Woodville. 
 
 " I knew it would be so," Laura said, as the car- 
 riage stopped, and they alighted at their own door. 
 
 " Go into the dining-room, girls ; I wish to speak 
 to you," Mr. Woodville said, as they entered. 
 
 Laura's face was flushed, and an angry frown was 
 there as the light of the hall lamp fell upon it, while 
 Ethel looked very pale and agitated. Mr. Woodville 
 had entered into a loud dispute with the cab-man, 
 and high words were going on between them as the 
 sisters turned to the dining-room. 
 
 " What can papa want with us ? How very tire- 
 some he is ! I am so tired ! " Laura said, with an air 
 of languor, throwing herself on the couch. Almost 
 immediately after the hall-door closed violently, while 
 Mr. Woodville exclaimed indignantly : — 
 
 " Very well : you'll take the consequences. I 
 have your number. I'll give you a taste of the law." 
 
 A loud oath from the half-drunken driver was all 
 the reply, and then Mr. Woodville returned to his 
 daughters. There was a strange look on his face of 
 
woman's ministry. 203 
 
 mingled anger and firmness, a fire in his eye and 
 compression on his lip, which Ethel saw boded no 
 good. And, in truth, Mr. Woodville had undertaken a 
 task he knew would be unpleasing, but at the same 
 time was resolved to go through it at whatever cost. 
 
 Laura looked provokingly inattentive, closed her 
 eyes, and yawned. Ethel sat in a large arm-chair 
 by the fire, with a sorrowful, but patient expression 
 on her face. 
 
 "None of your airs, Laura; they won't do to 
 night. I am going to acquaint you with a circum- 
 stance which is a source of unbounded pleasure to 
 myself, and will, I doubt not, very much contribute 
 to your happiness also," said Mr. Woodville, with the 
 air of a man who knows he is not speaking the whole 
 truth. Laura's blue eyes opened widely, while the 
 long dark lashes of her sister drooped more than 
 before, veiling the unbidden tears which gushed into 
 them, for she guessed but too well the purport of her 
 father's communication. 
 
 " I trust you will by this time have learnt to ap- 
 preciate Miss Grant. There are few persons whose 
 manners and address I should wish to see my daughters 
 copy more than hers. I therefore consider, that in 
 her kind condescension in accepting my hand she has 
 not only conferred an unspeakable favour on me, but 
 that her valuable advice and direction will be of the 
 greatest possible advantage to yourselves. We have 
 been engaged some time now, so that there need be 
 little delay. Soon I hope to present you with a 
 mother, in every way desirable, and one whom you 
 ought to think yourselves highly privileged to re- 
 ceive." 
 
 Mr. Woodville paused. Laura seemed to be 
 deprived of utterance. It was so startling — so un- 
 
204 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 expected — so overwhelming! Her face, neck, and 
 arms, became scarlet with the indignation which she 
 felt. Springing to her feet, with her eyes flashing 
 with rage, she stamped furiously. 
 
 " Miss Grant ! Our mother ! Never ! My own 
 mother not dead a year, and so soon forgotten! No, 
 I never will bpar this! I will not stay at home to 
 receive her!" she exclaimed, impetuously. 
 
 "And where will you go?" inquired Mr. Wood- 
 ville, with cutting irony. 
 
 " Anywhere. I would beg my bread sooner than 
 submit," burst from Laura's lips, as again she threw 
 herself on the couch, and wept passionately. Mr. Wood- 
 ville turned from her, and glanced coldly at Ethel. 
 She was deadly pale, and one or two stray tears were 
 on her cheeks, which she hastily dashed away as her 
 father turned to her. 
 
 " Pray, Ethel, may I ask if you intend expressing 
 your sentiments with equal freedom to your sister ? " 
 he inquired, with a sort of calm concentration of 
 rage, which his daughters dreaded more than vio- 
 lence. 
 
 Ethel paused a moment ; the words seemed almost 
 to choke her, but she replied calmly at last : " Who- 
 ever you think proper to make your wife, will, I hope, 
 meet with the respect due to her position from us 
 both." 
 
 She spoke with a powerful effort at composure, 
 and Mr. Woodville could not help admiring her con- 
 duct, for he well knew that Ethel's deep affection for 
 her mother must ever prevent her bestowing it on any 
 one who should fill her vacant place. 
 
 " May I ask one thing, papa?" she said, pleadingly, 
 as he did not reply for a moment. 
 
 ;< If you had behaved otherwise than as you have 
 
woman's ministry. 205 
 
 done, Ethel, I should have reminded you, that under 
 present circumstances I am not inclined to grant 
 favours ; but you may name your request." 
 
 " Will you allow me still to retain the charge of 
 Minnie ? My promise to mamma " faltered Ethel. 
 
 " Shall be remembered. Minnie shall be under 
 your care," replied Mr. Woodville, with more kindness 
 than usual. 
 
 " Thank you, papa," Ethel said, earnestly, for a 
 load seemed taken from her heart by this assurance. 
 
 " Now, Ethel, leave me with Laura. I shall soon 
 teach her to contradict me." said her father, sternly. 
 
 Ethel looked pleadingly at him, and knelt a moment 
 to whisper something to Laura, to implore her not to 
 resist Mr. Woodville ; but her father laid his hand 
 impatiently on her arm, and desired her not to remain 
 longer. Ethel rose instantly ; Mr. Woodville bent 
 over her for a moment, and kissed her forehead. It 
 was a cold kiss, such as heartless people only know 
 how to give: still it was, for him, an unusual effort to 
 make, and Ethel knew he was satisfied with her 
 conduct. In truth, her calmness amazed him. He 
 knew well Ethel's was not a mild, yielding disposition, 
 and that it must have cost her an immense effort to 
 submit as she had done; and from that hour, though 
 he was slow to own it even to himself, he respected 
 Ethel more than any one in the world. 
 
 Laura's wild grief continued, as Ethel, with an 
 imploring, lingering look, left the room. With diffi- 
 culty her trembling legs brought her to her chamber, 
 where, throwing herself on her knees by the bed, she 
 buried her face in her hands, and wept long and 
 bitterly. The expected blow had fallen, and she felt 
 crushed by its weight. There was a load on her 
 sad heart which seemed to press it down to the dust. 
 
206 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 For the time she felt as if she could never be happy 
 again, but after the first burst of wild grief was over 
 she was able to pour out her heart in prayer, and to 
 see and own the finger of God in this trial of her faith 
 and patience. " Earthly care is a heavenly discipline " 
 to the Christian, for it draws the heart nearer to God ; 
 it makes the creature feel the benefit, the unspeakable 
 happiness, of holding communion with that heavenly 
 Friend who is ever the same; and when the sympathies 
 of earthly friends are withheld, enables the believer to 
 cling more firmly to the Rock of Ages for support. 
 Mr. Woodville's marriage was not a thing which 
 would generally be classed by the world as a heavy 
 trial. It was not like the death of one near and dear, 
 the loss of property, or public disgrace. But in 
 Ethel's case it wounded all her most tender sensi- 
 bilities, and would lead, she foresaw, to a series of 
 bitter daily grievances, which wear and harass more 
 than heavier trials. 
 
 We often forget to recognise the hand of God in 
 our daily walk, believing his interference is not to be 
 looked for in the routine of domestic life as much as 
 in some heavy affliction or unlooked-for prosperity. 
 But it is the same gracious Father who orders all 
 events, even the daily cares and petty changes which 
 we meet with ; and we have equal right to watch and 
 pray for his guidance and direction under trivial 
 difficulties, as when we pray for resignation to some 
 overwhelming stroke of sorrow. So Ethel felt as she 
 poured out her griefs to her Saviour; and peace came 
 to her wounded heart ere she rose, believing as she 
 did, that even when the night seems darkest there 
 shall be a pillar of fire to guide the believer through 
 difficulties, and in the darkest cloud a bow to remind 
 him of the unchangeableness of Him who has said, 
 
woman's ministry. 207 
 
 " When thou passest through the waters, I will be with 
 thee ; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow 
 thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt 
 not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon 
 thee." It was not the dismal prospects of her own 
 domestic happiness, blasted by the introduction of 
 Miss Grant, that overwhelmed Ethel so much as the 
 deep, poignant wound her affectionate heart had 
 received, at perceiving how soon her mother's gentle, 
 patient, and untiring energy to make home happy for 
 her father, seemed to have passed from his recollection; 
 and in the fact of his choosing the very woman to 
 occupy her place who had most injured and slandered 
 her. Ethel's spirits recoiled from this heartless, shame- 
 less conduct, and had she not previously schooled her 
 heart to bear the blow when it came, her haughty 
 spirit would have rebelled in spite of her efforts to 
 overcome it at the time ; but prayer had subdued 
 her, and, clothed in its invincible armour, she had 
 soared above the temptation. And now, calmed and 
 strengthened once more, her tears of sorrow and 
 regret washed away, she waited for Laura coming 
 up-stairs, feeling desirous of comforting her, and 
 pressing her to her heart, and telling her how they 
 could sympathise together over this earthly cross 
 which had been sent them. 
 
 A considerable time elapsed, and then Laura's 
 footsteps were heard, as she slowly ascended the stairs. 
 Ethel advanced to meet her sister, and drew her un- 
 resistingly into her own room and closed the door. 
 Laura sank on the bed, as if quite exhausted. Her 
 sister pressed her arm round her, and kissed her 
 affectionately. Laura at first coldly repulsed her, but 
 still without speaking. Ethel was grieved to see 
 how really ill she looked. Her face was pale, except 
 
208 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 where her eyes were red with weeping, her lips were 
 white and quivering, and her beautiful golden hair 
 hung in wild disorder about her neck. 
 
 " Dear Laura!" Ethel began, at length; but her 
 sister hastily roused herself and interrupted her, — 
 " Don't speak to me, Ethel ! You have no feeling — 
 you never could feel deeply as I do ; you can bear any- 
 thing ! Oh, how I wish I was dead, and with my darling 
 mother in heaven ! I will not stay here to be treated 
 in this manner!" she exclaimed, passionately. 
 
 "Laura! dear Laura! do not talk in this way: it is 
 not right. You wish you were dead ! Oh, dearest, 
 pause, and consider: are you fit to die ? Thank God he 
 is giving you time for consideration." Laura did not 
 reply, but raised her eyes to Ethel's face, which en- 
 couraged her to proceed: — 
 
 " Do you not think papa has a right to do as he 
 pleases ? If he believes he will be happier married, 
 should we, as his children, expect our feelings to be 
 taken into consideration ? Hard as this trial is, do 
 you not think it is our duty to submit ?" said Ethel, 
 in a sweet, soothing voice, and pressing her sister 
 closer to her. 
 
 " It is all very well, Ethel, for you to talk of duty ; 
 you, who never find anything hard to bear," sobbed 
 Laura, a little softened by her sister's gentleness. 
 
 " Oh, Laura ! how little you know! If there is a 
 person in the world towards whom I have an un- 
 charitable feeling, it is to Miss Grant. And when I 
 thought of seeing my own dear mother's place occu- 
 pied by her, it has at times almost broken all my good 
 resolutions." And Ethel's tears again flowed freely. 
 
 " Then how could you speak so calmly, just now, to 
 papa ? You made me think you did not mind it." 
 
 '•' Because, dear Laura, it was no new idea to me. 
 
woman's ministry. 209 
 
 I have for some time seen how all this would end. For 
 hours I have lain awake at night, thinking about it, 
 and praying that God would guide and direct us all to 
 do what was right in the matter ; and I feel that it was 
 in answer to my petition that I was enabled to submit 
 calmly when papa told me about it. You could not 
 suppose, dear Laura, in my own unaided strength, I 
 could have conquered my natural impetuosity of dis- 
 position," replied Ethel, gently. 
 
 "And why did you not tell me your suspicions 
 before, Ethel ? Oh, if I had but known, how I would 
 have shown Miss Grant what I thought of her odious, 
 manoeuvring conduct!" exclaimed Laura, indignantly. 
 " It was just for that reason I did not mention it, 
 Laura. I knew you would offend both papa and Miss 
 Grant, make yourself miserable, and do no good in the 
 end."- 
 
 "You meant it kindly, Ethel, I know. But I shall 
 never treat Miss Grant with respect. I shall take 
 every opportunity of annoying her, and showing her 
 what I think." 
 
 " No, dearie ! you will not, I hope. It would only 
 make her your enemy, and answer no other pur- 
 pose. She is not a person to be either wounded 
 or ashamed, and her power will be much greater 
 than yours. But tell me about what papa said just 
 now," replied Ethel, making her sister's head rest on 
 her shoulder. 
 
 " Oh, we had a dreadful scene ! I cannot tell you 
 all he said, and the oaths he used ; and I refused to give 
 in, until — until (and Laura sobbed aloud) he pushed 
 me from the room, and closed the door, and swore he 
 would make me repent my conduct. I know I was pro- 
 voking, I intended to be. And one thing I am de- 
 vol. i. p 
 
210 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 termined about : I will not stay at home ; I will go out 
 as a governess ; I will do something — beg my bread — 
 sooner than stay at home to be treated in this manner, 
 or be made to submit to her" exclaimed Laura, im- 
 petuously. 
 
 "Hush, dear Laura!" said Ethel, soothingly; and 
 then, when the tempest of rage had a little subsided, 
 she added gently : — 
 
 "We must remember who sends these trials, and 
 that God always has a good end in view by them, dear 
 Laura. The Bible tells us, that no chastening is plea- 
 sant at first, but that "afterwards ityieldeth the peace- 
 able fruits of righteousness to them that are exercised 
 thereby." If it is right for us, some way of escape 
 will be made. If not, this trial, I have no doubt, is 
 a blessing in disguise. Do you remember those beau- 
 tiful lines of Longfellow's you read me the other 
 day? 
 
 ' Let us be patient. These severe afflictions 
 
 Not from the ground arise, 
 But oftentimes celestial benedictions 
 Assume this dark disguise. 
 
 We see but dimly through the mists and vapours 
 
 Amid these earthly damps : 
 What seem to us but sad funereal tapers 
 
 May be Heaven's distant lamps.' " 
 
 "Ah, Ethel, poetry is very beautiful when we are 
 happy ! and it is all very well, too, to read of patient 
 people, and weep in novels over imaginary trials ; but 
 when they touch ourselves, then the romance is gone, 
 there is no beauty left in things that once charmed us," 
 replied Laura, sadly. 
 
 " I grant it may be so to some extent. But oh, 
 Laura, if you knew how the Bible cheers and consoles 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 211 
 
 me ; and how I feel and know there is a God-man in 
 heaven! One who has a body and feelings like our- 
 selves ! — who has known and tasted earthly sorrow, 
 and drunk the most bitter cup of earthly suffering that 
 was ever tasted, and that that Friend is waiting and 
 listening for every prayer that his people offer him — 
 is there not a solid comfort in this thought ?" 
 
 " Yes, there is to Christians, no doubt! You under- 
 stand it ; but I have no Friend in heaven," replied 
 Laura, in a subdued tone. 
 
 " But you may have one. Only tell Jesus you 
 wish him to love you, and you will find him ' all in 
 all.' " 
 
 "But I cannot now! I can think of nothing but 
 my trouble. I cannot pray as I ought," replied Laura, 
 after a pause. 
 
 "But bring the trouble itself to the Saviour ; that 
 is what he likes us to do. He will share with you in 
 bearing it," replied Ethel, gently. 
 
 Again Laura's head drooped on her sister's shoulder; 
 and at length quiet tears began to pour plentifully 
 down her face, like the refreshing rain after the violence 
 of the storm which precedes it. 
 
 For once Laura felt there was a pleasure in having 
 a kind, loving sister to compassionate her wounded 
 feelings, and she saw how religion had enabled Ethel 
 to bear this trial so patiently. 
 
 True it is of the believer, his light does not 
 always shine so brightly in the sunshine of happi- 
 ness, as in the dark nights of adversity. Like the 
 three hundred who followed Gideon, their lights were 
 hid until the time of trial arrived ; but no sooner 
 were their pitchers broken, than the lights in their 
 lamps shone forth. 
 
 So with the Christian. Adversity bursts the veil 
 
212 ETHEL; OK, 
 
 of concealment which has hitherto enshrouded his 
 light, and when that veil has been removed the world 
 takes knowledge of him that he has been with Jesus. 
 Nothing else could enable him so effectually to fight 
 the good fight of faith, and, overcoming all obstacles, 
 patiently endure to the end. 
 
woman's ministry. 213 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " Love never fails to master what he finds, 
 But works different ways in different minds : 
 The fool enlightens, and the wise he blinds." 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 " How sweet it is 
 To have one lovely treasure, which the heart 
 Can feed upon in secret, which can be 
 A star in sorrow, and a flower in joy ; 
 A thought, to which most other thoughts refer ; 
 A hope, whence all other hopes arise, 
 Nursed in the solitude of happiness ! " 
 
 Miss Landon. 
 
 " So I suppose it's all come out at last !" exclaimed 
 Sally, bursting into the room next morning after 
 breakfast, in a state of violent excitement, and appeal- 
 ing to Ethel, who was hearing Minnie her lesson. 
 
 "What do 'you mean, Sally?" inquired Ethel, 
 raising her pale face. 
 
 " You may well look pale and careworn, dear 
 heart," said Sally, commiseratingly ; then, seeing 
 Minnie's eyes fixed inquisitively upon her, she added 
 quickly, " Run and play with t' parrot, dear Miss 
 Minnie ! I'll come presently." 
 
 Minnie instantly disappeared. 
 
 " What do I mean, Miss Hethel ? Why this fond, 
 rediclus idee oft' master's to marry that (I beg pardon, 
 but I can't say nowt but) woman. Miss Laura telled 
 
214 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 me all about it when I went up wi' her breakfast this 
 morning. Poor barn ! I did pity her ; honly you're 
 like t' one as '11 feel it t' most. However, my 'pinion 
 has come to pretty sharp — I don nut know who to 
 give warning to in partic'lar, so I'll do it to t' master, 
 Miss Laura, and you, to make sure, Miss Hethel. The 
 day afore that woman enters this house, I leaves it — 
 I'll not stay for no one — I've lived here twenty years 
 and better, and I hallus thought to die here : but if I'd 
 been fifty, and she offered me a hundred i' t' year, I'd 
 not stay. I'm fair shamed of t' master. T" grass 
 hardly growed over my poor missis' grave, afore he 
 goes gallavanting and flurting with a body as ought 
 to know better nor to let him ! I sure t' world's come 
 to a pretty state when such as her is to be set i' your 
 mother's place." 
 
 " Sally, you must remember you ought to speak 
 respectfully of whoever my father chooses to make 
 his wife," Ethel said, gently. 
 
 " I can't help saying it, and so it don't mind," said 
 Sally, bursting into tears. 
 
 Ethel laid her hand on the faithful servant's arm. 
 " Sally, you have been a good and kind servant and 
 friend to us ; you loved my mother — will you not, for 
 her sake, stay with her children ? She would have 
 wished it, I am sure, could she have foreseen this. 
 I do not know what we should do without you." 
 
 Sally sobbed aloud. 
 
 " I hallus loved you, Miss Hethel ! You was 
 hallus a nice child, for all you was a bit proud some- 
 times. But it's fair unpossible I could stay here ; I'd 
 make nothink but worry and trouble if I did. I never 
 could bide to receive horders from that woman, she as 
 I know hated your sweet mother, for I used to hear a 
 deal o' things she said, through her maid, years sin, 
 
215 
 
 when your father was first married ; and it's my 
 belief as she wanted to marry t' master then. And 
 it's pretty plain what as she's come to Carysford for, 
 wi' her nasty insinervating looks. It's a rare pity 
 Mr. Woodville hadn't growed old and hugly, she'd hae 
 been none so keen of getting him if he had. It's a 
 shame ut your father could spend his 'ansome looks 
 on her ; though, for sure, he's no great bargain to get — 
 they'll both rue afore t' month's out, that's my belief." 
 
 " Sally, I cannot hear you speak in this manner ; 
 you know very well it is not right," said Ethel, with 
 dignity. 
 
 "Dunnot be offended, Miss Hethel, wi' me, I'se 
 sore grieved for your sake. However, I mun tell ye 
 why I mun leave for certain. You see my temper's 
 like hot, I couldn't bide with her ; and then, maybe, 
 she'd think ye'd set me agin her (for folks like her 
 thinks a deal o' bad thoughts), and then there would 
 be strife. And she'd maybe give me warning, which 
 I'm not agoing to submit to. So I'll tell you what as 
 I've done, though I'm rather shamed on it too, for I 
 never thought to make a fool on myself, partic'lar now 
 as I'm turned fifty : however, I'll sooner submit than 
 be hunder her. Ye know Jonas Boothe, of Sawley ? 
 Well, that man's been at me these twelve years, 
 writing bits o' letters or calling to see me, to get me 
 to wed him. But I hallus said I'd summut better to 
 do nor make such an a child o' myself. When Miss 
 Laura telled me about this here wedding, I thinks, as 
 it's t' market day, I'd just pop up to t' ' Shoulder o' 
 Mutton' (t' inn he puts up at), and see if he were 
 there, and just take a cream-cheese for a make- 
 believe ; and if he begun again I'd say, sooner nor stay 
 here, I'd wed him. For you see, Miss Hethel, he's 
 like a decent man, and very well to do, and has saved 
 
216 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 a sight o' money. So I on with my bonnet, and off I 
 sets. Jonas was there, and purtended to be right 
 glad to see me : so I picked over all t' cream cheeses 
 for awhile, to get t' best. After a bit he says, ' Sally, 
 my lass, I wish thou'd consent to come to live at 
 Hedgerow; thou shalt have plenty o' cream-cheeses 
 there, and I'd try to make thee happy.' T' man reely 
 spoke so feeling like, I felt quiet queer, and my face it 
 seemed fair in a blaze wi' shame. ■ Well,' says I, ' if 
 ye like to have me ye may, seeing our master's like 
 for to wed a lady' (I did say ' lady ' to Jonas, for I never 
 runs down t' family behind their backs) ' as I've no 
 mind to serve.' Well, Miss Hethel ! the man behaved 
 shameful ! just same as if I were a lass : he seized me 
 round t' waist, and he kissed me fair i' t' yard! Then 
 he began telling me a deal o' gammon about how long 
 he'd waited, and how he'd loved me a deal o' years, 
 and all such stuff, just same as young 'uns does, while 
 I got almost haggervated, and I telled him I thought 
 he'd had a drop too much ; he'd forgotten how old 
 we was, and ut if he didn't treat me according to my 
 age, I'd not wed him. But he didn't sattle then ; and 
 he walked home wi' me, and talked fair rediclus all t' 
 way. However, I suppose I'se in for it. It can't be 
 helped" (said Sally, with resignation) — only "would ye 
 believe it ? I forgot t' cream-cheese ! I'se right vexed." 
 
 " Never mind, Sally ; I can say no more about 
 asking you to stay now. I am sure I am very glad 
 you are going to marry Jonas ; he is a worthy, honest 
 man, and will, I am sure, make you a good husband. 
 I wish you every happiness," said Ethel, warmly 
 grasping the old servant's hand. 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Hethel ! it's a thing I never 
 thought to put up wi' ; it seems to me so childish-like, 
 and I'm none so fond o' having to submit to a man. 
 
woman's ministry. 217 
 
 But, anyhow, it'll be better nor having to stay wi' that 
 woman. I shouldn't hae left here, Miss Hethel, if t' 
 master had done as he should, and I telled Jonas so, 
 and he were ill-mannered enough to say he was glad 
 anyhow to get me ; but I soon telled him to hold his 
 tongue." 
 
 " I do not wonder he was glad, Sally," said Ethel, 
 with a quiet smile ; " he will gain a treasure in you." 
 
 " It '11 be a queer 'un," said Sally, with a laugh. 
 
 Just then there was a loud crash in the kitchen, 
 and Sally went out hastily to see what was the matter, 
 while Ethel slowly followed. Minnie was crying bit- 
 terly, drenched with water, while Sally was scolding 
 in discordant tones, as Ethel advanced. 
 
 " You're a nasty, nasty, tiger, leopard, wolf, 
 monkey!" screamed Minnie, naming the animals 
 which had been most repulsive at the wild-beasts' 
 show. 
 
 " Nay, you're a monkey ! I never see'd the like 
 for mischevosness ! Why can't you let things alone? 
 Look here, Miss Hethel, here's this naughty girl been 
 upsetting all this water over her ! " 
 
 " It isn't me, Ethy ; it's my hands ; and they 
 would not be quiet," gasped Minnie, imploringly. 
 
 " But you should not call Sally names, Minnie." 
 
 " I can't help it, she pulls so." 
 
 " Now stand still while I fetch you some dry 
 clothes," said Ethel, running up-stairs to fetch them. 
 
 Minnie had scarcely had them changed before Miss 
 Grant called. Ethel felt considerably annoyed at this 
 unwelcome intrusion, as she well knew Miss Grant had 
 called to see the effect her engagement to Mr. Wood- 
 ville had had upon them. Laura had not yet risen ; 
 she was very far from well, and shrunk from meeting 
 her father. Ethel lost no time in joining Miss Grant 
 
218 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 in the drawing-room. Her manner was so calm and 
 quiet, that Miss Grant, with all her scrutiny, found 
 it impossible to understand her. She was perfectly 
 polite and obliging, and when Miss Grant, without 
 delicacy of feeling (finding Ethel did not do so), 
 alluded to her intended marriage, Ethel's colour only 
 deepened slightly, yet no angry frown was there, 
 while, with perfect composure, she wished every hap- 
 piness might be the result, and she desired no effort 
 on their part might be wanting to conduce to it. 
 Extremely mortified and chagrined, Miss Grant took 
 her departure, grieved that she had been unable to 
 extract one word of unkindness or bitter feeling from 
 a girl she had always so much disliked, for the perfect 
 command she possessed over her feelings. 
 
 " No matter," thought the lady, as she planted 
 her well-turned foot firmly on the pavement ; " a day 
 may yet come when I shall bend that girl, and draw 
 out some of those feelings I know she harbours against 
 me. Let me but get the power into my own hands, 
 and then I shall not fear." 
 
 In the afternoon, Ethel, finding Laura unable to 
 accompany her, went alone to call at Thurlston on 
 Lady Harcourt, and as Minnie begged to walk there 
 also, she took her as far as the lodge, and left her 
 until she returned. Finding the Thurlston party were 
 out, Ethel thought she should have time to proceed to 
 Langton, and call on old Nannie, who still continued a 
 great invalid. 
 
 The clouds began to lower, and a mist seemed 
 settling on the hills as they left Langton, boding a 
 storm of snow, and very soon large flakes made their 
 appearance. After they passed the Thurlston lodge 
 Ethel knew it was of no use to return, they must 
 hasten home. Wrapping Minnie carefully in her 
 
woman's ministry. 219 
 
 waterproof cloak, they hurried on ; but the little girl 
 grew tired, and Ethel was obliged to carry her. They 
 had proceeded but a short distance (for the snow almost 
 blinded Ethel, and Minnie was heavy, so that Ethel 
 began to feel afraid they should be long in reaching 
 home) when they perceived, as they turned a corner 
 of the road, the well-known figure of Raymond ad- 
 vancing quickly towards them. 
 
 " Miss Woodville ! is it possible ? Who would 
 have thought of meeting you in such a storm ? Do let 
 me help you ! " he said, divesting himself of his wrap. 
 
 " Do not let us inconvenience you," said Ethel, as 
 he offered her his umbrella, and then began wrapping 
 Minnie in his plaid : the remaining part of which 
 he threw across his shoulder, while he carefully lifted 
 Minnie in his arms. 
 
 " Oh, if you please, do not return with us. We 
 shall manage very well under this nice large umbrella," 
 said Ethel. 
 
 " You must not debar me the pleasure of walking 
 with you. I could not think of your returning alone," 
 he replied ; and there was a quiet decision in his tone 
 which made Ethel perceive further parleying was 
 useless. 
 
 " Then, do have the umbrella ; I do not mind my 
 bonnet, and my cloak is waterproof," said Ethel, 
 feeling her inability to hold it over Raymond's tall 
 figure. 
 
 " On no account ; Minnie is quite safe here under 
 my plaid, and you must take care of yourself." — "For 
 my sake," he wished to have added, but the words were 
 checked. He then carefully wrapped Ethel's cloak 
 round her with his disengaged hand. 
 
 " Now, Pussy, are you comfortable?" he said to 
 
220 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 Minnie, whose little bright eyes peeped out of a small 
 hole he had left for her to see through, displaying her 
 perfect contentment in his arms. 
 
 " You carry me better than Ethy," the child said. 
 
 " Do I ? You see I am stronger ; and you are 
 very light — like a feather almost ; you are such a tiny 
 little thing." 
 
 Minnie was not at all flattered by the epithet 
 "tiny." 
 
 "But I am getting very old, Ethy, am I not?" 
 
 Ethel nodded. 
 
 " Sissy says I shall have a birth-day to-morrow, 
 and then I shall be forty years old." 
 
 Raymond and Ethel smiled. 
 
 " Forty ! why you are older than I am, then." 
 
 " No, I am sure I am not — you are so great and 
 tall. But you said, Ethy, I was forty nearly." 
 
 " No, dear ; four years old." 
 
 " But four means forty." 
 
 " No ; forty is twice twenty." 
 
 " Then, does four or three years mean the oldest ?" 
 
 " Four, to be sure." 
 
 " How many birthdays have you had, Mr. Ray- 
 mond ? " inquired Minnie, demurely. 
 
 " Oh ! a great many — twenty-nine." 
 
 " Ethy will have had eighty-one soon ! " 
 
 " My dear Minnie, no ! I never told you so," said 
 Ethel, blushing slightly. 
 
 " You wrote an eight and one on a slate for me." 
 
 " No : one first, then eight." 
 
 Raymond looked very mischievous. 
 
 " Minnie is very communicative. I hope you are 
 not displeased by her revelations, as age is said to be a 
 weak point with ladies, generally." 
 
woman's ministry. 221 
 
 " I am not old enough yet. Perhaps ten or twenty 
 years hence I may desire to keep it a secret," said 
 Ethel, smiling. 
 
 " I think I could have guessed, if Minnie had not 
 been my informant. Well, Minnie, and so you have 
 a birth-day to-morrow, have you ? What would you 
 like to have most ?" Raymond inquired, kindly. 
 
 " Let me see ! I think Oh ! I know — I 
 
 should like your little dog what's called ' Fido,' and 
 has a collar round its neck." 
 
 " And you shall have it, dear, with pleasure." 
 
 " Oh, no ! indeed she must not, Mr. Raymond. 
 You must say, i No, thank you,' " said Ethel, turning 
 to Minnie. 
 
 " No, thank you, Mr. Raymond ; but I should like 
 it," Minnie said, with the utmost gravity. 
 
 Raymond laughed merrily. 
 
 " Well done, Minnie ! You richly deserve the dog, 
 I am sure. You are combining two admirable qua- 
 lities — obedience and sincerity. Fido shall certainly 
 be yours. Will you allow me the pleasure of bringing 
 Fido myself to-morrow, Miss Woodville? " he inquired, 
 turning to Ethel. 
 
 " You are very kind ; I really feel much obliged : 
 but I am uncomfortable at the idea of Minnie ac- 
 cepting your favourite." 
 
 " Believe me, I had rather see it in your posses- 
 sion," he replied, in a low voice ; and Ethel perceived 
 the present was more for her than Minnie, for there 
 was a meaning and an emphasis in his words which 
 called a rich glow to Ethel's cheek. 
 
 " I have wanted to see you very much, Miss Wood- 
 ville — that is, if you will not think me troublesome. 
 But do you remember our conversation in this road 
 some time ago ? I asked you then if you would object 
 
222 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 to give me your reasons for believing in revelation at 
 some future time, and though I do not remember that 
 you exactly promised to do so, I think — at least, I 
 hope — you will not object to grant me that favour 
 to-morrow," he continued, in a hesitating voice, as if 
 he really were asking a great boon. 
 
 " The reason I did not promise was, simply be- 
 cause I feel my inability to argue with you ; and I 
 am so much afraid of injuring the cause I love through 
 my ignorance," she replied, modestly. 
 
 " I am sure the cause could not have a better 
 advocate. Pray grant me this favour," replied Ray- 
 mond, warmly. 
 
 " I will try, Mr. Raymond. But, of course, there 
 are many reasons which convince me, which, I fear, 
 will have no weight with you ; and, above all, if God's 
 Holy Spirit does not act upon your heart, the most 
 powerful human argument must fail. What, then, can 
 /do, so ignorant as I know myself to be?" 
 
 " Much. The very hearing you speak does me 
 good," he replied, with so much warmth that the 
 blood again rushed tumultuously into Ethel's face. 
 Was it, could it be, that Raymond loved her? 
 No ! impossible ! She could not believe it still, and 
 the thought was quickly banished. She remained 
 silent for some time, for she was thinking how she 
 could best answer him. She had, it is true, read 
 several books on the subject of infidelity, but that 
 was not sufficient. She felt herself to be lamentably 
 ignorant. Still she did not think it right to refuse 
 to tell Raymond her reasons for embracing and be- 
 lieving in the truth of Christianity ; and, poor though 
 her efforts might be, she would pray fervently for 
 God's guidance, that if it pleased him, perhaps a word 
 in season might be spoken which would recall Ray- 
 
woman's ministry. 223 
 
 mond to a sense of his responsibility as a creature. 
 He waited long for her reply, and watched her 
 intently as they walked rapidly along the road ; but 
 he could not see through her thick veil the varying 
 emotions which flitted over her face. 
 
 " I should be glad to talk to you, but you must 
 not expect me to know much ; if it please God, he 
 will put words into my mouth, as he has promised 
 his servants in the hour of temptation," she said at 
 last, in a low, gentle voice, which thrilled through 
 Raymond's heart, and drew him closer to her in the 
 bonds of the deepest affection. 
 
 They had walked so rapidly, that they had entered 
 Carysford ; and, almost before they were aware, they 
 were at Mr. Woodville's door. 
 
 Ethel did not press Raymond to enter, as he was 
 anxious to reach home before the usual dinner-hour. 
 She, however, thanked him warmly for his kindness 
 to Minnie and herself. 
 
 " Do not mention it. If you knew the pleasure 
 it has conferred on me, you would perceive that I 
 am the obliged party," he replied. 
 
 Something of Laura's old fretful manner towards 
 Ethel returned, when, from the window, she saw 
 her come home with Raymond, and witnessed their 
 parting at the door. 
 
 " I must say, Ethel, you can never again upbraid 
 me for walking with Thornhill, when you do the same 
 with Raymond," she said, when her sister entered. 
 
 " It was quite accidental, Laura. And as it 
 snowed so fast, I felt very grateful to him for giving 
 us assistance." 
 
 Laura pouted. 
 
 " Then why did he not come in ? You never ask 
 him." 
 
224 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " I did this time, but he seemed anxious to 
 return ; and, of course, I did not press the point." 
 
 " He really is very rude. He never calls. I do 
 think George Thornhill is far more attentive and 
 gentlemanly." 
 
 " Oh, Laura!" began Ethel, but she stopped, 
 feeling it was not a point worthy of discussion, as no 
 one but Laura could have made the remark. 
 
 " And so that odious woman called this morning ! 
 You did not tell me, but Sally did ; and how she 
 relieved herself by closing the door violently after 
 her when she went out. She just wanted to triumph 
 over us, horrid creature!" exclaimed Laura, indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 " I was glad you were in bed, Laura ; for you 
 would, perhaps, have been rather too much like 
 Sally," Ethel said, laughing a little. 
 
 " Certainly, I should have shown her marked 
 coldness. I have no notion of such people ! " 
 
 " But seriously, dear Laura, it would do no good ! 
 It is right to pay her proper attention, because it is 
 our duty, and the wisest course as well ; it will pre- 
 vent much unpleasantness. Besides, dear, it is far 
 more lady -like to behave civilly, and avoid any ex- 
 pression which might give rise to bad feelings. And 
 we must, as Christians, bear no ill-will, hope for the 
 best, and suspend our judgment on Miss Grant until 
 we know more of her." 
 
 " You may do as you please, but I can never 
 treat her as my father's wife. How insincere and 
 insinuating she has been ! Oh, if I had dreamt of 
 this I would never have spoken to her ! How could 
 you be so polite all along, suspecting as you did, 
 Ethel?" 
 
 " It cost me a struggle, as I told you ; and I trust 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY". 225 
 
 I shall try never to give way to any unkind feeling 
 towards her. There are points in her character de- 
 serving of our respect. She really has been attached 
 to papa for a long time, and, you see, has remained 
 true to her affection, for I know she has had several 
 offers." 
 
 " Those offers were only for her money. And 
 that is all papa cares about, I know. It is shameful 
 of him ! As if we wanted a person setting over us 
 at our age ! " 
 
 " Laura, papa is master of the house ; and, as 
 children, I am sure we ought to desire his happiness 
 before our own." 
 
 " If it had been a nice person, I should not have 
 cared so much," replied Laura. 
 
 " It would have been the same. You thought 
 Miss Grant charming before you knew all this." 
 
 " Yes ! I feel so angry with myself, when I think 
 of it. But we are too old to be governed now." 
 
 " No, Laura. We are not too old to learn a use- 
 ful lesson of submission. This trial will teach us 
 self-denial. We must make up our minds to surrender 
 our own wills now — a house divided would be 
 shocking ; besides, it is right that we should be the 
 parties to submit." 
 
 " I wish I could see it, Ethel ! It would comfort 
 me. Sometimes I want to be like you ; but then the 
 feeling goes again. There would be so much to give 
 up that I enjoy. I look with surprise when you bear 
 things so patiently, and wonder how you can endure 
 to be provoked. But often your very mildness vexes 
 me : if you would sometimes do wrong, or speak 
 angrily to me in return, I should feel pleased ; I have 
 such malicious feelings, in wishing to taunt you with 
 impatience." 
 
 VOL. I Q 
 
226 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " But you little know, Laura, how things do put 
 me out — such trifles, frequently. I have bitterly to 
 bewail my short-comings, and if one evil temper is 
 conquered it is by God's grace alone. Dear Laura, I 
 wish you would let me love you," Ethel added, after a 
 pause, as she entwined her arms round Laura's neck. 
 
 " But do you really love me?" inquired Laura, with 
 one of her bewitching little smiles, which carried such 
 irresistible fascination in it. 
 
 " Oh, yes, dearest ! more than I can tell." 
 
 " Well, then, I shall feel happier for it ; though 
 you must not expect me to grow good. I like you to 
 love me, but I cannot give up as you have done, and 
 submit to a step-mother. I must leave home. I feel 
 I cannot endure to be tyrannised over," Laura said, 
 determinately. 
 
 Ethel had no time to reply, for Mr. Woodville just 
 then entered and inquired for tea. The cold, haughty 
 manner Laura had assumed to her father since the 
 previous evening, returned. Mr. Woodville, however, 
 took no notice of her, and the meal passed as usual, 
 and immediately after he went out — as they rightly 
 conjectured, to spend the rest of the evening with Miss 
 Grant. 
 
227 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " He is a free man whom the truth makes free, 
 And all are slaves besides." — Cowpee. 
 
 " Though shining millions around thee stand, 
 For the sake of Him at thy right hand, 
 Oh ! think on the souls he died for here, 
 Thus wand'ring in darkness, in doubt, and fear. 
 Thy aid, mighty One ! we crave, 
 Nor shortened is thy hand to save ; 
 Afar from thee we now sojourn : 
 Return to us, God, return ! " — Hogg. 
 
 Mr. Woodville, on his return, announced to his 
 daughters that Miss Grant had kindly promised to come 
 and spend the following evening with them, in order 
 to talk over future plans. Laura's lip quivered with 
 indignation, while Ethel's curled haughtily for the 
 moment, and a rich colour mounted to her cheek, 
 which, however, soon faded away in the violent effort 
 she made to restrain her feelings at this unwelcome in- 
 formation. Laura made no observation at the time, 
 but no sooner had her father returned to his office the 
 following afternoon, than she set out to spend it with a 
 friend, in order to show how little she cared for her 
 father, or Miss Grant. Ethel in vain endeavoured to 
 dissuade her ; but Laura was determined, and further 
 entreaty was useless. Ethel had employed her leisure 
 time in collecting a few notes, and in earnest prayer, 
 that if she really should be called on to give a 
 
228 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 reason for the hope that was in her to Raymond, 
 she might do it aright. 
 
 About three o'clock, his dog -cart drove up to the 
 door, and he alighted with Fido in his arms for 
 Minnie, who was in ecstasies of delight. Ethel felt 
 dreadfully nervous, as' Raymond, after asking if she 
 was disengaged, requested her permission to remain. 
 She felt as if it were highly improper to have a tete-a- 
 tete with him ; but she had not done it intentionally, 
 for however much the presence of Laura might have 
 tended to prevent religious conversation, Ethel felt it 
 would not have been suitable to see Raymond alone 
 had Laura been in the house. She had mentioned 
 the probability of his calling to Laura, as an induce- 
 ment for her to stay at home ; but even Raymond's 
 name had lost its power, when the alternative remained 
 of avoiding Miss Grant. Raymond made Fido per- 
 form all the little tricks he had taught her, for Min- 
 nie's benefit, and then the child seated herself at some 
 little distance with her new pet, to make it re-perform 
 them. Ethel's heart beat quickly with agitation as 
 Raymond, turning from Minnie, addressed her, though 
 it was but a trivial observation. 
 
 " Ada was very curious to know my errand this 
 afternoon, but I durst not let her into my secret lest 
 she should have wanted to come too, and then, I fear, 
 you would not have cared to talk to me. I envy Ada 
 having you for a friend. And I think, Miss Woodville, 
 you have been of much use to my dear sister. She is 
 far happier than formerly. I wish you would accept 
 me for a pupil, and reform me. I fear, though, I am 
 more incorrigible. But will you try me ? Will you 
 kindly assist to settle my doubts? Will you, in fact, show 
 me the way to be a happier man ? " Raymond added, 
 hurriedly. 
 
woman's ministry. 229 
 
 " And have you not talked to Ada ? And could 
 she not point to the source of happiness ? " 
 
 " Yes, she has told me a great deal. But Ada is 
 not like you. She has not felt it all as you have ; at 
 least, not so fully." 
 
 " And are you desirous of really feeling these 
 things? Will you tell me candidly your motive in 
 seeking to know my reasons for endeavouring to be a 
 Christian ? " replied Ethel. 
 
 " You must not probe me too closely, Miss Wood- 
 ville. I do not think I could clearly define to myself 
 my reasons for wishing to know why you believe. Is 
 it not sufficient that I am inquiring ?" 
 
 " Yes, perhaps it is. But, you see, I know so little. 
 I would far rather you would search and see for your- 
 self. All the arguments of doubters have been un- 
 deniably refuted many times, and the books written 
 for the purpose would explain so much better than 
 I can." 
 
 " But books are not so pleasant a medium as con- 
 versation ; and if there be one channel more agree- 
 able than another for obtaining information, why debar 
 me of it ?" he said, smiling. 
 
 " Then I understand you wish to know my reasons 
 for believing the Bible to be the word of God?" 
 
 " Precisely so. I have confessed to you that I 
 have doubts, and serious ones too, whether God has 
 given a revelation to man. I do not say I am alto- 
 gether an unbeliever, but I often feel so uncertain, that 
 I am almost tempted to think I shall be one." 
 
 " I trust God's mercy may be extended to you 
 while there is yet time." 
 
 " You must not suppose I have forgotten your 
 advice the other day at Langton, on the subject of 
 prayer, for I have since then bent my knees frequently 
 
230 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 in the attitude of devotion. But words have died on 
 my lips, and I have felt how useless was such a heartless 
 form. For it is but a form, to profess to adore while the 
 heart is all the while far from God," Raymond replied, 
 slowly and gravely. 
 
 " I do not think you can expect any blessing with- 
 out prayer. And though it might cost you an effort 
 at first to fix the wandering thought, yet that effort 
 should be made, and God will himself help your in- 
 firmity. I feel the grand stay of the Christian is 
 this — he has the witness in himself that God's word 
 is true." 
 
 " And do you feel and know in your heart that 
 Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and the Bible his 
 word ? " inquired Raymond. 
 
 " I do, most trulv. And I know that ' faith is the 
 gift of God.' " 
 
 Raymond was silent for a time : he then inquired, 
 " But how am I to account for differences of opinion 
 in reference to the divine nature of Christ ? May we 
 not take the passages figuratively relating to his being 
 the Son of God?" 
 
 " No, we cannot be mistaken. It is so plainly 
 stated in the Bible, and so necessary for our salva- 
 tion, that he should be God as well as man." 
 " But many dispute it." 
 
 " I cannot conceive how they find evidence for 
 doing so ; there are many positive passages on this 
 subject," replied Ethel. " I was much struck once in 
 reading to dear mamma a passage from Dr. Cum- 
 ming's 'Manual of Christian Evidence ' on this subject. 
 May I show it to you, since it speaks so much more 
 clearly than I can?" She rose, and, reaching down 
 the book, found him the page, which Raymond read 
 as follows : — 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 231 
 
 "In St. Paul's Epistle to Titus, ii. 13, we find 
 these words : — ' Looking for that blessed hope, and 
 the glorious appearing of the great God and our 
 Saviour Jesus Christ.' From reading these words 
 we might suppose the meaning to be, 'Looking for the 
 glorious appearing of the great God' (that is, God 
 the Father), and, secondly, of our Saviour Jesus 
 Christ ; but the literal translation of the verse, as any 
 classical scholar well knows, is this : ' Looking for 
 that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of Jesus 
 Christ, our great God and Saviour.' Again, in the 
 second epistle of Peter, i. 1, we find these words: 
 ' Simon Peter, a servant and an apostle of Jesus Christ, 
 to them that have obtained like precious faith with 
 us through the righteousness of God and our Saviour 
 Jesus Christ.' From reading these words one would 
 likewise suppose allusion to be made to God the 
 Father, and to God the Son ; but the literal transla- 
 tion is, ' Through the righteousness of Jesus Christ, 
 our God and Saviour.' Along with these two there 
 are other four passages to which I might refer .... 
 We have in these six passages most decided and in- 
 telligible proof of the essential Deity and Godhead of 
 our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ." 
 
 " Does this convince you ? " asked Ethel, when 
 Raymond had finished. 
 
 " Quite so : thank you. It seems a pity that such 
 an important rendering should be omitted in our ver- 
 sion, as it completely settles the point. In fact, I only 
 asked the question to see what your answer would be 
 on that subject. I do not myself see how any one can 
 believe the Bible to be true, and not hold the divine 
 and human nature of Christ, even according to the 
 present version," Raymond replied. " And now the 
 question is, to remove my doubts as to the fact of God 
 
232 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 having given a revelation to man ; even the Bible 
 itself allows some thousands of years to have passed 
 before a revelation was granted. What made it 
 necessary afterwards?" 
 
 " Surely the reason is obvious ! During the earliest 
 period of the world's history, the length of life was so 
 great that the patriarchs, many of whom had imme- 
 diate intercourse with God, handed down such revela- 
 tions as God had seen lit to make to them. After 
 them followed the giving the written law on Sinai, 
 since which time the world has never been without a 
 written revelation from God." 
 
 " But, after all, do you not think a revelation 
 unnecessary ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! certainly not ! Because, if you consider, 
 there are many things which man must be taught. 
 For instance, learning to speak : suppose a child was 
 left alone in a desert, where no human voice could 
 reach its ear, it would grow up dumb ; the experiment 
 has been made, and so it was proved. How was 
 language given to the first man ? Must not God have 
 taught him ? Consequently there was a revelation," 
 suggested Ethel, quietly. 
 
 " A very good argument, Miss Woodville. I can- 
 not give you an answer to it, except by suggesting a 
 doubt whether there ever was a first man. A ques- 
 tion, however, we need not discuss." 
 
 " I think not, Mr. Raymond, or indeed anything 
 else ; for if you profess to doubt the beginning of 
 things, you must hold likewise that there will be no 
 end, and on this point it would not be advisable for 
 me to speak," replied Ethel, gravely. 
 
 " Now, I fear I have annoyed you ; I did not say 
 I disbelieved in a beginning. But it is a point which 
 I have never taken pains to investigate. There seems 
 
woman's ministry. 233 
 
 no need for it. At all events we will leave Adam, and 
 you shall state your reasons for believing that God 
 has given a revelation, and that the Bible is that re- 
 velation, and how you know it to be authentic," re- 
 plied Raymond. 
 
 " I believe the Bible to be such a revelation as 
 might be expected from the Supreme Being. Its 
 pure, holy, and sublime doctrines are so contrary to 
 what man would inculcate himself. But however 
 sublime or superhuman in its conceptions, and how- 
 ever splendid in its composition, it never could have 
 prospered as it has done, unless God had not only 
 inspired men to write it, but also willed that, under 
 the power of his Spirit, they should receive it as his 
 word. We see how all other systems of religion pass 
 away, but the religion of the Bible is still continuing 
 to spread, age after age, until in the remotest corner 
 of the earth the Gospel is being preached and received 
 among the nations. Compare its success with Maho- 
 medanism. The false prophet conquers by the sword, 
 and compels men to embrace his doctrines on pain of 
 death. Christ sends a few poor fishermen, and in- 
 structs them by his Spirit what to teach and write. 
 They are persecuted and despised, and yet how glo- 
 riously do they conquer by * the sword of the Spirit, 
 which is the word of God!' Could this wonderful 
 success have attended a mere human speculation of a 
 set of impostors ? or could any book of human learn- 
 ing have created such a permanent change?" said 
 Ethel, earnestly. 
 
 " I have an eloquent opponent, I see ; but there 
 are other things required yet to prove it clearly. You 
 have not told me how you know the apostles did 
 really write what is attributed to them," replied 
 Raymond. 
 
234 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " What can be your reason for doubting it ? At 
 all events, if its effects are those I have mentioned, it 
 matters not who wrote the Bible. But we have 
 distinct historical proof that the Bible was written by 
 the very persons whose names it bears. Jews and 
 heathen writers bear testimony to this, as well as 
 Christian historians, and it seems to me as if you 
 would prefer the testimony of the former to the latter," 
 replied Ethel, with a tinge of sarcasm in her manner. 
 
 " No! you really are too hard upon me. You will 
 frighten me into silence. Pray be rather more 
 merciful," replied Raymond, with a good-humoured 
 smile. 
 
 "I must endeavour to be patient, then," replied 
 Ethel, though her smile was rather sad, for she could 
 not jest on such a subject. "Will you tell me, then, 
 as it is distinctly proved from historic evidence that 
 the apostles did really write what is attributed to 
 them, whether it does not naturally follow that the 
 Bible is a divine revelation? Because they tell us 
 plainly what they had seen with their eyes, and their 
 hands had handled ; that they had not followed 
 cunningly-devised fables, but were eye-witnesses of 
 his majesty ; and also that they were taught and 
 inspired to write their testimony. What temptation 
 could the apostles have had to forge such writings 
 and impose them on the world? Were they likely 
 to receive wealth or honours for their reward ? Were 
 they not rather given to understand their lives should 
 be forfeited ? which was literally the case, as I 
 believe all except St. John actually gave up their 
 lives for the cause they espoused. If they had been 
 impostors, why did they not scruple to confess the 
 low origin of their Divine Master, and likewise all 
 their own short-comings and errors ? If they wished 
 
woman's ministry. 23o 
 
 to succeed, why did they not invent doctrines for 
 carnal minds ? why should they strike at the root of 
 men's prejudices and errors, and inculcate tenets so 
 humbling to man's pride of heart ? " 
 
 Ethel paused and glanced a moment at Raymond, 
 his head was resting on his hand, and he was listening 
 with the deepest attention. 
 
 " Do not expect me to answer you. I am not 
 quite prepared to do so. You have more to tell me, 
 I know," he said, seeing she expected a reply. 
 
 Ethel felt painfully embarrassed on finding Ray- 
 mond expected her to continue, for she would now 
 have willingly ceased the discussion altogether ; but as 
 he remained silent she felt obliged to proceed, which 
 she did somewhat hesitatingly with the inquiry: — 
 
 " If the Bible be a mere invention, when was it 
 first palmed on the world ? and if not of God, it must 
 be written by bad men, because they would profess 
 to have seen and heard things they had not. Now 
 the lives of the writers, even according to their ene- 
 mies, were eminently holy ; and they joyfully gave 
 them up for the sake of Him they loved. Then, will 
 you tell me how it is that the different parts of Scrip- 
 ture, written at different times, by different people, 
 are so harmonious and consistent?" 
 
 " There I cannot agree with you. I find several 
 inaccuracies and inconsistencies." 
 
 "Where?" exclaimed Ethel, her cheek slightly 
 flushing. 
 
 " I could mention several. I will give you two. 
 Look at the table of the genealogy of Christ. St. 
 Matthew and St. Luke give different lines of an- 
 cestry." 
 
 "I remember noticing that myself; and instead 
 of burying it in my heart, and trying to doubt about 
 
236 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 it, I took the earliest opportunity of asking an 
 explanation, and then I found how stupid I had 
 been in not perceiving that one was the genealogy of 
 Joseph, the other of Mary, and that St. Luke in 
 recording it speaks of Joseph as the ' supposed ' father 
 of Christ, but gives the descent of the mother as the 
 more important. These are very minor objections, 
 Mr. Raymond." 
 
 "I do not call them so. But my second objection 
 is with regard to a doctrinal point, and of course 
 more important. I cannot believe in everlasting 
 punishment : it seems to me inconsistent with the 
 character of a merciful God, therefore I reject it." 
 
 " But is it not fully deserved by those who live a 
 continued life of sin? We often see in this world 
 punishments which we should consider greater than 
 the offences — one offence visited by a whole life-time 
 of misery. How much more deeply have we sinned 
 in rejecting God's offers of mercy ? It is not as if no 
 chance were given of pardon and restoration, for num- 
 berless are the calls made by him through the con- 
 science. When a man has cast away every offer of 
 mercy, I cannot think it is inconsistent with God's 
 goodness, seeing that he is a God of justice and truth 
 also, that man should reap the penalty of his sins ; 
 nay, his very goodness itself seems to require the 
 marked punishment of transgression, in order to pre- 
 serve the rest of his creatures from sin and misery." 
 
 " I cannot believe it. I know the Bible says it is 
 so, but my heart cannot respond to it. I wish I had 
 faith to believe just what is right; but my mind is a 
 chaos of doubts and difficulties, and I feel every at- 
 tempt to extricate myself only plunges me deeper into 
 a sea of perplexities." 
 
 Ethel's lustrous eyes filled with tears, and one 
 
woman's ministry. 237 
 
 dropped on her hand ere she was aware. Raymond 
 saw it, and it brought a ray of joy to his heart. 
 
 " Bless you for that tear ! I know you feel for me 
 now," he said, fervently. 
 
 " I do, indeed, feel for you. But I am sure you 
 need not despair. If you desire faith, bear in mind 
 this promise : ' If any man lack wisdom let him 
 ask of God, who giveth to all men liberally, and up- 
 braideth not.' God has promised to hear prayer. 
 Ask him to give you faith, and give him no rest 
 until he have mercy upon you," exclaimed Ethel, 
 earnestly ; her eye kindling, her cheeks deepening 
 in colour, and her whole heart thrown into the words 
 she uttered. 
 
 " Oh, that I could ! Will you — I hardly dare ask 
 you — but will you still remember me in your prayers? 
 I dare not ask for myself; I am too sin-stained, too 
 vile to hope," Raymond replied. 
 
 " But Christ came to call sinners to repentance. 
 All are equally sin-laden. My prayers are indeed 
 for you, but they do not lessen the necessity for your 
 own earnest pleading with God." 
 
 " But I cannot — I dare not — tell you now what 
 I really am and feel," Raymond replied. 
 
 And well might he shrink from telling her how 
 far he had suffered his doubts to increase, until he 
 feared he was almost given up to his disbelief in the 
 great God of heaven himself. But he put a powerful 
 constraint on the emotion which oppressed him, and 
 said, more cheerfully : — 
 
 " But do proceed ; I cannot tell you more about 
 myself now ; some other time, perhaps, I may." 
 
 Ethel looked at him with a half-puzzled expression, 
 not understanding what further doubts he could 
 entertain than what had been already expressed, 
 
238 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 considering the earnest desire he evinced to become 
 acquainted with Gospel truth. She then continued: — 
 " The very fact of the confession that you feel 
 yourself a sinner, proves you cannot divest yourself of 
 what the Scriptures have revealed to you. But 
 as revelation shows the disease, so also it shows 
 the remedy, and points to that ' Lamb of God which 
 taketh away the sin of the world.' The Bible suits 
 our wants in everything. Let me tell you what it 
 can do — what I have myself felt and witnessed, young 
 and ignorant as I am," said Ethel, her face glowing 
 with animation. "I have seen the stoniest heart 
 softened by its blessed influence; the proud man made 
 humble and patient; the weak, strong ; the poor, rich 
 in blessing, and contented under trial and privation. 
 Life, which before was a burden, has become a pleasure, 
 The religion of the Bible can soothe a deathbed and 
 light the dreariest dungeon. Its blessed promises can 
 console and cheer under the darkest clouds of sorrow. 
 Believe me, Mr. Raymond, in this wilderness world 
 there are many more bright spots for rest and refresh- 
 ment to the Christian, than for the worldly man. 
 I know — I feel that religion only can make us 
 happy. It only can support us under trial, tempt- 
 ation, and suffering, and make us patient and sub- 
 missive to our heavenly Father's will; and not that 
 alone, but it can make us see the need of trial, and 
 work in us the blessed effects which chastisement is 
 designed to produce." 
 
 Ethel spoke earnestly, and her voice trembled 
 with emotion. 
 
 " And does it give you the peace you enjoy, or 
 seem to enjoy ? for (pardon me for saying it) I know 
 you have trials, and not light ones either, dear Miss 
 Woodville," said Raymond, fixing his brilliant eyes 
 
woman's ministry. 239 
 
 on her with a melting expression of tenderness and 
 sympathy. 
 
 " Yes. Once, before I knew my Bible, I used to 
 
 wish to " (she hesitated, and did not say what she 
 
 intended, but continued hastily) : " now I feel and 
 know everything is right, not one trial too much. 
 You know God thus refines and moulds those he loves 
 in the furnace of affliction. But I ought not to speak 
 of my trials to you," she replied, blushing painfully, 
 knowing she might have to betray more of home life 
 than was right he should know. 
 
 " Would that you only could confide in me ! but, 
 no ! I cannot expect it," said Raymond, hurriedly ; 
 and then he continued : " But do you not think those 
 strong, moral principles, which are implanted in the 
 hearts of all, but are stronger in some people than others, 
 would enable you to bear everything patiently?" 
 
 " Certainly not. I feel it is not so. No moral 
 principles, no education, no natural disposition (how- 
 ever excellent in itself), can ever alter the heart. 
 The person who is influenced by moral obligation is 
 very different to the Christian. There is a coldness 
 and want of energy about him ; while the Christian 
 endures and works solely from love to that precious 
 Saviour, who is the spring of all his happiness." 
 
 " And is the name of Jesus so precious to you, 
 as to inspire all you do, and actuate you to perform 
 good works ? " 
 
 " If I am enabled to perform any, it is for his 
 sake, and from love to him, who has done so much for 
 me," replied Ethel, fervently. 
 
 She was drawn towards Raymond to speak her 
 hidden feelings thus to him. Her reserve was past ; 
 she felt as if speaking to her dearest friend ; and such 
 he was, indeed, though he was not the one who could 
 
240 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 best appreciate her religion : yet he could and did 
 admire her devotion, and envy the calm, trusting 
 faith, which influenced her. 
 
 " Your faith is very firm, Miss Woodville. It 
 must, indeed, give you happiness to possess such con- 
 fiding trust in God. I wish my mind was thus sus- 
 ceptible. But there are such mysterious doctrines in 
 the Bible, I cannot submit my belief to them." 
 
 " But, Mr. Raymond, there is no science in which 
 there is not mystery. Would you, therefore, reject 
 a science, because you cannot perfectly understand it ? 
 You will soon cease to believe in the existence of life 
 itself, in that case. Besides, there is nothing hid 
 which shall not be manifest to us by God's Spirit, 
 if rightly asked." 
 
 " But mysteries in science are not of vital im- 
 portance. There is no need for unbelief there. But 
 questions like this affect us more." 
 
 " The very reason why you should diligently and 
 earnestly seek to be taught of God ; because, if you 
 go on doubting, and are lost at last, how awful it 
 would be ! Ought you not rather to use your utmost 
 diligence to find out the truth ?" 
 
 "But are mysteries revealed? — the doctrine of 
 the Trinity, for instance ? Do you profess to under- 
 stand it?" 
 
 " Not so fully as I shall do, if it is ever my 
 blessed lot to ' know even as I am known ; ' but 
 quite sufficiently to believe it. I remember reading 
 the simple illustration St. Patrick gave to the be- 
 nighted Irish, when the}' required an explanation. 
 He took a shamrock (their favourite emblem), and 
 showed them its three leaves on one stalk — fit emblem 
 of the mystic three in one. The Pagans were then 
 satisfied. Body, soul, and spirit, are three, yet one. 
 
woman's ministry. 241 
 
 I do not think there are any mysteries in the Bible 
 contrary to the evidence of the senses, or inconsistent 
 with the character of God, or not in harmony with 
 nature." 
 
 " You certainly have a very convincing way of 
 placing things ; I wish they came home to my heart 
 as they should do : but perhaps they will some time. 
 Now do go on ; for though I cannot say I am con- 
 vinced, yet I am certainly interested," said Raymond. 
 
 " I should like to ask you another question, if you 
 will allow me ?" inquired Ethel, timidly. 
 
 u Anything you like, with pleasure." 
 
 " Do you think it is the mysteries of the Bible, 
 or the simple truths, which are really the most re- 
 pulsive to you?" Ethel blushed deeply as she 
 spoke. 
 
 " Probably both. I will candidly own, the ex- 
 tremely severe morality enjoined is sometimes very 
 irksome ; I do not like being bound by such obliga- 
 tions.' 
 
 " I feared so. It was to the Jews of old a 
 stumbling-block, and to the Greeks foolishness ! They 
 were too proud to bend beneath the yoke which God 
 willed they should bear. I fear you wish the Bible 
 to be untrue, because its doctrines do not suit your 
 fancy ; if so, unless you determine, by God's help, to 
 resist such desires, they will very shortly gain an 
 ascendancy over you. Believe me, a revelation is not 
 only more than possible, but certain. A wise and 
 holy God, who creates his people for his pleasure, will 
 require their service, and place them under responsi- 
 bility : for this purpose he gives them his word. We 
 should be in total ignorance of the character and 
 attributes of God, if there were no guide for us. 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
242 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 What are the heathen, who have no Bible ? What a 
 low, degrading view they take of the person and attri- 
 butes of their Maker, and the sort of service he 
 requires of them !" 
 
 Ethel stopped for a moment, again surprised at 
 her lengthened speech, and then said fervently : — 
 
 " Forgive me, Mr. Raymond ; I fear you will 
 think I am saying more than I ought to you. I know 
 how ignorant I am, but I do so thoroughly feel in my 
 heart that God's word is true, I cannot help speaking 
 openly. Oh, what would I give if I could convince 
 you the Bible was God's revelation ! " 
 
 " Thank you, thank you for all your goodness to 
 me," exclaimed Raymond ; and then he shaded his 
 face with his hand, and a deep sigh escaped him. 
 With a powerful effort, however, he controlled his 
 emotion, and said in a low voice, " Your evidence is, I 
 admit, good, if I could only believe one thing." 
 
 He did not like to proceed, he could not bear to 
 grieve her. Ethel looked inquiringly at him, and his 
 eye shrunk from meeting hers. 
 
 " I cannot tell you now, some other time I feel I 
 must. But oh, let me hear you speak again," he con- 
 tinued, in an agitated voice. 
 
 Having no idea of his meaning, Ethel proceeded : 
 
 " There are only one or two more things I should 
 like to mention," she said, looking at her watch. 
 " What sort of world would ours be, if every one 
 rejected the Bible ? Would you like society to be 
 composed of unbelievers ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. I am bound to confess, sincere 
 Christians do much good in the world." 
 
 "And can you admit that, and still not wish to 
 become one?" said Ethel, in surprise. 
 
woman's ministry. 243 
 
 " Not at present ; I am not ready yet. What is 
 that book you are examining?" replied Raymond, 
 wishing to change this part of the subject. 
 
 " Layard's 'Nineveh ;' have you read it ?" 
 
 " No ; I am going to do so as soon as possible. It 
 must be very interesting and wonderful, that so many 
 thousand years have passed, and the ruins of that 
 enormous city have remained buried." 
 
 " It is only consistent with revelation. If you feel 
 interested in such discoveries, how much more inter- 
 esting must they be to the Christian, who views in 
 these remains the monuments of God's vengeance in 
 the fulfilment of the prophecies concerning Nineveh ! 
 Is not this a wonderful proof of the truth of God's 
 word?" 
 
 " What are the prophecies you allude to ?" inquired 
 Raymond. 
 
 "I am not quite sure whether I know the exact 
 chapters ; they are in the minor prophets," said Ethel, 
 turning over the leaves of her Bible. " Oh ! here is 
 one. Almost the whole of Nahum relates to Nineveh. 
 She is spoken of as what she was then, and what 
 she would become. There I read, ' She is empty, and 
 void, and waste.' ' Behold ! I will cast abominable 
 filth upon thee, and make thee vile.' ' Thou shalt be 
 hid,' &c. Then, here is another prophecy in Zepha- 
 niah, where God says he * will make Nineveh a deso- 
 lation, and dry like a wilderness. And flocks shall 
 lie down in the midst of her, all the beasts of the 
 nations,' &c. ' Desolation shall be in the thresholds,' 
 &c. ' This is the rejoicing city that dwelt carelessly, 
 that said in her heart, I am, and there is none beside 
 me : how is she become a desolation, a place for beasts 
 to lie down in ! ' &c. Surely God has permitted this 
 long-buried city to be discovered, in order to check 
 
244 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 the rising scepticism of the present day, and more 
 fully establish the truths of his unerring word, by 
 showing how completely prophecy has been fulfilled. 
 And not only this, but the inscriptions which have 
 already been deciphered strongly corroborate many of 
 the Scripture narratives. I could, if there were time, 
 mention many other things, as testimonies of the truth 
 of Scripture. For example : The preservation of the 
 Jews as a distinct people, — their reproach, — and 
 their being made a proverb, and a by -word among all 
 nations. But I cannot go any farther to-day," said 
 Ethel, who every moment expected Miss Grant to 
 make her appearance. 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you for what you 
 have said ; no one could have argued better, I am 
 sure," said Raymond, who heartily believed what he 
 said, because he had never heard any one else speak 
 much of these things. 
 
 " I am very sorry I am so defective. I wish you 
 would go to some really clever person, and hear what 
 he would say on these points," said Ethel, well know- 
 ing that, though Raymond fancied she knew much, 
 and had spoken well, she had failed to convince 
 him. 
 
 " It would be no use. If you cannot convince me, 
 no one else can," he replied, in a mournful voice. 
 
 There was a pause, during which time Ethel 
 perceived he was much agitated. Raymond felt he 
 could not bear to confess his atheistic doubts, which 
 prevented conviction. He durst not meet Ethel's 
 clear, dark eye, which seemed to reproach him for 
 his unbelief. 
 
 " May I propose one more question ?" Ethel asked 
 with some hesitation. 
 
 "Anything you like !" 
 
woman's ministry. 245 
 
 " From your own experience, who do you think is 
 the happier man — the Christian or the infidel?" 
 
 " Christians always say they are the happiest, and 
 look so, too. But I cannot tell why they should be, 
 because belief brings responsibility, and responsibility 
 care and sorrow." 
 
 " But what hope has the unbeliever ? After 
 death he knows not what becomes of him ; he only 
 has hope in this life — no eternal home to look for- 
 ward to in heaven. What a miserable thought ! The 
 Christian knows by the Spirit, which bears witness 
 with his spirit that he is a child of God ; and if a 
 child, then an heir of everlasting glory after death. 
 Do you never wish to be a Christian?" asked Ethel, 
 gently. 
 
 Raymond gave no reply for a moment, but pressed 
 his hand to his forehead, and then said, with a sort of 
 desperation — "I must tell you ; it would be wrong 
 to withhold it any longer. You are the greatest 
 friend I have. Oh ! do not loathe me for what I tell 
 you. I often, very often, have no belief in the exist- 
 ence of a God at all; I find no distinct proof of his 
 existence. How, then, can I be a Christian ? " 
 
 Ethel buried her face in her hands, and burst into 
 tears. It was too much for her. That he who had 
 won her heart's dearest affections should own that he 
 was a disbeliever, struck with a sharper wound than 
 any other trial could have done. Raymond was grieved 
 to see her distress, and heartily wished he had never 
 spoken ; he drew his chair nearer to her, and gently 
 took one of her cold hands in his own. What might 
 have followed it is impossible to say, for words of 
 passionate affection trembled on his lips, when Minnie, 
 who had been out of the room playing with Fido, ran 
 
246 ETHEL ; OK, 
 
 in to say Miss Grant was at the door ; she had seen 
 her from the window. 
 
 Ethel started to her feet, and dashed her tears 
 away. At the same moment Raymond's dog-cart 
 stopped at the door, and the horse was so restive there 
 could be no delay. He clasped both Ethel's hands in 
 his own, while he said, hurriedly : — 
 
 " Do say you will not quite despise me — that you 
 forgive me — that — that — you will pray for me?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed I will ! " she murmured faintly. 
 
 A long, earnest pressure from his hand ; another 
 thrilling look from his lustrous eyes ; and he was 
 gone. 
 
woman's ministry. 247 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " As the Lesbian, in false worship, 
 Hung her harp upon the shrine, 
 When the world lost its attraction, 
 So will I offer mine : 
 
 But in another spirit, 
 
 With a higher hope and aim, 
 And in a holier temple, 
 
 And to a holier name, 
 
 I offer hopes whose folly 
 
 Only after-thoughts can know ; 
 For instead of seeking heaven 
 
 They were chained to earth below. 
 
 Saying, ' Wrong and grief have brought me 
 
 To thy altar as a home ; 
 I am sad and broken-hearted, 
 
 And therefore am I come.' '' — L. E. L. 
 
 There was no time for Ethel to think, for Sally 
 opened the door for Miss Grant as she let Raymond 
 out, " making all one trouble of the thing," as she 
 would have said. It was a dreary evening until after 
 tea ; Ethel's thoughts so continually wandered to 
 Raymond. Miss Grant talked incessantly, making 
 allusions to alterations she should like in the house in 
 a very rude manner, yet in a plausible, ingratiating 
 way peculiarly repulsive to Ethel. Mr. Woodville 
 was angry because Laura was out ; Harry sulky ; 
 
248 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 Minnie troublesome ; and Sally intentionally upset the 
 contents of the cream-jug on Miss Grant's rich new 
 silk dress, which made Mr. Woodville only the more 
 irritable. Miss Grant, however, bore the misfortune 
 with equanimity ; her time for showing her real dis- 
 position was not yet come. After tea, Ethel, knowing 
 her father did not care for her presence, retired with 
 Harry and Minnie. She was unusually negligent ; 
 and her brother spoke rather sharply once or twice, 
 saying that she seemed to have no pleasure in helping 
 him with his lessons, until at length she closed the 
 book wearily, and replied : — 
 
 " Harry, I cannot help you to-night ; I know I 
 am stupid : you must forgive me." 
 
 The warm-hearted boy threw his arms around her, 
 and begged she would not bother herself about him 
 further, hinting that she might well be unhappy. 
 Ethel suffered him to suppose it was grief occasioned 
 by her father's engagement, as she could not tell him 
 what really oppressed her so much. Throwing a shawl 
 round her, she retired to her own cold room, to think 
 over all that had past. What had she said to Ray- 
 mond ? Had all been consistent with her knowledge 
 of God ? had she said too much, or too little ? would 
 Raymond think of it afterwards ? were questions that 
 suggested themselves to her mind. She pondered how 
 she durst have spoken so freely to him, knowing how 
 much more really clever he was than herself ; but it 
 seemed as if the Spirit of God had, as it were, forced 
 her to say the words, and she could not regret they 
 had been spoken. It is thus with Christians ; the pro- 
 mise vouchsafed ages ago has never failed — a mouth 
 and words have been given them to speak in the cause 
 of truth, and they are taught of God in the hour of 
 trial, to " give a reason for the hope that is in 
 
woman's ministry. 249 
 
 them." Had Raymond and Ethel entered into discus- 
 sion on some point of science, the former's superior 
 power would soon have triumphed ; but the worldly- 
 minded man was no match for the earnest, enlightened 
 Christian, whose heart God had opened to the know- 
 ledge of the truth, and who had entirely submitted to 
 the guidance of the Spirit. Raymond was astonished 
 by the weight and force of Ethel's arguments, though 
 clothed in such simple language, and spoken in a dif- 
 fident manner, as if she feared herself unequal to com- 
 bat with him. But his heart, though it yielded homage 
 to her quickness and earnest endeavours to convince 
 him, was not yet softened. His pride was too great ; 
 he could not bear the thought of humbling himself to 
 the meek and lowly doctrines of the Saviour, and there- 
 fore he once more closed his heart against the convic- 
 tion that there is a God which reigneth, and who has 
 given his creatures a revelation of his will, which is 
 binding upon each one of them, and whose precepts, if 
 not followed, will result in everlasting destruction to 
 those who rebel against them. Thus Raymond was 
 thinking, as Ethel, sad and lonely in her own room, sat 
 and sorrowed over his infidelity. Tears of bitter 
 agony stood in her eyes as she thought of him. Some- 
 thing told her then, that his interests were too dear to 
 her, although as a Christian she must grieve for any 
 one who had "erred and strayed" as he had done; 
 yet it was not every one whose unbelief could have 
 filled her heart with such overwhelming sorrow as 
 his. Still she knew not how far her heart had 
 yielded ; how closely linked was his with her earthly 
 happiness ; neither was she aware that she was dearer 
 to him than any other. He sought her friendship ; 
 but he had never spoken of love, and until such a 
 declaration had been made, Ethel never surmised on 
 
2o0 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 the probability of such an alternative being hers, as 
 renouncing her affection, or living a life of pleasure in 
 the society of one who knew not God, and who would 
 lead her astray from the Christian path which it was 
 her highest privilege to pursue. Long she sat, her 
 beautiful dark hair falling over her face, her hands 
 pressed on her throbbing temples, thinking of Ray- 
 mond. She tried to pray, but the creature obtruded 
 itself even in her devotion to the Creator, and wander- 
 ing thoughts of Raymond made her thoughtless of the 
 awful presence in which she knelt. Shocked and 
 alarmed by her forgetfulness, Ethel rose from her 
 knees to descend to supper, with a half-murmured 
 petition on her lips, that these thoughts might not be 
 suffered to obtrude when she next addressed her 
 prayers to heaven. Laura had returned home, but 
 had retired to her own room immediately, and reso- 
 lutely refused to make her appearance at the supper- 
 table. Miss Grant and Mr. Woodville both seemed in 
 high spirits when Ethel entered, and fortunately did 
 not require her to join in the conversation ; neither 
 was her pale, sorrowing expression noticed in their 
 own apparently interesting discourse. 
 
 ^ * # * * * 
 
 " Miss Hackett's love to you, Miss Hethel, and she 
 will be glad to see you to spend the afternoon with 
 her," said Sally, next morning after breakfast. 
 
 " My kind love, and I shall be very glad to come," 
 replied Ethel, who felt she had sadly neglected her 
 kind old friend, during the last few days. 
 
 Several people made their appearance next morn- 
 ing as callers, whose chief design seemed to be to dis- 
 cover how the Misses Woodville liked the idea of a step- 
 mother ; for the news spread quickly, and there was 
 soon circulated in Carysford intelligence of the engage- 
 
woman's ministry. 251 
 
 ment between Miss Grant and Mr. Woodville. Ethel 
 was extremely annoyed by Laura's undisguised ex- 
 pression of feeling to every one respecting her father's 
 marriage ; but it was of no use to give warning glances, 
 Laura took no notice, and abused Miss Grant with the 
 most unrestrained freedom. So the visitors smiled 
 when they left, and said, " Poor girl ! it will be no 
 easy matter for her to live in peace at home ;" while 
 few even pitied Ethel, whose feelings were so power- 
 fully under control that it was impossible to discover 
 whether she disliked the prospect or not. 
 
 Miss Hackett was looking better than usual, though 
 suffering a good deal from asthma, which always 
 attacked her in the winter, and which had been pecu- 
 liarly severe during the present year. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you, my dear ; I began to 
 think your poor old friend had been overlooked in all 
 these strange events which seem to be taking place," 
 she said, when Ethel had comfortably arranged the 
 cushions in her large arm-chair, settled the lap-dog on 
 the sofa, and seated herself on a stool by Miss Hackett's 
 feet. 
 
 "Oh, no! You need never fear me, dear Miss 
 Hackett. I should have come yesterday, but was 
 prevented." 
 
 " I fancied you might feel ashamed to come, my 
 dear." 
 
 "Why?" inquired Ethel, in astonishment. 
 
 " Because you would not like to tell me about what 
 only reached my ears as a fact yesterday ; and I 
 fancied you would feel ashamed to expose your father." 
 
 " We only knew it ourselves a few days ago. I 
 have suspected it long. I had no opportunity of 
 coming before." 
 
 " And how do you like the prospect ?" 
 
252 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " You cannot suppose I feel very happy at the 
 thought. But my father has a right to please himself." 
 
 " In one sense he may have ; but I do not think he 
 is justified in marrying again without some little con- 
 sideration to your feelings. But that is not the point. 
 Ethel, I was your poor mother's friend, and though 
 from her lips a murmur never reached my ear, I know 
 well what her life was — a daily burden. And I 
 know that insinuations about her from Miss Grant 
 poisoned her whole existence. And yet your father 
 can marry your mother's enemy ! Moreover, he be- 
 lieves what she said, I am sure, or he never could 
 have so far forgotten all right feelings," replied Miss 
 Hackett, with some severity. 
 
 " Oh ! don't let us speak of it. I cannot bear it !" 
 Ethel exclaimed, earnestly. 
 
 " Not more than I can help, but I must have your 
 promise to a proposal of mine, and then I will not 
 wound your feelings by further allusions, my poor 
 child. You will have hard work to lead a peaceful 
 life when Miss Grant enters your home. You are too 
 much like your mother in everything to escape her 
 malice. A painful duty is yours ; but I know you will 
 strive to the utmost to do what is right. But circum- 
 stances may occur which will render it really needful 
 that you should leave home ; in that case, dear girl, 
 you must promise me you will come and live with 
 me." 
 
 " Oh ! how kind, how good you are, dear Miss 
 Hackett ! I feel unable to thank you. I certainly 
 will take advantage of your truly kind offer, should it 
 ever be needful. But I hope for brighter days than 
 we yet foresee, and that there will be no necessity 
 to leave home." 
 
 " Well, you will see. Perhaps, after a time, even 
 
woman's ministry. 253 
 
 your father himself may desire it ; then you would not 
 hesitate ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; certainly not." 
 
 " Then remember, whenever you feel it right to 
 leave your present home, there is one here for you, 
 so long as God shall spare my life." 
 
 Ethel could only press her arm round the kind 
 old lady's neck, and murmur some incoherent words, 
 meant for thanks. 
 
 " I wish, dear, it was in my power to do some- 
 thing for you, but my property is entailed on Charles 
 Bevan, as you know, and I have never saved much. 
 Charles is a good man, and will make a proper 
 use of the money ; still, I should have wished to 
 have you comfortably and well provided for in the 
 event of my death : you might need it. Don't speak 
 (she continued, seeing Ethel looked uncomfortable). 
 I want to tell you, while I am on the subject, what I 
 wish you to have. All my jewels and laces you 
 must appropriate to yourself; and these are no incon- 
 siderable quantity, for in my young days I was fond 
 of accumulating such things. I have done with those 
 youthful follies now ; I only desire a crown of glory 
 in my Heavenly Father's kingdom : all other diadems 
 are valueless to me. Just reach that box here, dear. 
 I have had some sort of satisfaction in arranging 
 the brilliants in here for you, and in sorting over 
 my drawers for old treasures of other kinds ; with 
 Susan's help, you shall look at them another day," 
 continued Miss Hackett, selecting a small key from 
 her bunch, and directing Ethel to open the box. 
 
 " Indeed, dear Miss Hackett, I shall like to look at 
 the jewels; if you would not speak of them being mine, 
 I feel — indeed I do — I would much rather never 
 possess them," said Ethel, in a painful, hesitating tone. 
 
254 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " Dear child, don't distress yourself ! These things 
 ought to be thought of and arranged. You know my 
 life is very uncertain, and I wish you to select any 
 that would be useful to you now. There are only a 
 few I wish to retain while I live, for particular 
 reasons." 
 
 " Indeed, dear Miss Hackett, I could not take 
 any conscientiously." 
 
 " Why, my dear ? Do you mean, not while I 
 live? I feel I would much rather know that they 
 were safe in your possession." 
 
 " They are too valuable for me. And — will you 
 forgive me ? I hardly dare say what I think." 
 
 " You may say anything." 
 
 " Will not Mr. Bevan expect them to be reserved 
 for his wife, if he should marry ? " 
 
 " My dear, Charles wishes you particularly to 
 have them. There is no one in the world he likes 
 so well as you. Did you not know that ? " inquired 
 Miss Hackett, looking keenly at Ethel. 
 
 " No, it was quite unknown to me. I am glad 
 he likes me. I always esteemed him very highly for 
 his unwearied kindness and attention to my dear 
 mother when she was ill." 
 
 " Yes, he is an excellent young man ! But do 
 you not like him for his own sake?" Miss Hackett 
 inquired, emphatically. 
 
 Ethel saw, unmistakably, what her friend meant 
 now. She blushed a little, but did not look em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 " I do not think I know his private character so 
 well as his ministerial one ; I have had fewer oppor- 
 tunities of seeing him. I seldom meet him, except 
 here ; and then have had little conversation with him." 
 
 Miss Hackett sighed. 
 
woman's ministry. 255 
 
 " But though you see him seldom, it is not incli- 
 nation which keeps him away from you, I believe," 
 said Miss Hackett. 
 
 Ethel felt very uncomfortable, and gave no reply. 
 
 " I think, Ethel, you would make a very good 
 clergyman's wife ; and I am sure Charles's private 
 character is as excellent as his ministerial one." 
 
 " I dare say it is. But I should not like to be 
 a clergyman's wife — the responsibility is so very 
 great. If I marry at all, I should prefer being a 
 layman's wife ; " and as she spoke, unconsciously 
 Ethel thought of Raymond. 
 
 She felt angry with herself, and a blush rose at 
 the thought ; and she was not sorry to have to rise 
 at that moment to pour out the tea, which old Susan 
 had just brought in. 
 
 It was very evident what Miss Hackett desired — 
 a union between Ethel and her favourite nephew and 
 heir. This Ethel was unprepared to expect, and 
 sorry to have unintentionally wounded Miss Hackett's 
 feelings. 
 
 She did not allude to the subject again, but, after 
 tea, returned to the jewels, insisting on Ethel choosing 
 something for herself. 
 
 Ethel refused, until Miss Hackett grew almost 
 offended ; and then she chose a pearl brooch, as being 
 the plainest thing she could think of. 
 
 " Pearls, to me, are the prettiest ornaments. I 
 was reading sometime ago, in reference to them, that 
 they are the only gems which do not require the 
 hand of man to cut and polish them before their pure 
 beauty appears. They are taken from their ocean- 
 bed, perfect and ready for the setting, while all other 
 gems require art to make them shine, and display 
 their radiance. This, I dare say, is the reason why 
 
256 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 the Gospel is called the l pearl of great price ; ' be- 
 cause, pure and lovely, it requires no human skill to 
 enhance its beauty," said Miss Hackett, putting the 
 brooch on one side. 
 
 " What a beautiful idea ! Now, shall I lock the 
 box again ? " said Ethel. 
 
 Miss Hackett still retained a pretty ruby bracelet 
 in her hand, and sighed as she gave it to Ethel to 
 replace in the box. 
 
 " I was thinking of him who gave me that 
 bracelet. He was my first, my only love ! You 
 never knew, perhaps, that I was to have been 
 married to a young man of good family and ex- 
 pectations. I dare say you thought your old maiden 
 friend's heart had no story. But the effects have 
 never passed quite away," said Miss Hackett, with 
 feeling. 
 
 " Will you tell me about it, if it does not distress 
 you ? " Ethel inquired. 
 
 " It is no long story, and no new one, my dear. 
 I was about nineteen when I became engaged, with 
 my parents' consent, to one who had won my affec- 
 tion. He was handsome and dashing, and had a con- 
 siderable degree of what I should call wildness now, 
 but which only fascinated my girlish fancy the more. 
 I loved him with all the intensity of which my heart 
 was capable. He was a great hunter; always the 
 first and foremost in the most daring exploits of the 
 chase ; and had had many a marvellous escape, which 
 seemed only to make him more careless and defiant. 
 It wanted but a few days to our marriage, when he 
 went out to hunt with several friends who were with 
 us ; but, before night, they brought him home dying 
 from the effects of a fall. His own favourite hunter 
 had thrown him with violence to the ground when 
 
woman's ministry. 257 
 
 taking an unsuccessful leap, and had, in struggling, 
 given him so terrific a blow on the head, as to ex- 
 tinguish all hope of life. He just knew me, and spoke 
 a word of love to my sorrowing heart, and then closed 
 his eyes and died. My reasoning powers gave way ; 
 and for some months I was deprived of my senses. 
 When I regained my health, my character seemed 
 changed. I was no longer a girl. I was in feeling 
 an old woman. My affections were blunted, and all 
 my earthly happiness quenched. It was not a sanc- 
 tified affliction at first ; but as years have passed over 
 me, I have learnt more and more to thank God for 
 the trial. I never felt disposed to marry after, though 
 my parents were frequently anxious I should do so; 
 but I felt I had not the affection to bestow, which 
 a wife should bear to her husband. And so, you see, 
 I have remained an old maid ; and I may say, for many 
 years, a very happy one ! Your dear mother's friend- 
 ship, and my affection for you, have brightened my 
 life more than I can tell you, and what good I have 
 been able to do in the world has constituted my 
 earthly happiness ; and I trust now I am looking 
 forward to a better country more than I ever did 
 before, and feeling a quiet peace in the prospect of 
 dying, which in my young days, and the years of 
 my earthly sorrow, I did not experience. And now, 
 dear, we will dismiss these subjects, and you shall 
 read to me a little before my nephew comes, for I 
 expect him this evening." 
 
 Before, however, they were able to begin Mr. 
 Bevan made his appearance, much to Miss Hackett's 
 gratification. Ethel felt disposed to be annoyed, after 
 the old lady's allusions to her nephew. She had 
 many times before seen Mr. Bevan at Miss Hackett's, 
 but now she felt embarrassed and uncomfortable in his 
 
 vol. i. s 
 
258 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 presence. He had never, it is true, paid her any at- 
 tention beyond what mere civility required ; and yet 
 she felt more than afraid Miss Hackett must have some 
 good reason for going so far as she had done, when 
 mentioning their names together. Mr. Bevan seemed 
 rather nervous, as he seated himself by his aunt and 
 inquired kindly after her health : but the old lady soon 
 made the stiffness wear off by her genial manner and 
 conversation, and Ethel, in spite of herself, liked the 
 rest of the evening. At length, the cake and wine 
 made their appearance, and also a message from Sally, 
 to say she was waiting to accompany Miss Ethel home. 
 Mr. Bevan, however, persisted in escorting her also, 
 notwithstanding Ethel's repeated assurance that Sally's 
 protection was quite sufficient ; and Miss Hackett 
 encouraged her nephew to persevere. Sally walked 
 behind, with an immense umbrella, in the dignity of 
 wounded feeling, that " Miss Hethel " had not thought 
 her sufficient company. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Miss Hethel," she said, as she 
 closed the hall-door with a loud noise, after the inno- 
 cently-offending Mr. Bevan had departed. " I'm hallus 
 like a sincere body, you know, and I could like to tell 
 you a bit o' my mind." 
 
 "Well, come into the kitchen then, for I am very 
 cold, and I suppose papa is in the dining-room." 
 
 "What I want to say, is this — there's an old say- 
 ing as is, ' it's good to have two strings to one's bow ;' 
 but though it may be good i' some ways, it don't hold 
 good to men. I'm like surprised at you, Miss Hethel, 
 allowing two young men to be dangling after you ! it's 
 worse nor Miss Laura (only for sure there's more follers 
 you nor her). There's that young man from t' Hall, 
 I dare bet all Jonas's cream-cheeses, comes for naught 
 but to see you; and you know it too. Miss Minnie's only 
 
woman's ministry. 259 
 
 a make-believe ; he purtends to like to pet her, and all 
 t'while it's you he's after. I know well enough, I can 
 see as far through a stone wall as any one. Well then, 
 here's this here parson is just in t' same way. Now you 
 see, Miss Hethel, about t' bow-strings. If you have two 
 sweethearts at once, ye're sure to get wrong, for they'll 
 one crack t'other, and ye'll miss t' mark of matrimony 
 between 'urn. So make choice and send t'other away; 
 and if you take my hadvice, you'll take t' young man 
 from t' Hall : he's worth his thousands, and he's a deal 
 'andsomer nor t'parson, and t'finest figure as ever were 
 see'd. I sure I see'd him ride past in his rud (red) hunt- 
 ing coat, hon t'beautifullest 'orse t'other day, and I 
 thinks to myself, that's man for our Miss Hethel, he's 
 fair like a king. Now I never let but one court me 
 in all my born days, and that was Jonas, and he's been 
 a rare faithful fellow. I hallus said tull 'urn if they 
 was coming after me, ' Ye may go away, I'll hae nowt 
 to do wi' you,' and it soon settled 'uin. Now there 
 was poor Priscella Nelson (t' girl as lived here afore 
 Jane), she had like four as came to see her. I had- 
 vised her same as I do you, Miss, to keep but one, 
 and she only did love one on 'urn, only she kept t'other, 
 as all for fun. But, enow, they finds it out, and 
 one says, ' I'll not come because that lad comes to 
 see her,' and another t'same, while they all went, and 
 she's never had t' chance o' being wed sin' as I've 
 heard on. Now, just don't be angered at my bold- 
 ness, Miss Hethel ; I'm a deal holder than you, and 
 ye're own mother's gone, so ye need a little had- 
 vice now and then!" concluded Sally, who had de- 
 livered her oration with great animation. It was with 
 difficulty Ethel could restrain her inclination to laugh, 
 but fearful of hurting Sally's feelings she looked 
 grave. 
 
260 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 "Thank you, Sally: I am sure you mean well: 
 but I have no reason to suppose either of the gentle- 
 men have any feeling for me, and Mr. Be van only 
 thought it his duty to see me home, that was all." 
 
 "Duty, indeed! A queer kind of duty," said Sally, 
 with supreme contempt. "Pray wasn't I sufficient 
 pertection for two hundred yards; I, as is turned fifty? 
 As if I'd ever let you be carotted, when I walked 
 straight behind with a humberella, ready to fight if 
 any one melled* on us ! I hallus liked that parson 
 afore, but I don't think I'se go to his church again. 
 I'll go to St. John's t' next Sunday," said Sally, seizing 
 a cloth, and lashing various articles of furniture in her 
 excitement. 
 
 " Nonsense, Sally ! He meant no insult to you ! 
 Just stir the fire into a blaze, will you?" 
 
 Sally plunged the poker into the fire in a most 
 energetic manner, as if punishing Miss Ethel's un- 
 fortunate protector. 
 
 "There, there; that will do, Sally! you'll poke it 
 out. Have you heard anything of Jonas lately?" 
 Ethel inquired, to change the conversation. 
 
 " No, I haven't ! But I've almost a mind to forbid 
 t' banns myself." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " Matter enough ! He never sent that cream- 
 cheese as I got of him for you ! So I sent off a bit 
 of a note by Jem Wilson this morning, to tell him, 
 I considered he'd behaved shameful, and if he didn't 
 send one to-night by Jem, I'd not wed him!" said 
 Sally, poking the fire again furiously. 
 
 " Perhaps that's James Wilson come back! I hear 
 a knock at the back door ! " said Ethel, hurrying away. 
 
 * Touched, so as to annoy. 
 
woman's ministry. 261 
 
 She heard Sally, however, receive a message in Jem's 
 voice, to the effect that Jonas had sent some thing?, 
 and he would come and see her to-morrow. 
 
 " He needn't to trouble hisself ; I've enough work 
 to do without his bother. And now Jem, my lad, bring 
 t' eggs right to-morrow, and I'll give you summut 
 hextra. Good-night ! " and then Ethel heard the 
 kitchen-door closed. 
 
 "Miss Hethel, you're wanted, please," said Sally, 
 presently opening the dining-room door, where Ethel 
 had retired. 
 
 " Just read me this here bit of a note if you can. 
 I never see'd suchan a writer in all my born days!" 
 said Sally, handing Ethel a very soiled letter, plastered 
 down with sealing wax, on which the impression of 
 Jonas's broad thumb was distinctly visible. 
 
 " But am I to hear all the secrets ? " 
 
 " Yes, for sure we ha'e none ! We're not like 
 children." 
 
 " My deer salli " 
 
 "What does t' man mean ? I hisn't his yet ! Go on, 
 Miss Hethel, please." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 " this comes hopping to find you wel as it 
 
 liefs me at present i send you a creme chese and to 
 fools (fowls) which i hops you will except from me for 
 miss ethel as you har so fond of it was you as forgot 
 t' creme chese that day not me salli we has got our 
 names down to be asked at church next Sunday we 
 was killing to pigs to day and i send you some spar 
 rib by jem i hop you har all well and most miss ethel 
 and t' little un (the little one) i can't rite much been 
 no scollard so farewel from your haffectionate Jonas 
 Boothe i shall come to see you to morrer" 
 
 This singular epistle was without stop throughout, 
 
262 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 and Ethel had much difficulty in making out the sense 
 of the sentences ; but Sally seemed quite satisfied. 
 
 "Ye see t' man's no learning, Miss Hethel — I'se 
 have to learn him a bit by-and-by. But he's like a 
 kind 'art. Now let's see what t' man's sent." 
 
 Sally lifted a cloth as white as snow from the 
 basket, and displayed the fowls and a large piece of 
 spare rib. 
 
 " How very kind of Jonas! Sally, you must tell 
 me when he comes to-morrow; I should like to thank 
 him myself," said Ethel. 
 
 " I sure, he'll be fair set up if you do. He's right 
 fond of you, and often tells me ye're a bonnie lass." 
 
 " I am much obliged for his good opinion, I am 
 sure. It really is very late, I must go now. Good- 
 night, Sally," said Ethel. 
 
 " Good-night, Miss, and ye'll maybe heed me 
 about sweethearts," was the reply. 
 
woman's ministry. 263 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " You know not when 
 A woman gives away her heart! At times she knows it not 
 
 herself — 
 Insensibly it goes from her ! She thinks she hath it still — 
 If she reflects — while smoothly runs the course 
 Of wooing; hut if haply comes a check — an irrevocable — a 
 
 final one, 
 Aghast — forlorn — she stands to find it lost, and with it all the 
 
 world." — Sheridan Knowles. 
 
 Christmas came — the time which, of all seasons of 
 the year, should be the most joyous. But it brought 
 no gladness to the sorrowful hearts of Laura and 
 Ethel Woodville. The usual festivities — Christmas 
 good-wishes and gifts, blazing fires, roast beef, plum- 
 pudding, yule-logs, &c. — had been gone through as 
 usual ; but still it was a gloomy time : for, much to 
 the astonishment and grief of his daughters, Mr. Wood- 
 ville had the evening before announced his intention 
 of being married on New-year's day, accompanied by 
 the emphasised words, 'he could not wish to begin 
 the new year in a more profitable manner.' Laura 
 and Ethel sat by the fire in the afternoon, the former 
 in a sort of stupefied wretchedness, the latter but too 
 keenly alive to the misery of their position. Every 
 one seemed unhappy, though it was Christmas-day ; 
 even little Minnie had grown weary of distributing 
 her halfpence to the usual applicants, and returned 
 the bag to Sally, saying she was tired, and she might 
 
264 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 give the rest. She joined her sisters in the dining- 
 room, and seated herself silently on a little stool at 
 Ethel's feet, then, resting her little head on her 
 favourite sister's knee, she soon fell asleep. 
 
 A long silence between Laura and Ethel was 
 broken at length by the former. 
 
 " It is too bad, too cruel to our mother's memory, 
 to marry within the year after her death! I had not 
 thought papa could have been so heartless. Then, to 
 think of you and I being the chief bridemaids ! I 
 never shall hold her gloves and bouquet. I cannot — 
 I will not submit to it. How abominable of papa to 
 insist on our being bridemaids at all ! " exclaimed Laura, 
 who had that morning been compelled (notwithstanding 
 her repeated refusal) to promise to perform the un- 
 welcome office to her own gentle mother's enemy. 
 
 Ethel made no reply. Her own heart but too well 
 echoed Laura's sentiments ; but it was of no use ex- 
 pressing her feelings, it only made Laura more pre- 
 judiced. 
 
 " I never spent such a wretched Christmas-day in 
 all my life before," continued Laura, rising, and looking 
 out on the dreary weather without. 
 
 ' The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; 
 It rains, and the wind is never weary.' 
 
 My life is cold, and dark, and dreary, I am sure," 
 murmured Laura, mournfully, quoting fragments from 
 Longfellow's beautiful poem, " The Rainy Day." 
 
 " ' Be still, sad heart! and cease repining ; 
 Behind the clouds the sun's still shining.' " 
 
 " I like Cowper's version of the same idea better, 
 almost — 
 
 ' Behind a frowning providence 
 He hides a smiling face,' 
 
woman's ministry. 265 
 
 though, perhaps, not clothed in such beautiful lan- 
 guage. I sometimes think, dear Laura, this trial will 
 not be so bad after all to bear: the expectation is 
 often worse than the reality," whispered Ethel, 
 kindly. 
 
 " No expectation can be half so bad as the reality 
 of this will be, I know. Believe me, Ethel, I dream of 
 it at nights, and think of it every hour of the day. 
 That insinuating smile of Miss Grant's seems changed 
 to one of fiend-like expression. Oh, what a miser- 
 able existence we shall have! I wish we were both 
 married, and delivered from these vexations." 
 
 " No, Laura, I do not. If it were right we should 
 escape this* trial, some way would be opened for us, 
 without our devising means. If we were married 
 there would still be something to contend with. As 
 the poem we have just quoted, says, 
 
 ' Into each life some rain must fall.' 
 
 Every station has some difficulty which requires re- 
 tion." 
 
 But not equally hard to bear. That is im- 
 possible. Now take the case of Ada Raymond. Has 
 she a trouble? Her brother dotes upon her, gives her 
 all she wants ; she does what she likes, and has what 
 she likes. Or Raymond himself, where are his trials? 
 Rich, handsome, and universally sought and admired, 
 what has he to distress him ? And now compare our 
 lot with the Raymonds'. We have not one thing to 
 make us happy as it is, and further misery in antici- 
 pation. The sun always shines bright on some people, 
 while ours is hid behind a dark cloud." 
 
 "I do not mean to say, Laura, that all have an 
 equal amount of sorrow in the world. But I know 
 that ' there is a skeleton in every house.' People 
 
266 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 who outwardly have the most to make them happy 
 frequently know the least how to enjoy their com- 
 forts. Depend upon it, if people have no real trials, 
 they make trials for themselves. Such a thing as 
 perfect happiness can never be known so long as we 
 remain in this sinful world. If it were so, our hearts 
 would cling too much to earth, and would forget the 
 better things which are prepared for the righteous in 
 heaven. In mercy, therefore, our heavenly Father 
 has seen fit to mix in the cup of happiness some bitter 
 dregs, that we may be drawn to look up to our home 
 in heaven, where neither sin nor sorrow can come. 
 And you know, dear Laura, whatever we bear in this 
 life is in consequence of our sins, and that if we 
 never had any happiness here at all, it would only be 
 a just punishment for our many transgressions. I do 
 not think you would believe the Raymonds happy if 
 you knew their private life ; I know they have trials, 
 and not light ones either," said Ethel, earnestly, as 
 she remembered Ada's struggles to press onward in 
 the way of righteousness, and her knowlege of her 
 brother's carelessness in religion. While Raymond 
 himself — oh ! what was their misery to his, who 
 doubted of hope in Christ, and believed in no here- 
 after? How could he help being a miserable man? 
 
 " Well, I do not know, Ethel. The Raymonds 
 must be among those people who make their own 
 troubles, then. I am sure if I lived at Thurlston, and 
 had all their means of pleasure, I should be happy." 
 
 " No, Laura, you would not. Even when you had 
 attained, as it would seem, the summit of your am- 
 bition, there would always be something out of your 
 reach that you would wish still to possess. It is one 
 of the faults of human nature to be desiring more 
 than is bestowed. The Christian's highest ambition 
 
woman's ministry. 267 
 
 is to be with God, and he is ever striving to be meet 
 for such an honour ; thus he is contented with what 
 is given here, knowing there will be fulness of joy 
 hereafter. Not so those whose hope is in the world ; 
 they never can feel satisfied, and will be always 
 striving to attain some object of pleasure which is not 
 within reach. With regard to the Raymonds, I do 
 not think they could come under your censure; they 
 do not make their trials, they have others which few 
 know. We must not always judge people who appear 
 outwardly prosperous." 
 
 " But no one has so many as we have," remarked 
 Laura, petulantly. 
 
 " You are very much mistaken. If we look 
 round, we shall readily find some one very much 
 worse than we are. I do not mind what the sta- 
 tion or circumstances may be, there are always in- 
 stances of those who suffer more. How many poor 
 creatures are homeless and penniless, without i'riends 
 or food, while we have all these in abundance, and 
 numerous other mercies, for which we ought indeed 
 to be thankful. I wish I could persuade you, dear 
 Laura, to view this trial of patience as coming from 
 God, and really for our good." 
 
 " It is no use ; I cannot see it. I get worse 
 and worse the more I think about it. I will not bear 
 it. I shall not stay here a day longer than I can 
 help," said Laura, impatiently, rising and leaving the 
 room, to indulge in solitude the feelings of misery 
 which oppressed her, and which she made no effort to 
 subdue. 
 
 When the Raymonds (who had been from home 
 since Ethel's conversation with Herbert) returned, 
 and heard of Mr. Woodville's marriage being fixed for 
 New-year's-day, Ada at once sent for Minnie to come 
 
268 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 and stay with them until it was over. Ethel felt the 
 kind thought of this offer very much, as she had so 
 much preparation (in which Laura, of course, took no 
 share), that it was a relief to have Minnie taken care 
 of. Minnie at first seemed afraid to go from home 
 alone, but Raymond came himself to fetch her in the 
 carriage with Ada, and her affection for him partly 
 reconciled her to the idea of separation from Ethel. 
 She had also the prospect of seeing her sister in a few 
 days, as the Woodvilles were to dine at Thurlston a 
 day or two previous to the marriage. When the 
 evening arrived, however, Ethel tried to excuse 
 herself from joining the party, she felt so wearied 
 with all the business she had gone through ; but 
 Mr. Woodville, who, more than ever, suspected Ray- 
 mond's admiration for Ethel, would hear of no refusal, 
 and Ethel submitted, with a half-feeling of pleasure, 
 at the necessity which compelled her to go where she 
 met such kind friends. 
 
 Minnie was in wild spirits, and delighted to see 
 Ethel, with a great deal to tell her. How kind all 
 were to her ! What very nice things there were at 
 Thurlston ! — a peacock, and a large dog in the yard, 
 which Mr. Raymond took her to see every morning, 
 besides a pair of ring-doves in Miss Raymond's 
 boudoir. Then she was allowed to sit up later at 
 night than at home, and Mr. Raymond always told 
 her a story while she sat on his knee ; and it was 
 such a nice large house, and she might run all over it, 
 &c. &c. Every one seemed to love the child ; even 
 the stately Lady Harcourt told Ethel what " a pretty, 
 fascinating little thing she was, and so obedient, they 
 should all be sorry to lose her." 
 
 Ethel could not but thank Raymond for his kind- 
 ness towards her little sister, even while making 
 
woman's ministry. 269 
 
 himself agreeable to his guests. When dinner was 
 announced, he opened a cabinet of curiosities for her 
 amusement while they were away, which afforded 
 intense delight to Minnie, who discovered some very 
 tiny specimens of the crab species, which she seemed 
 never tired of examining. When the ladies returned 
 to the drawing-room, Minnie was still there, and not 
 disposed to leave the cabinet ; so Ethel and Ada 
 seated themselves near her, a little apart from the 
 rest of the company. Here they were joined by 
 Raymond, as soon as the gentlemen entered the room. 
 He was unusually silent, and Ethel noticed his eye 
 constantly riveted upon her, with an expression of 
 sadness and yet inquiry. A feeling of discomfort 
 took possession of her, she knew not why ; but she 
 dared not meet his dark, speaking eye : she was 
 agitated, and spoke with a nervous hesitation, very 
 unusual to her in common conversation. 
 
 " Oh ! I forgot to tell you before : you have heard 
 me speak of Julia Melville, a friend I had in London," 
 said Ada, soon after Herbert joined them. 
 
 " Yes ! She was quite a belle : was she not ?" 
 " She was. But you know I used to think her 
 very much inclined to be serious ; and now I feel 
 so grieved to hear she is going to marry the Hon. Mr. 
 Calcot, such a wild, worthless young man. I am sure 
 he will lead her astray. I cannot think what has 
 induced her to love him !" 
 
 Raymond looked angry, and he said coldly, " You 
 are uncharitable, Ada. I know Calcot better than 
 you. He may be a little too fond of betting, and so 
 on, but he is a good-natured fellow notwithstanding ; 
 and Miss Melville will be a happy wife, I have no 
 doubt." 
 
270 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 " Oh, but, Herbert ! he is really so very worthless 
 and irreligious. Now, Ethel, do you not think it is a 
 pity ?» 
 
 " Certainly. I do not see how she can expect to 
 be happy," Ethel replied. But a cold shudder passed 
 over her as she spoke. Ada's words had been uttered 
 without any thought of the construction they might 
 bear, and she little knew the effect they produced. 
 Just then, Ada left them to speak to Lady Harcourt, 
 and Raymond took her vacant seat. He turned 
 eagerly to Ethel, and said, in an agitated voice : — 
 
 " You will not — you cannot mean to do a man the 
 injustice of supposing he would not make a kind 
 husband, because he was not precisely what would be 
 called religious ? For Heaven's sake, Miss Woodville, 
 tell me if you could make that a consideration ? " 
 
 Ethel was startled : her whole frame trembled 
 internally with the conflicting emotions which agi- 
 tated her. 
 
 How quick is thought ! In a moment the spell 
 was broken — the veil taken from her eyes. She 
 knew their mutual love, and understood Raymond's 
 implied meaning. It was now as if the frail thread 
 of her earthly happiness was snapped asunder — 
 the whole world seemed not to contain a pleasure 
 she could ever enjoy again. Her face grew pale, her 
 lips trembled so dreadfully, she could not speak for 
 what seemed an age to Raymond. But the reply 
 came at last, firmly and calmly spoken, " Can you 
 doubt it?" 
 
 It was some comfort to him to know that her 
 agitation was not the result of mere nervousness, for 
 he saw she suffered as he did himself. 
 
 "But if you knew all — knew how I love you — 
 
woman's ministrt. 271 
 
 how precious your happiness is to me — how I would 
 make any sacrifice — do anything to call you mine, 
 it would have some weight with you ? " 
 
 "I could not — I dare not!" Ethel murmured; 
 and, as she spoke, Ada's cheerful voice again fell on 
 her ears. 
 
 " Here I am once more. Ethel, how dreadfully 
 ill you look ! " she exclaimed, in alarm. 
 
 " Oh ! hush, please ! Let me go up-stairs with 
 you. I shall be better directly," Ethel said, in a 
 trembling voice. 
 
 She hardly knew how she walked across the long 
 drawing-room ; and it was an intense relief to find 
 herself laid on a couch in Ada's room, while the kind 
 girl stood over her, bathing her temples with Eau de 
 Cologne. Its soothing effect a little numbed the pain 
 of the severe shock she had undergone. 
 
 " I am better now, Ada !" she said, attempting to 
 rise, having succeeded in overcoming her emotion. 
 
 " No ; you must not move for some time yet. Tell 
 me what caused this faintness, dear : was the room 
 too warm ?" inquired Ada, affectionately. 
 
 " Oh, no ; it was not that. Do not speak about 
 it, please !" Ethel said, hiding her face in her hands. 
 
 " I will not, if you do not wish it. But I fear, 
 dear, you have had much to go through lately. You 
 do not know how we have felt for you. We never 
 liked Miss Grant, she seems so insincere ; and we 
 have dreaded that Mr. Wood vi lie would marry her," 
 said Ada, putting her arm round Ethel, who was 
 sitting up now. Her head drooped on Ada's shoulder, 
 and tears fell thick and fast. 
 
 " It is a trial to us, because we are none of us very 
 fond of Miss Grant ; but my father and she are much 
 attached to each other, and therefore there is no 
 
272 etiiel ; or, 
 
 just reason why the marriage should not take place," 
 murmured Ethel, in her heart feeling how light was 
 the trial of having Miss Grant for her step-mother 
 compared with the thought of loving and being be- 
 loved by Raymond, and yet to feel an insurmountable 
 barrier preventing their union. 
 
 " But you may be freed from this trial, Ethel. 
 You will, perhaps, find a home elsewhere, where all 
 will love you and try to make you happy." 
 
 There was a sparkle in Ada's clear dark eye, and 
 a blitheness in her voice, the reason of which Ethel 
 but too well understood. 
 
 " No ; never for me now," she said, sadly, and 
 again the feeling of faintness overpowered her, and 
 she was obliged to lie down. 
 
 Ada did not speak again, and after some time they 
 descended to the drawing-room, Ethel having once 
 more mastered the painful emotion. Raymond was 
 standing near the door in a sort of listless attitude, 
 professedly entertaining a lady ; but the case was 
 reversed, for the lady had all the conversation, and 
 monosyllables were the only replies she obtained. 
 Ethel caught his eye for a moment, and it spoke more 
 than words could have done, the intense suffering he was 
 enduring. Lady Harcourt rallied Ada and Ethel on 
 their friendship, not knowing how ill Ethel had been, 
 and then pressed her to sing, remarking how much 
 she had heard of her performance from both her son 
 and daughter. Ethel earnestly pleaded her inability, 
 and again caught the expression of Raymond's sad- 
 dened countenance, which made her voice falter as 
 she begged to be excused. But Mr. Woodville had 
 heard Ethel asked, and without consulting her feelings 
 for a moment, requested she would comply, in a tone 
 which Ethel knew boded angry feelings if not attended 
 
woman's ministry. 273 
 
 to ; so she sat down to the piano. Her hand trembled 
 as she took off her glove, and very low were the tones 
 of the instrument as she played the symphony of the 
 simplest song she had brought with her. Her voice 
 was husky and tremulous as she sang the first few 
 bars, still she might have managed to the end if the 
 well-known hand of Raymond had not been stretched 
 out to turn over the music for her. This was too 
 much. She had been unconscious he was standing 
 behind her. Completely overpowered, her voice gave 
 way, and she felt she could not manage another note. 
 Rising hastily she murmured an apology to Lady 
 Harcourt, who said kindly that she was very sorry 
 she had pressed the point — she must, in return, beg 
 Ethel to pardon her want of consideration. 
 
 " Oh, Ethel ! here are some fortune-cards I found 
 to-day, and the poetry is so pretty; you must try 
 one of them," said Ada, as Ethel joined her at the 
 table. 
 
 Ethel drew one mechanically. 
 
 "What is it?" said Ada, bending over her and 
 reading it in a low voice. 
 
 " Oh ! banish the thoughts which enchain thee 
 
 As if by enchantments, ere yet 
 The probe of reality pain thee 
 
 With pangs thou mayest never forget : 
 And turn from the false visions teeming 
 
 With death to thy fortunes and thee, 
 Thou shall gain what the world cannot render 
 
 Of peace, and delight, and repose ; 
 And a warm heart's devotion shall tender 
 
 Affection's soft balm for thy woes." 
 
 " Not quite satisfactory, Ethel. Try again," Ada 
 said, handing her the packet. 
 
 "No, thank you. There is something I like in 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
274 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 my fortune, though not altogether bright," Ethel said, 
 with a half sigh. 
 
 " Will you allow me to see what you like, Miss 
 Woodville ?" said the deep tones of Raymond's voice. 
 
 She handed him the card in silence, and he gave 
 her his, and added in a low tone, " Perhaps mine is 
 but too true." 
 
 Ethel read eagerly, — 
 
 " Thy fairest hopes shall perish, 
 
 Thy clearest dreams depart, 
 The love which thou shalt cherish 
 
 Shall feed upon thy heart ; 
 Thy brow shall be o'ershaded 
 
 By darkness and despair, 
 And thy pleasant smile be faded 
 
 Before the frown of care — 
 Unless from pleasure's trance thou wake, 
 And error's widening paths forsake." 
 
 " But there is a remedy in the last two lines," 
 Ethel said, finding him again at her side. 
 
 " But it relates to the future. The present! how 
 can I bear it ?" 
 
 Ethel was silent. There was a tone of such a 
 concentrated feeling of sorrow in the words, she had 
 no voice to reply. Just then Laura approached to 
 tell Ethel their carriage was ready, it was time to go. 
 As soon as Ethel had spoken to Sir Charles and Lady 
 Harcourt, and received a warm pressure from Ada's 
 hand, Raymond, without noticing Laura, offered his 
 arm to Ethel ; her shawl was in the library, and 
 while the maid assisted Laura, he lifted Ethel's gently 
 over her shoulders, and then, suffering Laura and her 
 father to precede them, he said in a low voice, as they 
 passed slowly through the hall, "I fear I have un- 
 nerved you by the involuntary confession of my 
 
woman's ministry. 275 
 
 attachment. I had not meant to have said so much 
 in such a place ; but if you have any compassion for 
 me, let me see you again. I have much to tell you." 
 
 "Indeed I cannot promise. I am engaged for 
 some days," said Ethel, hurriedly. 
 
 " I know you are until after the marriage ; but 
 then you will be at liberty." 
 
 " Indeed it is better we should not meet again. 
 My answer must be what I before told you," replied 
 Ethel. 
 
 " And do you despise me so much as to deny me 
 this request?" he said, in a constrained voice. 
 
 " Oh, no ! far from that," Ethel replied. 
 
 "Then you must not deny me. Ethel — dear 
 Ethel — you cannot tell all I feel for you," he said. 
 
 She felt him take her hand and press it tenderly. 
 How could she withdraw it, feeling but too well how 
 her heart echoed a reply ? There had been some slight 
 delay about the carriage, which had occasioned them 
 to withdraw from the draught of the door, and enabled 
 Raymond to say all he had done ; but Mr. Woodville 
 had now handed Laura in, and Ethel was ready to 
 step forward. 
 
 " Then I shall see you ?" were Raymond's parting 
 words. 
 
 " It will be of no use. I dare not change," was 
 Ethel's reply. 
 
 Another pressure of her hand and Raymond stepped 
 back into the hall. The servant closed the door, and 
 they drove away. 
 
276 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " Leave me ! thou comest between my heart and heaven ; 
 I would he still, in voiceless prayer to die. 
 Why must our souls thus love, and then he riven ? 
 Return ! thy parting wakes my agony ! Oh ! yet awhile 
 delay ! " — Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 " By thy meek Spirit, Thou, of all that e'er have mourned the 
 chief — 
 Thou, Saviour ! if the stroke must fall, hallow this grief." 
 
 Idem. 
 
 " When afflictions cloud my sky, when the tide of sorrow flows. 
 When thy rod is lifted high, let me on thy love repose: 
 Stay thy rough wind when the chilling eastern blows." 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
 All seemed a dream of hopeless misery, from which 
 she had no power to awake : this was the feeling of 
 Ethel, as she ascended to her own room on returning 
 from Thurlston. It was a bitter thought, that in her 
 forgetfulness of duty she had destroyed Raymond's 
 happiness as well as her own. Why had she not 
 watched her heart? Why had she suffered herself 
 to be thrown oiF her guard ? Why had her affections 
 been so overpowering as to lead her astray from the 
 path of duty, in fixing themselves on an unbeliever ? 
 Had not her own mother's bitter experience and deep 
 repentance been sufficient to guard her from such a 
 step ? How forgetful had she been of heavenly things 
 of late ! How her heart had been growing more and 
 
woman's ministry. 277 
 
 more estranged from God, as the shadow of an earthly 
 love had darkened her mind to a sense of heavenly 
 love! Ethel felt and knew she had sinned, and deeply ; 
 and this was the bitter consequence and punishment. 
 But even in this she thanked God that she had been 
 recalled to a sense of her error before it was too 
 late, and her fate united with one who "knew not 
 Him." Long she sat — tearless, motionless, and si- 
 lent — endeavouring to calm the chaos of her mind by 
 stilling the tempest of sorrow and disappointment there, 
 which threatened almost to deprive her of her senses 
 and in broken, prayerful petitions for help to over- 
 come this overwhelming shock. At length she was 
 subdued, and able to approach on bended knee the 
 God of whose precepts she had been of late so fear- 
 fully unmindful. And now Ethel found the sweet, 
 the precious consolation of holding communio:i with 
 the God-man, who has been tempted as his people, 
 and has promised to hear and help them when they 
 cry. It did not seem to her as if she were so lonely ; 
 another bore the burden as well as herself: one, too, 
 who is not like an earthly being, and yet has the 
 person of man, which enables him the more fully to 
 sympathise and direct his people under trial, but who 
 has none of the changefulness of man, who is ever 
 " the same, yesterday, to-day, and for ever," and who 
 " holds his people in everlasting remembrance." 
 
 Ethel poured out her soul to this compassionate 
 Friend of sinners, and deeply did she repent and 
 mourn over her sinful neglect of God, by allowing 
 an earthly affection to gain such an ascendancy over 
 her. 
 
 The more she thought, the more she saw how 
 inseparably Herbert Raymond had made himself dear 
 to her heart. It was her first affection. Never 
 
278 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 before had any one grown dear to her young heart 
 as he had done, and she felt as if it were a love 
 which years could not change. Still he ought to 
 be given up. She had renounced the world ; she 
 professed to be a Christian. There was but one 
 course for her to pursue. She must resign him — give 
 up his love ! And what a struggle was this ! more 
 especially contrasted with the home she had, and the 
 few who cared for her, while he would do anything 
 to make her life pleasant and her home happy. But 
 he was an unbeliever ! If not an avowed infidel to 
 the world, he had, at least, confessed to her his doubts 
 and growing unbelief. She knew what poignant 
 grief it had caused her to hear him make that con- 
 fession ; but what were her feelings then to what they 
 were now ? They were agony. Her brain appeared 
 to burn with her conflicting emotions ; and sometimes 
 her heart throbbed so wildly it seemed almost bursting. 
 
 Throughout the long, weary night of suffering, 
 she sat rocking herself to and fro, sleep never once 
 visiting her eyes. Quick revulsions of feeling suc- 
 ceeded one another ; sometimes wavering, as she 
 thought of their mutual affection, and then calmed 
 and subdued again, when the pale, drooping form of 
 her mother came before her, and her thin, wasted 
 hand, uplifted in earnestness as she murmured, — 
 " Ethel, promise me, whatever it may cost you, you 
 will not marry one of whose religious opinions you 
 are not well assured;" and her resolute answer, — 
 " I never will, by God's help !" little dreaming then, 
 how soon her promise would be tried. 
 
 At length, as morning dawned, a heavenly, un- 
 changing calm was sent. 
 
 She wavered no longer. She prayed once more 
 for strength to " stand fast in the liberty wherewith 
 
woman's ministry. 279 
 
 Christ had made her free;" and that she might be 
 kept from the entanglement of that bondage of the 
 world, which, in an unhallowed union, she knew it 
 would be almost impossible to avoid. And she rose 
 in the strength of that glorious promise, — " My 
 grace is sufficient for thee : for my strength is made 
 perfect in weakness" — with a firm resolve that the 
 sacrifice should be made, at whatever cost to her own 
 earthly happiness, feeling how light it would be in 
 comparison with risking her eternal salvation by 
 uniting herself to an unbeliever. 
 
 For a short time she sunk to sleep ; from which, 
 however, she was soon roused by the maid, who came 
 to call her ; and, dreading lest any one should in the 
 least suspect what was wrong, weak and weary as she 
 was, she rose and prepared for breakfast. There was 
 no marked difference in her manner, though her step 
 was slower, and her face extremely pale, and with an 
 expression of great fatigue resting on it. 
 
 Mr. Woodville, however, took no notice, though 
 Harry perceived the change; but imagining it was 
 the previous evening's dissipation, he rallied her 
 good-humouredly, on gaiety having so much effect 
 upon her appearance, and said, if it spoilt her beauty 
 so much, he hoped she would never go out again. 
 
 It was better for Ethel that, for the next two days, 
 everything was hurry and confusion previous to the 
 wedding, for many arrangements had to be made 
 which she must herself superintend. Ethel was, there- 
 fore, unable to dwell on any painful forebodings; the 
 business of the day so absorbed and wearied her, that 
 sleep (though it was a troubled rest) came, in spite of 
 her misery, to relieve her worn-out and exhausted 
 frame. Laura, unconscious of anything but her own 
 selfish grief at her father's marriage, spent most of the 
 
280 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 day in playing a selection of mournful music, in ac- 
 cordance with her depressed feelings, and made no 
 offer to assist Ethel in any household arrangement, 
 having firmly resolved not to do anything in refer- 
 ence to the wedding preparations, to which she was 
 not absolutely compelled. Thus double work fell 
 to Ethel's lot ; and, after all, it was beneficial, as it 
 served the sooner to deaden the first shock her heart 
 had received. 
 
 New-year's-day morning was ushered in by a 
 heavy snow and intense cold. The air, too, was 
 heavier than usual, making Carysford look worse 
 than ever, together with the volumes of smoke which 
 contributed no little to darken the atmosphere, 
 
 Laura and Ethel were down-stairs at the time 
 appointed, in their new silk dresses, presented by 
 Miss Grant for the occasion. 
 
 Laura, her eyes swollen with weeping, and sobbing 
 violently, had to be led down by Ethel, who, with a 
 degree of greater paleness than before (but no other 
 outward emotion), prepared breakfast as usual. 
 
 Sally entered presently, wearing the black Sunday 
 dress she had worn ever since Mrs. Woodville's death, 
 carrying the coffee-pot. 
 
 " Why have you put that gown on, Sarah ? There 
 was a suitable one given you for to-day," said Mr. 
 Woodville, angrily. 
 
 Sally set the coffee-pot down with an air of 
 decision. 
 
 " Because, sir, I'se not agoing to addicted (dic- 
 tated) to what I'se to wear. I sent that new gown 
 back to t' place where it came from. It's not t' day 
 i' my 'pinion for wearing fineries. It's more like a 
 funeral nor a wedden ; and IVe a wish to remind 
 them, as seems to have forgotten of her as is gone ; 
 
woman's ministry. 281 
 
 and who'll maybe be looking down from t' skies at 
 all as is going on," said Sally, firmly. 
 
 She had never been known to speak disrespectfully 
 to her master before ; but, as she afterwards said, she 
 was determined to " speak her mind afore she went." 
 
 " Leave the room, and hold your tongue, you in- 
 solent woman !" thundered Mr. Woodville. 
 
 " That's just what as I'm going to do, sir, and 
 t' house too. I wouldn't stay after she comes in not 
 for all her golden guineas, which folks says makes 
 you so keen on her," said Sally, in great indigna- 
 tion, leaving the room, and closing the door with a 
 noise. 
 
 " Ethel, I desire that woman leaves this after- 
 noon ; I'll not have her in the house any longer." 
 
 Ethel made no reply for a moment. 
 
 " Do you hear me, child ? " said Mr. Woodville, 
 sharply. 
 
 " Yes, papa ; I will tell her what you say," Ethel 
 replied, haughtily. 
 
 Laura, whose sobbing had only subsided while 
 Sally and her father spoke, now recommenced when 
 she heard her father's command that Sally should 
 leave that afternoon. She had anticipated a melan- 
 choly satisfaction in pouring into the compassionate 
 ear of Sally all her troubles after they returned from 
 church. She now threw herself on the couch, and 
 gave way to a violent fit of hysterics. Mr. Woodville 
 uttered an oath, which made Ethel's blood run cold. 
 Sally rushed in again, in the hope of rendering as- 
 sistance, while Ethel supported Laura, holding a 
 smelling-bottle ineffectually to her nose, while Mr. 
 Woodville stamped about the room like some wild 
 animal, desperate in his passion. At length the 
 carriages dashed down the street for the wedding, 
 
282 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 followed by a mob of disorderly people eager to see 
 the party enter. Laura, quite exhausted by her 
 screams, at length closed her eyes and became un- 
 conscious. 
 
 " I shall wait no longer ; she shall repent this," 
 muttered Mr. Woodville, in a tone of suppressed rage. 
 " Ethel, leave her ; we shall be late." 
 
 Ethel rose from her recumbent position by Laura, 
 drew on her gloves, and prepared to follow her father. 
 " Do what you can for her, poor girl, and send to 
 Dr. Carter for a reviving draught." 
 
 " Ay, for sure. Poor girl! it's well she's un- 
 sensible ; I wish you was too, Miss Hethel," added 
 Sally, in a loud voice. 
 
 Mr. Woodville never spoke to Ethel until after 
 the wedding party had entered the church, and then 
 a mere casual observation. Miss Grant, elaborately 
 dressed in the richest of brocades, Brussels lace shawl, 
 and white silk bonnet, looked all smiles and simpers, 
 and managed to conceal her indignation at Laura's 
 non-appearance, although the storm of passion raged 
 within, of which she resolved Laura should have the 
 benefit the first opportunity. Miss Grant's nieces 
 were the other bridemaids ; but it fell to Ethel's 
 lot to stand beside her father's bride, and hold her 
 bouquet and gloves — that splendid bouquet on which 
 her father had lavished so much expense, and yet 
 often refused to give her half-a-crown for charitable 
 purposes. The service proceeded — a few minutes 
 more, and all was over. Ethel's mother's place was 
 given by her father to the very woman who had 
 injured her. Ethel's hand trembled as she signed her 
 name as witness to the marriage. But her trials were 
 not yet over. The bride pressed her in her arms, 
 kissed her with the most apparent warmth of feeling, 
 
woman's ministry. 283 
 
 and called her " daughter." Ethel's heart rebelled 
 against the sound, and almost unwittingly, as she 
 turned away, she pressed her handkerchief on the 
 place where the deceitful kiss had been; her cheek 
 burning after the pressure of those lips. She thought 
 the wedding breakfast would never be over, it was 
 so formal and tedious, and she longed to return to 
 Laura. At length the carriage arrived which was 
 to convey the bride and bridgroom away. Adieux 
 were exchanged, and then Ethel was free. She found 
 Laura sleeping quietly ; the exhaustion and soothing 
 draught had lulled her to unconsciousness. 
 
 " There will be a few weeks' quiet at least, now," 
 thought Ethel, as she hastily changed her dress. " I 
 shall have time to think over things, and make plans 
 for the future. Oh, if Raymond would but spare me 
 the interview ! Loving him as I do, I feel the pain of 
 parting will almost break my heart !" she murmured, 
 tears coming into her large, lustrous eyes. She 
 wondered how she had got through the morning so 
 calmly, with this load of anguish pressing on her 
 heart. Her father's marriage seemed now such a 
 minor trouble in comparison with her blighted affec- 
 tion, that it had had little of her thoughts for the last 
 few days. As she glanced at the glass while she 
 smoothed her hair, she hardly knew her own face 
 again, so much havoc had the sorrow of the last few 
 days made. It was pale and sad, and lines of deep 
 care had settled over her brow. Her meditations 
 were interrupted by Sally, who came to tell her a 
 message had been sent from old Nannie, to say she 
 was dying : would she go and see her once again, 
 before all was over ? 
 
 " In course I telled t' lad it were unpossible, but I 
 
284 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 thought I'd tell you, Miss," concluded Sally, looking 
 with pity at the pale face before her. 
 
 But Ethel felt she could not refuse this last 
 request of one whose faith and patience had taught 
 her many a lesson of resignation to God's will ; and 
 something told her, in witnessing her death-bed, she 
 might be strengthened and supported for further 
 trial. 
 
 " I will go, Sally. I am tired, but no matter : I 
 have been very fond of Nannie, and I cannot refuse 
 her dying request," she said, in reply. 
 
 " Well, I sure, Miss Hethel, if you ben't t' most 
 good-naturedest young lady as ever lived : but, now, 
 you munnut put your precious health i' danger for t' 
 likes of her." 
 
 " No fear ; I can manage very well. Just reach 
 my bonnet from the closet." 
 
 " I wonder if I were ill, if ye would be like kind 
 to me, Miss Hethel ! " said Sally, folding her arms, 
 and looking very grave. 
 
 " Yes, and more, Sally ; I would nurse you, if I 
 could, for all your kindness to me and mine. You 
 little know how I shall miss you when you go." 
 
 "Ay, bless you, Miss Hethel! I never thought 
 for to hear sich words from a born lady in my life." 
 
 Ethel took Sally's rough hand in her own. 
 
 " But, Sally, I must tell you, how grieved I am 
 you spoke so rudely to papa ; I cannot think how you 
 had so far forgotten yourself. My father insisted 
 upon my telling you to leave the house to-day," said 
 Ethel, her voice trembling with emotion. 
 
 " I dare say he did tell you to say so, but it's just 
 another thing whether I'll go or not. It's just unpos- 
 sible as I should leave afore my time's out, which '11 
 
woman's ministry. 285 
 
 be t' day afore they comes back, But I'se not a-going 
 to move while then, Miss Hethel ; I never was dicta- 
 ted (addicted) to telling lies, and that's what as was 
 my agreement, and I'se not going to break it. As for 
 speaking disrespectful to t' master, I couldn't help it ; 
 my temper rose i' my throat, while I felt very near 
 throttled while I said my say. Don't take on o'er 
 these things, dear ; if she ever gets unbearable, you 
 mun remember there's as good parlour and bed-room 
 as can be pervided for money at Hedgerow Farm, 
 and you're hallus to have it free gratis for nothink." 
 
 " Thank you, Sally; you are very generous and kind. 
 I shall like to come and see you sometimes. But I 
 hope Mrs. Woodville and I will get on well together, 
 and then there will be no need to leave home." 
 
 " Or ye'll happen be going to live at Thurlston 
 Hall, afore long ; there's o' deal a talk about it i' t' 
 town. Folks says Mr. Raymond's dreadful i' love wi' 
 you, and if you dunnot wed him, ye aien't fit to 
 choose an 'usband." 
 
 '* Nonsense, Sally ! people always are talking, you 
 know." 
 
 " Young ladies hallus says ' nonsense!' but I 
 knows," replied Sally, knowingly. 
 
 Ethel tried to smile, but it was a painful effort, 
 and she was glad to hide her quivering lip by tying 
 on a thick veil. She walked quickly to Langton, 
 hurrying past Thurlston lodge, fearful of seeing any 
 one belonging to the Hall, but no one was visible, 
 and she reached Langton unnoticed. Old Nannie's 
 house was crowded with people, children and grand- 
 children, who were making a great noise in their sor- 
 row, and rendering the agonies of the dying woman still 
 more painful by the oppressive closeness of the atmo- 
 sphere. Nannie was not laid down, and had not been 
 
286 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 for many hours; she sat supported by pillows, gasping 
 for breath. Her face wore an almost fierce expression, 
 more that of a wolf than a human being, from the 
 extreme compression and blueness of the features. 
 Ethel almost started at the change. 
 
 " Ay, my barn, is that ye ? I'm glad ye're come 
 — I'm near upon t' dark river ye see, and it's hard 
 wark, hard wark, my barn, vary : but there's t' rest 
 beyond. Read a bit, my barn, if ye please," gasped 
 Nannie. 
 
 Ethel took her Bible out and sat down. Clear and 
 soothing fell the words on her own heart, and in the ear 
 of the dying — " Yea, though I walk through the valley 
 of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art 
 with me ; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." 
 After concluding that beautifully spiritual psalm, Ethel 
 repeated other verses of scripture, from time to time, 
 as she bent over the dying woman. 
 
 " Thank ye, thank ye ! Ye're a gurt comfort i' 
 this hour. May yur dying bed be as happy as mine, 
 my barn. For all I'se i' sich pain, its like pleasant to 
 die. I never feels afraid — I'se a poor ignorant woman, 
 and has no learning ; but this I knows, Christ died 
 for sinners like me ; and His Spirit has been wi' me to 
 teach me how to find t' way, my dear barn. I thout 
 never to have set eyes on ye again ; but I wanted to 
 tell ye how happy I feels to go to Him as has died for 
 me, and how many a time ye ha'e taught me a deal, 
 and comforted me by ye're reading and talk. Ye are 
 young yet, my barn, and t' world's a hard place for t* 
 Christian to struggle in, and maybe ye've a deal o* 
 trials afore ye; but trust in the Lord at all times, and 
 he'll ne'er forsake ye. If ye ever come to be my age, 
 then ye'll kn ;w what a blessed thing it is to ha'e served 
 and loved God all ye're life." 
 
woman's ministry. 287 
 
 Old Nannie spoke at intervals, and frequent 
 struggles for breath almost deprived her of utterance ; 
 but when she ceased, a violent paroxysm of pain 
 seized her, and they laid her down quite exhausted. 
 
 " Please God we shall meet again in heaven, Nan- 
 nie, when this weary life is over, and serve God for 
 ever. I am glad to see you once more, and thank you 
 for all you have said to me, Nannie. Iwilltry to serve 
 God all my life," Ethel said, bending over the dying 
 woman, and speaking in her ear distinctly. 
 
 " That's well — that's well ! Now, good-by all on 
 ye — we'se meet in Canaan, I hope. God bless ye!" 
 murmured Nannie, faintly. She never spoke again. 
 They watched her head droop, and her eyes grow dim, 
 and close softly. They heard her sigh gently — and 
 then the spirit fled, and was carried by angels to 
 Abraham's bosom. 
 
 " Those eyes, indeed, are rayless now, 
 And pale that cheek, and chill that brow; 
 Yet could that lifeless form declare 
 The joys its soul is called to share, 
 How would those lips rejoice to tell, 
 The Saviour lives — all, all is well ! " 
 
 Ethel hastily wiped the tears from her face, and 
 turning from the bed murmured a sentence or two of 
 feeling for the relatives, who made way for her with 
 the greatest respect ; then silently she glided from the 
 house, not willing to obtrude on the mourners' grief. 
 
 It was bitterly cold, and the shades of night were 
 closing around, and distant lights began to glimmer, 
 as Ethel pursued her homeward- way. But Ethel 
 heeded nothing, the solemn scene of death and old 
 Nannie's words had so impressed her. She had learnt 
 a lesson which would not soon fade from her memory — 
 she was more than ever strengthened in her resolve to 
 
288 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 risk earthly happiness in order to live near to God, and 
 she had seen a striking exemplification of the blessed- 
 ness of such a course in the hour of death. 
 
 A dog-cart drove in at the Thurlston lodge just 
 before she reached it, and Herbert's well-known figure 
 was visible : but he did not notice her, his arms were 
 folded and his head slightly bent, as if heedless of 
 passing events, and Ethel felt thankful she had past by 
 unobserved. She reached home in safety, much to the 
 satisfaction of Sally, who had become anxious at her 
 non-appearance in the increasing darkness. 
 
woman's ministry. 289 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " Farewell, farewell ! in weal or woe, 
 Though worlds may interpose to sever, 
 And the ' world's law' I wildly feel, 
 Thy heart and mine are one for ever." — J. Fitzadam. 
 
 " 'Tis o'er ; hut never from my heart 
 
 Shall time thine image hlot ; 
 The dreams of other days depart, 
 
 Thou shalt not he forgot. 
 And never in the suppliant sigh 
 Poured forth to Him who rules the sky, 
 Shall mine own name be breathed on high, 
 
 And thine remembered not. 
 
 Farewell ! And oh ! may He whose love 
 
 Endures though man rebel, 
 In mercy yet thy guilt disprove, 
 
 Thy darkening clouds dispel. 
 Where'er thy wand'ring steps decline, 
 My fondest prayers — nor only mine, 
 The aid of Israel's God be thine, 
 
 And in His name farewell." — Rev. T. Dale. 
 
 Ethel had hoped Raymond would, on re-considering 
 the matter, feel that his suit was hopeless. But it 
 was not so. The following afternoon, after she had left 
 Laura comfortable in bed, and thrown herself on the 
 sofa to try to read, she was interrupted by a ring at 
 the door-bell, and Sally announced " Mr. Raymond." 
 Ethel glanced at his face for a moment, and 
 vol. i. u 
 
290 ETHEL J OR, 
 
 marked the change which had passed over his coun- 
 tenance since they had met. It was as much altered 
 as her own ; he looked pale and haggard, and there 
 was painful evidence of the hours of anguish and 
 sleeplessness which he had endured. With extreme 
 agitation she rose, and her voice failed even in the 
 inquiry after his friends. She was so bewildered as 
 neither to re-seat herself nor ask him to be seated. 
 After waiting a moment for her permission, Raymond 
 took her hand and led her back to her seat, and then 
 took one beside her. 
 
 Her hand still remained in his, she was so uncon- 
 scious of all save the thought of the painful interview 
 she was about to go through. When she remem- 
 bered, she drew it gently away. He looked at her 
 earnestly for a moment, and then said : — 
 
 " I hope you will pardon my intrusion, dear Miss 
 Woodville. But if you knew the hours of anguish I 
 ^ave endured since we parted you would feel for me. 
 In the involuntary confession of my affection the other 
 night, by an answer you gave me, I have dared to 
 hope you have not found my attentions disagreeable. 
 If you knew all my true, deep attachment, perhaps it 
 might have some weight with you. Almost from the 
 first moment I saw you I felt drawn irresistibly, and 
 each renewal of acquaintance only shows me how 
 inexpressibly dear you are. To make you happy 
 would be the one aim of my life. I know how you 
 have suffered, and do still, from the trials you meet 
 with here. Oh, dear Ethel! you must let me have 
 the privilege of soothing and cheering you now. Do 
 not let thoughts and doubts of your religion trouble 
 you. I can truly say, I honour and esteem your 
 consistent, Christian course, and I believe that your 
 blessed influence would reclaim me again." 
 
woman's ministry. 291 
 
 Raymond paused from extreme agitation, and 
 glanced at Ethel for a reply, but none came. Ethel's 
 hand supported her against the couch, her eyes resting 
 on the ground, her face pale, and her breathing slow 
 and difficult. None knew the intense struggle which 
 went on in the young girl's heart, between principle 
 and affection. To hear the man she loved breathe 
 words of such affection as these, almost overcame her 
 resolution. She could not deny she loved him, and 
 yet to accept him would be wrong ; but to refuse 
 seemed to imply a want of trust, which she could not 
 bear he should suppose she entertained. He waited 
 long for a reply, and then said, in a voice which 
 thrilled Ethel by its sadness: — 
 
 " Then I have been mistaken ! My hope is past ! 
 Presumptuous fool I was to believe you cared for 
 ne ! No, it was too much ! you could not love me ! 
 I am not worthy to expect you would ! " 
 
 " Oh, do not say so ! You cannot tell how much 
 I feel ! You do not know what it costs me ! " Ethel 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " Then, be mine, dearest ! and I know we shall 
 be happy in each other's love. Difference of opinion 
 on one point cannot destroy our happiness." 
 
 " Oh, yes, it would indeed ! We could not expect 
 any blessing. We might fancy we were happy for a 
 time, but I know the bitterness that would eventually 
 result from such a union. My mother knew what it 
 was, and her life must ever be a warning to me ! She 
 told me all when she lay on her bed of death — and a 
 bitter experience it was — and I gave her my solemn 
 promise I would never unite myself to one who 
 served not the same God as I did ! But do not 
 think that my promise to mamma alone is my reason 
 for refusing to be your wife ; I trust my duty to God 
 
292 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 would enable me to make the sacrifice ! You do not 
 know what I have suffered, and how I have prayed 
 for strength to be firm," said Ethel, in a trembling 
 voice. 
 
 " But, Ethel, do hear me ! Your mother would 
 never expect you to yield up your affections for the 
 sake of religion. If every one acted as you are doing 
 there would be few unions. Believe me, you shall 
 never, never have cause to repent it, as far as I am 
 concerned. Once let me call you mine, and you shall 
 know how I will guard you, and cherish you, and 
 make you happy ! I think, dearest, if your mother 
 could have foreseen your father's marriage, and all 
 your trials, she would never have wished you to 
 remain and suffer here ! " 
 
 There was much of truth in Raymond's plea. 
 Ethel felt her mother would have had a hard struggle 
 to make her promise to remain at home under the 
 circumstances, and for the moment, too, she herself 
 forgot the precept, — " Be ye not unequally yoked with 
 unbelievers." Raymond saw she wavered, and he 
 drew nearer. His arm encircled her waist, while his 
 other hand pressed hers. It was an intense struggle, 
 and almost overpowered her. All her daily, hourly 
 trials flashed upon her mind with the contrast of 
 being Raymond's wife, his affection all her own, 
 and every happiness that the world could give, hers ! 
 The tempter's victory seemed almost gained for a few 
 moments. But the struggle ceased, and strength was 
 given to overcome the temptation. Her duty to God 
 
 — to live for him alone, came again to her mind, and 
 she dared not hesitate longer. As she raised her face 
 once more to his — though it was of marble paleness 
 
 — Raymond saw a look of firm determination not to 
 yield written there, and his heart sunk. 
 
woman's ministry. 293 
 
 " My duty is clear, I never could expect the 
 blessing of God on our union ! Do not, if you really 
 love me, try to tempt me more. You hear my un- 
 alterable determination. So long as you remain a 
 stranger to God I cannot be your wife !" she said, in 
 a low, clear voice. 
 
 " But, will you trust me — one year say, dear 
 Ethel ? You shall not positively bind yourself to me, 
 but wait one year, and give me the opportunity of 
 studying these things ; and if at the expiration of the 
 time I am altered, will you then be mine ? " 
 
 " Oh, you should not ask me that ! " Ethel said, 
 sorrowfully. 
 
 " Then you will not trust me ! Not believe in 
 my honour to confess if not convinced ! " he replied, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " You wrong me, Mr. Raymond," Ethel said, with 
 an air of some hauteur; then adding, softly, — "It is 
 not that I do not trust you ; but I think it possible 
 you might deceive yourself into a fancied belief in 
 what you now distrust ! " 
 
 "And what is that but want of confidence?" 
 Raymond said, moodily, releasing the hand he held, 
 and folding his arms, while an expression of stern 
 despair passed across his face. 
 
 " Is that kind ? I did not think you would so mis- 
 understand me ! Oh ! I think my heart will break ! " 
 Ethel murmured, while, covering her face with her 
 hands, scalding tears in quick succession streamed 
 between her slender fingers. 
 
 " Ethel ! beloved Ethel ! how unjust I have been ! 
 Will you, can you forgive me ?" Raymond exclaimed, 
 as he bent down beside her and lifted her hands from 
 her face gently. "I have wounded you — you, who 
 are dearer than all the world ! I, who would not 
 
294 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 give you a moment of pain ! Will you speak once 
 again to me, and say you will forgive my harshness 
 and injustice?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed I do ! But I could not bear 
 you should think I would not trust you. There is no 
 sacrifice I would not make for your happiness, or 
 promise I would not give, only I dare not do what is 
 wrong. You must not tempt me again. I feel I have 
 been sinful ever to hesitate for a moment, but I hope 
 God will forgive me for it. This interview is too 
 painful for us both, I think." She paused ; she did 
 not like to tell him to leave her. 
 
 " It would be well for me to go away, if that is 
 your unchangeable resolution. I will obey you." He 
 rose as he spoke, and again Ethel perceived a tinge of 
 severity in his manner. She raised her eyes sorrow- 
 fully to his face. 
 
 " You are not leaving me in anger?" she inquired, 
 gently. 
 
 " Anger ! no ! Who could cherish such a feeling 
 for a moment towards you ? It is your religion — I was 
 going to say, infatuation — that makes me feel angry ; 
 that is, if I harbour one passionate thought. I will 
 leave you, Ethel, and perhaps this is the last time we 
 shall ever meet ; but whether we do or not, no other 
 shall ever hold the place in my affections that you do : 
 while life lasts, your image shall remain in my heart 
 as the only one beloved. My life will henceforth be 
 a burden to me ; the remembrance of what has been 
 — those happy hours spent together, the one oasis of 
 the desert." 
 
 " Oh, do not speak thus ! You must forget me." 
 
 " Forget you ! Ethel, you little know me. The 
 world says I am cold and heartless, and outwardly I 
 am so ; but an affection once in my heart, it can never 
 
woman's ministry. 295 
 
 pass away. You are the only woman I have ever 
 loved, or ever shall love. Years, circumstances, for- 
 tunes, may pass away, or be changed, but while I live 
 you shall never be forgotten," he said, in a firm voice, 
 but in a saddened tone that she could believe him 
 capable of forgetting her. Ethel's tears again flowed 
 fast ; it only embittered her sorrow to know how much 
 he felt. 
 
 "You will not refuse me one token of you?" he 
 said, as he took her scissors from her basket near. 
 She suffered him to sever a long, rich tress of her 
 dark hair ; she felt it needless to deny him so poor a 
 remembrance. " And will you let me give you some- 
 thing which may serve to recall me sometimes to 
 mind, if that is not asking too much ? " he said, press- 
 ing a small case into her hands. " Look at it after 
 I am gone ; it is an emblem of what is for ever flown 
 from my heart. It was bought when I dared to hope. 
 
 But now " he paused abruptly. "And will you 
 
 not say some kind word to me before we part ? " he 
 continued. 
 
 Ethel's voice almost failed as she replied : — 
 
 "I pray that God's blessing may rest upon you, 
 and though now you seek it not, that he will have 
 mercy on you, and bring you to himself. And may 
 you find him, as I do, 'the shadow of a great rock 
 in a weary land.' And — and — do not think I — I 
 can ever forget 7/0 w." 
 
 Raymond was deeply affected. 
 
 "Ah! aweary land it is!" he said, sadly ; then, 
 pressing his arm round her once more, while he held 
 her cold hand in the other, he stooped and imprinted 
 a long, fond kiss on her forehead. " If an unbeliever 
 has any blessing to bestow, may it be yours, beloved 
 one ! And I feel that, if prayers are really answered, 
 
296 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 yours will be, and I shall yet be reclaimed. You will 
 still remember me in your petitions ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! indeed, indeed you will never be for- 
 gotten," murmured Ethel, in a choking voice. One 
 more earnest pressure of the hand, one sad look, and 
 Raymond hastily left the room, not daring again to 
 speak to her whose affections were blighted as his 
 own. Ethel seemed suddenly turned to stone; she 
 stood in the middle of the room, and listened, with 
 painful acuteness of feeling. She marked every step 
 he took, and even heard him put on his hat. A cold 
 thrill passed over her as he closed the hall-door in 
 departing. 
 
 Her tears now seemed suddenly dried up. No emo- 
 tion oppressed her, only it was as if she were sinking 
 — dying away, it appeared ; and she felt glad to die, if 
 such a feeling could be. She had never fainted before, 
 and knew not what it was, until she recovered her 
 consciousness more than an hour after, when she knew 
 she had been lying senseless on the floor for a long 
 time, for the fire was almost out, and the room dark. 
 She rose with a feeling of intense cold, still clasping 
 tightly in her hand the little packet Raymond had 
 given her. 
 
 " Where am I ? What is it ? Oh ! I remember 
 all now," she exclaimed, pressing her hands together 
 in bitterness of spirit, now that she felt she had in- 
 deed completed the sacrifice of her earthly happiness. 
 " Oh, Herbert, Herbert ! you have gone, and we may 
 never meet again ! " And then, in the sudden revul- 
 sion of feeling, she murmured earnestly, — " Forgive 
 me, my heavenly Father, all this wavering and inde- 
 cision ! I am weak and sinful, prone to evil inclina- 
 tions. ' Take my heart, Lord, for i" cannot give il 
 Thee ; keep it, for I cannot keep it for Thee,' " she said 
 
woman's ministry. 297 
 
 in the beautiful words of St. Augustine. With tot- 
 tering steps she left the room, hearing the rattling of 
 cups and saucers — a prelude to Sally's entrance and 
 lights, and not feeling capable of bearing the glance 
 of scrutiny which she knew Sally would give her. 
 She sat down in a sort of mute despair, almost too 
 bewildered to collect her thoughts, but struggling 
 hard to gain her self-possession again, knowing her 
 presence would soon be required down-stairs, to pre- 
 pare Laura's tea, who had not yet made her appear- 
 ance, but who had promised to spend the evening in 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 Laura seemed in much better spirits ; lying in bed 
 had quite revived her, and she was eager to relate all 
 the contrivances she had been making for annoying 
 Mrs. Woodville, if she were at home when they re- 
 turned. Ethel listened silently and patiently, and 
 offered no remonstrance to her proposed acts of defi- 
 ance ; for, in truth, had Laura questioned her sister on 
 what she had been speaking, Ethel would have been 
 in total ignorance of all that had passed. There she 
 sat, listening apparently with interest, playing with 
 her teaspoon, and professing also to be enjoying the 
 meal, though she neither ate nor drank anything. 
 
 Sally's keen eyes saw instantly how ill Ethel 
 looked, and formed some sort of conjecture that Mr. 
 Raymond's visit had had something to do with it ; but 
 what, honest old Sally's penetration could not dis- 
 cover. She, however, took no notice for the present, 
 and hastily cleared the tea-things away and left the 
 room. 
 
 " Where are you going, Ethel ? Don't leave me," 
 Laura said, petulantly, as Ethel rose, with a feeling of 
 insupportable oppression at remaining down-stairs any 
 longer. Ethel returned to her seat. 
 
298 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 "I will stay an hour with you, then. But I feel 
 so unwell to-night, I wish to go to bed early." 
 
 " Oh ! one of your horrid headaches, I suppose. 
 You look pale, but you must stay ; I cannot endure 
 being left alone, you know," replied Laura, selfishly. 
 Ethel sank into a large arm-chair, while Laura took 
 up her embroidery ; soon tiring of that, she began to 
 read, and Ethel found her sister only detained her 
 because she had a dread of solitude. At length Laura 
 threw down her book and fell asleep, so that Ethel 
 felt herself at liberty to retire to her own room. Just 
 as she was rising Sally opened the door. 
 
 "Miss Hethel, just you come to bed. I've made 
 ye a fire up -stairs, and I'se just a-going up wi' t' 
 warming-pan, so come and get to bed as quick as you 
 can. Any one can see as how you're not fit to sit up." 
 
 " Thank you, Sally. It will be a great comfort 
 to me. I will come directly," Ethel replied. 
 
 Sally had made Ethel's little room look very 
 cheery. A bright fire blazed in the grate. The 
 blind down, and the rain pattering against the win- 
 dows, added to the comfortable feeling. Ethel, to 
 please Sally, got into bed, though she knew sleep was 
 far from her eyes ; then, after thanking the kind old 
 servant for her thoughtfulness, she rose, and, wrap- 
 ping herself in her dressing gown, re-seated herself by 
 the fire, to enjoy the luxury of undisturbed grief. 
 Oh, the overwhelming bitterness of those hours ! The 
 full force of the sacrifice she had made came upon her ; 
 the secret of her cherished affection was laid bare 
 before her. She knew now, now that all was over, 
 the intensity of the deep, earnest love she bore to 
 Herbert Raymond ; so deep that, like him, she could 
 with equal truth have confessed that it must last while 
 life remained. All thoughts of domestic joy were 
 
woman's ministry. 299 
 
 passed away. She felt she could never marry another ; 
 never again indulge, as she sometimes had done, in 
 thoughts of having a home to call her own, and one to 
 whom she could look up, and whose love would be 
 her greatest earthly felicity. Such day-dreams could 
 never be. No ! Alone she must tread life's desert — 
 alone bear her joys and sorrows, with no kind sympa- 
 thising friend to share with her in either. These 
 bright youthful visions must be forgotten, and Ethel 
 must make up her mind to be what Laura had often 
 laughingly told her she would be — "an old maid." 
 Not that Ethel dreaded that title, or considered it in 
 the light of a reproach; but possessing, as she did, 
 strong domestic virtues and affections, and a desire to 
 cling to some one object, she had never altogether 
 liked the idea of passing her life alone. It had 
 always appeared to her that married life, though it 
 might contain more anxiety, yet offered more real and 
 lasting happiness than the single one, at least to 
 one who possessed her depth of attachment. But it 
 seemed to her as if, in mercy, the happiness she de- 
 sired had been dashed from her, that she might be 
 the better enabled to set her affection on things above, 
 and not on things on the earth. Had she been the 
 loving and beloved wife of Raymond, earthly happi- 
 ness would have become too dear to her, and she might 
 have gradually relapsed into her former love of the 
 world, and its too-engrossing cares and pleasures. 
 Therefore it was well ! Ethel knew it was, though it 
 seemed as if every ray of happiness had vanished from 
 her path, and it was now thickly strewn with thorns, 
 without one flower to brighten the desolation around. 
 Yet she felt — she knew — it was well; and instead of 
 looking below for happiness, she would look higher, and 
 seek by renewed diligence to lay up a treasure in 
 
300 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 heaven, knowing that " where the treasure is, there 
 will the heart be also." As she repeated the last 
 words slowly, she remembered Herbert's parting pre- 
 sent, which in her forgetfulness she had not opened. 
 She unclasped the little case, and there was displayed 
 to her eyes a beautiful spray of diamonds, in the centra 
 of which was a small anchor — an emblem of what Her- 
 bert said he possessed no more. Ethel pressed it to 
 her lips, as bitter thoughts of the beloved giver rose 
 to her mind. Where was he ? He, of whom she was 
 conscious she had almost made an idol ! What would 
 become of him ? It was true, as he said, he had no 
 anchor, sure and steadfast — no bright star to shine on 
 him in this hour — no hope ; and — forcible words ! — 
 " We are saved by hope." He professed disbelief in 
 an Almighty Father, who rules every trial for his 
 children's good ; who does not willingly afflict, but 
 only casts into the fire until he can see his own image 
 reflected in them. He had no friend in that Man of 
 sorrows who suffers with his people, and who is an 
 ever-present Friend in every time of trouble. How 
 much worse was Herbert's lot than her own ! Labour- 
 ing under an unsanctified affliction, what might this 
 disappointment lead to ? Ethel feared, in this unhappy 
 state, it would but plunge him into deeper, darker un- 
 belief, unless God by His Spirit wrought a saving 
 change ; then, perhaps, this trial might startle him 
 into a conviction of the truth. Overpowered by her 
 anxiety, Ethel fell on her knees and poured forth her 
 heart in prayer for Raymond, that he might be brought 
 to the knowledge of the truth. For herself, too, that 
 her faith and trust might be strengthened, and no 
 harassing doubts or temptations arise, as to whether she 
 might have been the means of saving Raymond had 
 she been his wife ; knowing that she had acted con- 
 
woman's ministry. 301 
 
 sistently as one professing Christianity, and desiring 
 to serve God before all the allurements of earthly hap- 
 piness which could have been hers. Humbly she 
 confessed the just punishment of her sin, and owned 
 receiving it through the very object who had been the 
 cause of her forgetfulness of God, and meekly prayed 
 that the cross sent might be of use to her, and that 
 henceforth no idol might come between her and her 
 heavenly duties. 
 
 And though much bitter suffering and heartfelt 
 sorrow was her portion ere she again sought her 
 pillow, the Saviour's dying bequest was bestowed on 
 her — " Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto 
 you : not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let 
 not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." — 
 " In the world ye shall have tribulation ; but be of 
 good cheer, I have overcome the world." 
 
302 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " Disposed to wed, e'en while you hasten, stay ; 
 There's great advantage in a small delay. 
 If poor, delay for future want prepares, 
 And eases humble life of half its cares." — Crabbe. 
 
 " When round thee gathering storms are high, 
 
 And grief thy days hath shaded ; 
 When earthly joys hut bloom and die, 
 And tears suffuse thy weeping eye, 
 
 And hope's bright bow hath faded ; 
 Oh ! watch thou, then, lest anxious care 
 Invade thy heart and rankle there." — Anon. 
 
 Next morning Ethel experienced so much weakness 
 and depression on attempting to rise, that she was 
 obliged to remain and rest in bed. Laura expressed 
 more sympathy than might have been expected from 
 one of her selfish nature, and, as far as was in her 
 power, she tried to attend to Ethel ; but, though Ethel 
 felt grateful for her sister's efforts of kindness, she 
 could not help preferring the stillness of her own 
 room. 
 
 In the afternoon Laura went out alone for a walk, 
 the first time she had left the house since her father's 
 marriage, dreading the sight of her acquaintances, 
 and their numerous queries. She directed her steps 
 towards the foot-path in the fields, where she so often 
 allowed Thornhill to meet and walk with her, for the 
 sake of whiling away an idle hour by listening to his 
 
woman's ministry. 303 
 
 polite speeches, and receiving his attentions. Now 
 the case was altered. Thornhill seemed the only per- 
 son in the world that Laura supposed would really 
 estimate the trial she had endured from her father's 
 marriage, and she longed once more to hear his sooth- 
 ing words, and receive the flattering attentions she 
 knew he would lavish upon her. 
 
 With considerable- agitation she paced up and 
 down for some time, but no Thornhill was visible. 
 At length, as she was beginning to think he would 
 not come (not knowing she was there), she began to 
 retrace her steps, when his well-known figure ap- 
 peared in sight. His delight at meeting her seemed 
 unbounded. He had hardly dared to hope she might 
 be there, or he would have come ages before. How 
 was she ? He heard she had been ill ! And no 
 wonder, suffering so acutely as she had done ! And 
 how was her sister, who had hardly seemed to care 
 about the marriage ? He had called to inquire after 
 them, no less than three times, at the house ; but the 
 old Cerberus Sally had never allowed him to come in, 
 though there were favoured ones she admitted: and 
 he hinted plainly that he had seen Raymond enter 
 not long before. Laura might have noticed this at 
 another time, but at present her own misery engrossed 
 her. To Thornhill's inquiries she replied briefly, as 
 if too much overpowered to speak much. She told him 
 she had been very unwell ; her father's marriage was a 
 trial almost more than she could bear ; and that now 
 she felt her happiness had flown for ever. Laura looked 
 so sweet and interesting in her sentimentality, Thorn- 
 hill admired her more than ever ; and seeing his ad- 
 vantage, he determined not to lose it, but win her 
 for himself, while she was softened towards him, 
 and would be glad to go anywhere sooner than live 
 
304 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 at home. No thought of the inadequate means he 
 possessed in his limited income, and Laura's own lack 
 of fortune to supply the deficiency, presented itself 
 to his mind. He was fascinated by her beauty, and 
 his admiration was passionate and selfish. Gently, 
 lovingly he pleaded, with insinuating words and 
 smooth compliments, his ardent affection for her, how 
 he would love her and protect her, and make her 
 happy, and take her where she should be freed from 
 her odious step-mother and her father's overbearing 
 disposition. Laura listened — faintly resisted him — 
 but blushed and hesitated. He was certainly not dis- 
 couraged, and he proceeded more passionately than 
 before. At length he ventured to draw her hand 
 within his arm, and she did not remove it. Her faint 
 resistance gave way ; and without a thought of the 
 future, further than leaving her home, she yielded, 
 with a smile and a deep blush, and promised to be- 
 come Thornhill's wife. He poured forth the most 
 eloquent thanks, which Laura received with an in- 
 crease of affected sentiment. 
 
 Before they returned home all was settled. Thorn- 
 hill was to procure a license at a distant church in 
 the town, near the barracks, and then Laura should 
 meet him in a few days, and they should be married 
 privately. 
 
 It mattered not to Laura, then, what was her 
 future husband's character, or how shallow the pas- 
 sionate attachment he now felt might prove. All 
 seemed forgotten as she thought it over while she sat 
 alone that evening in the dining-room. She had car- 
 ried out her threat of not remaining at home, and it 
 would be a great annoyance to her father and his 
 wife. There was another thing, too, that was plea- 
 sant, — they were to leave Carysford altogether the fol- 
 
305 
 
 lowing week, as the regiment had been ordered to the 
 south ; and Laura congratulated herself that her life 
 need not be spent 'a%ong the tall chimneys of her 
 childhood's home. 
 
 Next morning, when Ethel joined her down-stairs 
 again, and when Laura perceived her sister's pale, 
 wan look, she felt a pang of regret that poor Ethel 
 would have to remain alone. She little knew the 
 fearful temptation through which her sister had 
 passed for the sake of duty. How she had resisted 
 the strongest persuasions to become the wife of the 
 man she truly loved, still preferring the misery of her 
 daily life in order to keep herself "unspotted from 
 the world;" while Laura could not even resist the 
 entreaties of a man for whom she felt little or no 
 affection, and who had so few pleasures to offer her 
 in return. 
 
 For the next few days Laura shut herself up- 
 stairs chiefly, and Ethel wondered she liked the cold- 
 ness of her own room in preference to the warm fire 
 below. She was puzzled with the commotion, too, she 
 heard, the incessant opening and shutting of drawers 
 and boxes in her room, little dreaming Laura was 
 packing up everything preparatory to her marriage. 
 When Ethel inquired the cause of the unusual bustle, 
 Laura only gave one of her little, short, nervous laughs, 
 and said she was turning out her treasures for her 
 amusement. 
 
 Minnie had not yet returned from Thurlston, and 
 Harry was spending his remaining holidays in London 
 with some relations, so that Ethel was left very much 
 alone. This might have been pleasant had she desired 
 to continue to brood over her sorrow, but now that 
 the shock was over, and her resolute determination 
 was to banish, if possible, the remembrance of her 
 
 VOL. i. x 
 
306 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 blighted hopes, she knew the sooner she began to 
 employ both her thoughts and hands the better. She 
 had sent Sally for Minnie, wishing to have her once 
 more to teach and talk to; but the answer returned 
 was, that Miss Raymond would bring her home in a 
 day or two herself, if Miss Woodville would kindly 
 allow her to stay. Ethel dreaded this meeting with 
 her friend, and found it almost impossible to fix her 
 thoughts on anything except what was connected with 
 the Raymonds. She felt nervous, and a feverish ex- 
 citement preyed upon her, which much retarded her 
 regaining composure of mind. 
 
 A day or two more passed, and almost immediately 
 after breakfast Laura retired again to her room, from 
 which she returned dressed with greater care than 
 usual, prepared for going out. Ethel looked surprised, 
 and inquired where she was going so early. 
 
 "Oh, never mind — I'll tell you when I return," 
 she said with a laugh; then stooping, she kissed Ethel 
 with more affection than she had ever done before, 
 and hastened from the room. 
 
 Ethel was puzzled, but it was not likely a glimpse 
 of the truth should cross her mind; Laura having 
 kept her own counsel so strictly, as even to vent a little 
 bitter satire on Thornhill when he had been accident- 
 ally alluded to, in order to blind Ethel more effectu- 
 ally. More than an hour passed, and then a carriage 
 stopped at the door. Ada and Minnie alighted. Ethel 
 trembled as she heard her friend's voice in the passage, 
 and wondered how Ada would meet her ! whether she 
 knew all ! and what she would think ! Minnie, how- 
 ever, darted forward, exclaiming, — 
 
 " Oh, here's my sissy!" and threw her arms round 
 Ethel's neck. 
 
 This somewhat broke the formality of the meeting 
 
woman's ministry. 307 
 
 with Ada ; but when Minnie released her, Ethel found 
 herself enclosed in Ada's arras. The friends clung 
 together some time, and neither spoke. At length 
 Ada looked at Ethel earnestly, and taking her hand 
 they sat down. Large tears stood in her dark eyes, 
 while Ethel's remained tearless ; yet the compressed 
 lip, pallid face, and sorrowful expression, told what 
 tears hardly could. 
 
 " Dearest Ethel, you look ill ! What has been the 
 matter with you ? Is it " she stopped. 
 
 "I dare say you see me changed, Ada. I seem 
 ten years older in the experience of sorrow than when 
 we last met." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! I think I know. It is not your father's 
 marriage. May I speak of Herbert once more before 
 we part, dear Ethel ?" Ada said, hesitatingly. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Anything you like." 
 
 " I know something of what passed between you 
 and my brother. He has always made me his con- 
 fidant. And, oh ! dearest, when he told me, how my 
 heart bled for you ! It seems hard — so very hard, 
 you should both suffer. I do not think I could have 
 made such a sacrifice — that is, if you loved Herbert — 
 which I think you did, though Herbert cannot believe 
 you could love him so much as he loves you. Thurls- 
 ton is miserable to us now. Do you know, Ethel, I 
 have cried for hours every day since Herbert was 
 here ! To see my darling brother broken-hearted and 
 changed, it makes me wretched. And yet I believe 
 you did right, although Herbert is very different from 
 most men who are careless about religion, and I think 
 he would really have made you a kind husband." 
 
 "Ah! there was the danger, Ada — his influence 
 and love ! What might I not have done to please 
 him?" Ethel said. 
 
308 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 " Yes, you are right, I believe. But oh ! I am 
 sorry. I wished so much to have you for my sister, 
 Ethel: I should have been happy." And Ada burst 
 into tears. 
 
 "But God has ordered it otherwise, dear Ada; 
 and I must struggle with this disappointment. And no 
 doubt it has been sent to show me how prone I am to 
 think too much of earthly friendships," Ethel replied, 
 in a low, trembling voice. 
 
 " I ought not to speak in this manner ; it is not 
 right, when I believe you have done your duty, Ethel. 
 But I thought I should like to come and tell you how 
 much I love you, and admire your firmness. I hope it 
 will have taught me a lesson for the future, to be 
 careful whom I allow to win my affections. We are 
 leaving Thurlston to-morrow. My brother says he 
 cannot bear it now. Mamma has persuaded us to 
 return to London with her for the season ; and then I 
 do not know what will become of us. But oh ! dear 
 Ethel, do pray for Herbert, that he may be led to 
 God. I fear this sorrow has embittered his heart, for 
 now he repulses the consolation of religion more than 
 ever." 
 
 Ethel pressed her hands to her face in agony of 
 mind. Ada was unconsciously pouring still more 
 bitter dregs into her already filled cup of sorrow. 
 
 " I have suffered much on his account as well as 
 my own, Ada, but I have indeed prayed most earnestly 
 that God will have mercy upon him, and remove the 
 clouds of error which are gathering so thickly round 
 him. And you know we have God's own word of 
 promise, that when two shall be agreed on anything 
 he will grant that request. Therefore let us never 
 relax in our earnest pleadings," said Ethel, at length. 
 
 " Yes, I will promise you this, indeed ; for Her- 
 
woman's ministry. 309 
 
 bert is very, very dear. No one knows how many 
 excellent qualities he possesses, only he is without the 
 one thing needful ; if God gives him but that, I do 
 not know any one who would be more nearly perfec- 
 tion," Ada said, warmly, dashing away her tears, and 
 rising as she spoke. " I must leave you now, dearest 
 Ethel, for mamma wishes me to go with her to make 
 calls this morning, and I must hasten back. She is so 
 perplexed by Herbert's stern, cold, silent manner, and 
 his sudden determination to go to town with them: 
 but Herbert would not let her know on any account ; 
 she could not appreciate your sacrifice, and it would 
 make her dislike to hear your name again. She could 
 not forgive a woman who refused Herbert." 
 
 " I am very much obliged for his consideration," 
 Ethel said, gratefully. 
 
 " You must write to me often, and do not forget 
 me. You are my dearest friend, always remember," 
 Ada said, warmly. 
 
 Ethel could not reply, but put her arms round her 
 neck in a parting embrace. And then Ada hastened 
 away. Ethel turned with a sad heart from the win- 
 dow, feeling she had seen Herbert's sister perhaps for 
 the last time. Oh, what a blank there was now ! No 
 friend left to cheer her ! The burden of every trial 
 must be borne alone — yet not alone! No, — the 
 cheering thought gleamed through this dark night of 
 sorrow, — the morning star shone brightly upon her, 
 — and she could still see her way along life's darkened 
 path. How sweet to rest on Christ ! — "to wait pa- 
 tiently for him," until he should grant her the desires of 
 her heart ; if not in the way she would have chosen, 
 still in the best way. And, meanwhile, unceasingly 
 would she pray for him who was dear to her as life, 
 doubting not that, for his own name's sake, he, who 
 
310 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 "will have all men to be saved," would hear and 
 answer her, and in his own good time bring again 
 the prodigal to his Father's house — the lost sheep to 
 the fold of the " Good Shepherd." 
 
 She had hardly recovered from the agitation Ada's 
 visit had caused her, when a carriage again stopped at 
 the door. She rose hastily, and stood within view of 
 the window, where she could see, yet not be seen. It 
 was a handsome hired conveyance, drawn by a pair 
 of grey horses, driven by a postilion in a blue jacket. 
 Who could it be ? Ethel had no time to surmise 
 before she saw Thornhill spring out, ring the bell, 
 and then assist Laura to alight, who glided quickly 
 past him into the house. She threw open the door of 
 the room where Ethel was, and then stood silent for a 
 moment before her sister, looking exquisitely lovely in 
 her confusion. A beautiful pink colour burnt in her 
 cheeks, her dazzling blue eyes sparkled with unwonted 
 lustre, and her bright golden hair had escaped from 
 her face and floated over her shoulders in long glossy 
 curls. 
 
 " I am free — I am free now ! My own mistress ! 
 Papa — Mrs. Woodville — no one can have power to 
 make me submit !" she exclaimed, in a wild, childish 
 glee, bounding forward and throwing herself into 
 Ethel's arms. Ethel looked bewildered ; the truth 
 seemed to stun her into unconsciousness almost. 
 
 " What do you — what can you mean, Laura ?" she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " Mean! Only this — that I would not bear to stay 
 at home longer, so I have done as I pleased j and 
 George Thornhill and I have been married this morn- 
 ing," replied Laura, with a burst of unusually excited 
 laughter, which fell strangely on Ethel's ear. With 
 difficulty she prevented herself from falling. Her face 
 
WOMAN'S MINISTRY. 311 
 
 grew pale and flushed by turns, but her forced com- 
 posure did not forsake her. 
 
 " Married ! And to Thornhill ! Impossible ! Laura, 
 I cannot believe you capable of such a thing !" 
 
 "Just as you please; it is true, nevertheless. I 
 will not stay at home to be made Mrs. Woodville's 
 slave." 
 
 That moment Ethel sprung forward, and her whole 
 frame trembled with indignant excitement. 
 
 "What have you been thinking about? What 
 madness ! How dare you, Laura ! You know papa 
 positively prohibited you from marrying Thornhill," 
 Ethel said, indignantly. 
 
 It was seldom Laura had seen Ethel of late years 
 really in a passion, and she quailed beneath her flash- 
 ing eye. 
 
 " You may say what you like ; it is of no conse- 
 quence to me what papa or any one prohibits. And 
 as for you, I require no sanction of yours to be happy," 
 exclaimed Laura, passionately turning to leave the 
 room. 
 
 " Laura ! Stay one moment," said Ethel, subdued 
 at the thought that Laura had turned to leave her 
 home perhaps for ever. 
 
 " Not unless you speak properly to me," was the 
 cold reply. 
 
 " Then I will. But oh ! Laura, my dear sister ! 
 how could you be so forgetful of your duty ? You 
 little know what you may have brought upon your- 
 self. Papa will, perhaps, never speak to you again." 
 
 " If that is all, the less I hear of him the better. 
 I have lost all feeling of respect for him, and I dread 
 living with him as much as I do with his wife." 
 
 " And will he not have reason to have lost his 
 respect for you, Laura ?" replied Ethel, gravely* 
 
312 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 " If this is all you have to say, I will go this mo- 
 ment. I tell you, once for all, it is a matter of perfect 
 indifference to me what papa, or any one, thinks about 
 me. I am in great haste ; we shall miss the train if I 
 delay. We are going to London for a few days, and 
 then shall go to Wallington, where the regiment is to 
 be stationed in a week, so you will not have me even 
 near you. You may tell papa he has driven me into 
 this marriage. I never had intended accepting less 
 than three thousand a-year, but I will risk anything 
 to be away from home. George is kind to me, and so 
 I dare say we shall get on very well together. I did 
 not like to go without seeing you, Ethel, for you have 
 often been very kind to me, though you never understood 
 my sensitive feelings, or sympathised with me ; but I 
 believe you did your best. Now, I am going to see 
 about my things being brought down. Will you, or 
 not, see your new brother, and receive him as my hus- 
 band ?" Laura said, hurriedly. 
 
 Ethel hesitated. She hardly knew what was 
 right for her to do. She did not feel very cordially to- 
 wards the man who had taken such an undue advan- 
 tage as to draw her sister into this unsuitable mar- 
 riage. Still, the deed was done, and it was of no use 
 to cherish unkind feeling. Laura was impatient at 
 her hesitation, and hardly waited for a reply before 
 she introduced Thornhill to Ethel. 
 
 "There! make your peace — I cannot," she said, 
 jestingly, darting from the room to direct her boxes, 
 and have them brought down. 
 
 Ethel did not advance to meet her unwelcome 
 brother-in-law, or offer him her hand. She stood in 
 an attitude of haughtiness, a curl of contempt on her 
 beautiful lip, her eyes brilliant with ill-suppressed in- 
 dignation, looking queenly in her dignity. Thornhill 
 
woman's ministry. 313 
 
 was no little struck by her appearance, and for the 
 first time noted her beauty. 
 
 " I thought I should like to shake hands with you 
 before we go," he said, advancing with an impertinent 
 freedom of manner, which irritated Ethel the more, 
 and roused her proud spirit to resentment. 
 
 " I cannot see what right you have to expect me 
 to receive you with feelings of kindness, Mr. Thorn- 
 hill, when I consider how you have been the means 
 of taking my sister from her home, and drawing her 
 into a marriage which, we have reason to believe, 
 would not meet with my father's sanction. You have 
 taken the advantage which a man of honour would 
 not have done. I cannot justify such a course, which 
 compels me to say, I do not meet you with the feel- 
 ings of respect and kindness I should wish to feel for 
 my sister's husband ! " 
 
 Ethel spoke with a calm dignity, and her brilliant 
 eyes rested steadily on Thornhill's face. He was 
 quite astonished by her manner. Hitherto he had 
 regarded her as a quiet, inoffensive sort of girl, whose 
 wishes were always in subservience to others, as he 
 supposed, and as Laura had represented, from weak- 
 ness of mind, which prevented her asserting her in- 
 dependence. Little did he dream of the secret spell 
 which had quelled her proud spirit, and made her so 
 unselfish and gentle. He had not sufficient discri- 
 mination to discern between weakness of mind and 
 self-governance ; and now that he saw her standing 
 before him in an attitude of almost stern dignity, 
 he felt — though her words made him angry — a 
 sort of respect for her character he had never done 
 before. 
 
 " You have no right to speak to me in this man- 
 ner. I have loved your sister long, and of course 
 
314 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 bound to watch my time for winning her affection 
 when I could ! If your father chooses to destroy her 
 happiness, he can have no right to assert any autho- 
 rity, or expect her compliance with his wishes. I 
 had hoped we should have met and parted as friends 
 — that seems impossible now. I can only say, I wish 
 you joy of your step-mother, and congratulate myself 
 that dear Laura is out of her power." 
 
 " We need not discuss my father's marriage, Mr. 
 Thornhill. Mrs. Woodville is his wife ; as such, I do 
 not wish to hear her spoken of slightingly. Let us 
 not part unkindly. I only think it my duty to repre- 
 sent your conduct in its proper light, and show you 
 that you have justly incurred my father's displeasure. 
 Nevertheless, I shall use every means to reconcile him 
 to your marriage, for Laura's sake. And I most sin- 
 cerely hope you and my sister may secure the happi- 
 ness of which you dream," replied Ethel, with a soft- 
 ened manner. 
 
 " You can hardly speak of kindly feelings after 
 the expressions you have used. Perhaps you will 
 now retract your words ?" 
 
 " No, neither one nor the other. I have spoken 
 the truth." 
 
 Laura just then returned to the room. 
 
 "What! not friends yet?" she exclaimed, flip- 
 pantly. 
 
 " No, nor likely to be. Come, Laura, your sister 
 will be glad to get us away," Thornhill said, angrily. 
 
 " Mr. Thornhill," said Ethel, with quiet firmness, 
 " this is not the conduct of a gentleman. You know 
 I have said nothing but what was the truth; and 
 because it comes home to you, you choose to consider 
 yourself the aggrieved party. I do not wish to 
 cherish one unkind feeling towards you, and I should 
 
woman's ministry. 315 
 
 not like us to part otherwise than friends." Ethel 
 held her hand to him as she spoke. 
 
 " Come, George, don't be sulky ! " said Laura, 
 laughing. 
 
 He took Ethel's hand instantly. 
 
 "Now we must go, dearest. The train won't 
 wait." 
 
 Ethel put her arms round Laura's neck. " Good- 
 by, Laura ! And every happiness and blessing be 
 yours. And if at any time I can be of service to you, 
 I shall be only too glad. And oh! dearest, remember, 
 it is not the world that can give happiness : you must 
 < look higher ! ' I shall try to reconcile papa to this if 
 I can." 
 
 Laura seemed for once touched by genuine feel- 
 ing, and burst into tears. She clung round Ethel's 
 neck until Thornhill gently drew her away, and 
 then once more Ethel stood alone. 
 
316 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " Will He not pity ? He whose searching eye 
 Reads all the secrets of thine agony ? 
 
 Oh ! pray to he forgiven 
 Thy fond idolatry, thy hlind excess, 
 And seek with Him that power of blessedness. 
 Love ! thy sole home is heaven !" — Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 " I seem like one who treads alone 
 Some banquet-hall deserted, 
 Whose lights are fled, whose garlands' dead, 
 And all hut he departed." — Moore. 
 
 One trial after another, but the last was more than 
 she could bear — Ethel felt her head whirl in confu- 
 sion. She neither knew where she was nor what she 
 was doing, Laura's sudden marriage had so com- 
 pletely bewildered her. Sally entered the room a few 
 minutes after, on purpose as she said to tell her mind 
 about Miss Laura's wedding ; but she found Ethel in- 
 capable of attending to, or even understanding any- 
 thing. She really was seriously ill. The excitement 
 and fatigue she had undergone for the last few days 
 had been too much for her already weakened frame. 
 Sally was alarmed, and had her carried to bed, and 
 the surgeon sent for without delay. He considered 
 her seriously ill, and much dreaded a brain fever 
 would be the result; ordered perfect quiet, and the 
 
woman's ministry. 317 
 
 most vigilant watching. All night the faithful Sally- 
 remained by her bed-side, and listened to the wander- 
 ings of her unhappy young mistress, who raved inces- 
 santly, utterly unconscious of what she said. At one 
 time calling for Herbert Raymond, and imploring he 
 would not leave her ; at another imagining Laura had 
 married Raymond, and Thornhill was upbraiding him 
 for stealing his bride. At another, Mrs. Woodville 
 had turned Minnie and herself from the house, and 
 they were wandering about, homeless and penniless, 
 in the wide world. 
 
 Poor Sally hardly knew what to make of this 
 strange confusion of events, possible and impossible ; 
 but she did suspect some part of the truth. That 
 her young mistress had somehow rejected Mr. Ray- 
 mond seemed clear, though why Sally could not deter- 
 mine. But Sally kept all her conjectures to herself, 
 and allowed no one to enter the room, lest they 
 should hear anything which Miss Woodville would 
 not like known. Ethel's continued wanderings con- 
 vinced Sally that it preyed much upon her spirits 
 lest anything should be discovered. She would start 
 wildly sometimes, and implore they would not tell her 
 father, for he would never forgive her for refusing 
 Raymond. " He knew I loved him, though I must give 
 him up. It was right I should do so; I ought to have 
 remembered he was an unbeliever ! But oh ! this is 
 hard !" she would exclaim, wringing her hands in 
 agony. " All seems dark now. My head whirls 
 round. I am alone, quite alone! He has left me — 
 left me — believing I did not love him! Oh, Herbert ! 
 you little know all I have felt for you. The world 
 has grown miserable to me. Every one looks on 
 me coldly ; all is dark and dreary, and there is no 
 rest ! The light of heaven seems withdrawn, because 
 
318 ETHEL; OK, 
 
 I have sinned in loving him!" And then, ex- 
 hausted by her efforts, she would fall back in bed, and 
 murmur incoherent prayers for forgiveness, with her 
 thin hands clasped, and scalding tears chasing each 
 other down her flushed cheeks. Then again the 
 feverish excitement would return, and she would 
 wander on, revealing more and more to the already 
 enlightened Sally. The responsibility of this serious 
 illness fell heavily on the old servant ; but she had no 
 one to apply to in the emergency, except the kind old 
 physician, who had loved Ethel from a child, and who 
 was very watchful and attentive. Mr. Woodville had 
 not left any address — at least, none that Sally could 
 find. Laura had gone she knew not where. Harry 
 was still in London, and Sally did not know the name 
 of either the street or the friends he was with. 
 However, in her innocence, she directed a letter to 
 him, simply addressed to London, believing it possibly 
 might reach him and bring him home again. The 
 letter was returned to her by the postman with a grin, 
 and she was told she might as soon find "a needle in a 
 hay-stack," as young Mr. Woodville in London. 
 
 But Ethel's illness, though for the time severe, was 
 not a lengthened one. On the third day the wander- 
 ing ceased, and she slept a long, quiet sleep, and the 
 doctor assured Sally there was every symptom of 
 returning health. Oh ! how her heart rejoiced when 
 she watched Ethel in her calm, sweet repose ; the 
 bright hue of fever gone, and her breathing soft and 
 even ! 
 
 " Poor thing ! " murmured Sally, as she bent over 
 her; "there's a deal o' trouble passed o'er ye're young 
 head, which few knows on. But there's many as gets 
 t' name o' martyrs as never knows as much sorrow as 
 ye've done. T' waters as run o'er t' stones making a 
 
woman's ministry. 319 
 
 big noise is never so deep as them as is still, and ye've 
 made nowt to do when your poor young heart's been 
 like to break wi' sorrow." 
 
 Sally hastily dashed away her tears, for Ethel 
 opened her eyes. She was quite calm and sensible 
 now, and reaching out her hand, she took hold of 
 Sally's. 
 
 " Dear, kind Sally, you have been watching by me 
 a long time, I fear. I have been insensible, have I 
 not ? Is it very long since — since ? " 
 
 "Never mind, dear Miss Hethel. Thank God 
 you're going to get well now." 
 
 " Yes. I am very weak though. But I do thank 
 God, Sally, for I believe there has been but a step 
 between me and death. Did I wander much ? What 
 did I say ? " Ethel asked, a faint flush rising to her 
 cheeks. 
 
 "Never heed, now ye're all sensible again." 
 
 "But do tell me; I would rather know," Ethel 
 replied, eagerly. 
 
 Sally thought she might do more harm by with- 
 holding information than giving it. 
 
 " Well, bide still, and don't hexcite yourself. You 
 talked a deal about a body you called Hurbert, whom 
 I suppose is t' Thurlston young man, for I once see'd 
 his name on a henvelope, and you said you like loved 
 him, but you couldn't marry him like for summut as 
 I couldn't right understand : however, it 's no business 
 o' mine, ye 'd a been a deal better married to him nor 
 living here : but you mun do as you like. Then ye 
 talked a deal about Miss Laura and her husband, and 
 Mrs. Woodvillc and Miss Minnie, and begged as they 
 wouldn't tell your father. Quite like a jumble o' 
 things as is like and unlike to have happened. I 
 learnt a deal, but nobody '11 be t' wiser, for I'd have 
 
320 ETHEL; OK, 
 
 my thumbs screwed off afore I'd mention anythink. 
 So you munnut mind, Miss Hethel, and trust an old 
 body like me : there's no one else heard a word." 
 
 '•' Thank you, Sally. You are very kind: I can 
 trust you fully. I was afraid I had said more than I 
 ought ; but I have had a bitter trouble. It has nearly 
 broken my heart; but I shall be better now. We 
 will not talk about it any more," said Ethel. 
 
 " No, I dunnot want ye to speak, my dear Miss 
 Hethel. I want you to get well soon. And now let 
 me make your pillows nice, and I'll get you some 
 tea." 
 
 Ethel silently acquiesced, and Sally left her. 
 
 Her recovery under Sally's careful nursing pro- 
 gressed favourably, and in a week she was able once 
 more to venture down- stairs. The intensity of her 
 grief was over, and there seemed to be a calm resig- 
 nation in its place, which kept her composed, and 
 more likely to recover quickly. She was very weak ; 
 her mind and body seemed to require complete rest, 
 and she would lie for hours in a sort of quiet, dreamy 
 way, thinking about heaven and the better life. She 
 felt drawn nearer to God, more weaned from the 
 world. Earthly trials, though they wounded her 
 deeply, had led her to seek the balm to heal them, 
 and her saddened heart had found rest and peace in 
 believing. 
 
 So passed the first fortnight of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Woodville's absence. They had talked of returning 
 in about three weeks' time, and the last week Ethel 
 felt she must make an effort to bring her little way- 
 ward sister's will into subjection, and teach her to 
 regard the lady her father had married as her future 
 mother. This was no easy task. Each day as Ethel 
 spoke about her new mamma, the invariable reply was: 
 
321 
 
 "No, Ethy; my own mamma has gone to heaven, 
 and when I die I shall see her again. You know I 
 cannot have two mammas, sissy ; no one has. And if 
 mamma had been here, she would not have said I was 
 to call Miss Grant mamma, and I must not do what 
 she would not like, you know ; and it would be telling 
 a wicked lie, too : so I will say Miss Grant, Ethy." 
 
 It was in vain to explain and re-explain, and 
 Ethel was too weak to bear much contention, even 
 with Minnie ; but she much feared Minnie's undis- 
 guised dislike would be attributed by Mrs. Woodville 
 to her influence. When Harry returned it was all 
 the same. Ethel had to endure his boyish grimaces 
 and shrugs of the shoulder, about his dislike to 
 " mamma," as he satirically termed Mrs. Woodville ; 
 and he, with daring independence, declared if "she 
 meddled with Ethel, Min, or himself, he 'd soon let 
 her know whom she had to deal with." Ethel tried 
 hard to teach him submission. He only laughed care- 
 lessly, ard replied, — 
 
 " Miss Grant is papa's property ; they may jog on 
 as they please : but she has nothing to do with the 
 family. I'll submit to no innovation of my privileges. 
 If she'll leave me alone, I'll leave her alone ; but she 
 does not look likely to do that, so I'm looking forward 
 to rows from morning to night, and we shall see 
 who'll be victorious." 
 
 And Harry's eyes would glisten with ill-supj^ressed 
 glee at the thought of these battles. Ethel did not 
 know what to do. She dreaded, with good reason, 
 the return of her father and his wife ; and the last 
 week, instead of improving in health, her strength 
 seemed again likely to give way. It was some com- 
 fort to receive a long, affectionate letter from Ada, 
 written from London. She did not seem happy ; dis- 
 
 VOL. i. t 
 
322 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 sipation had lost its charms ; but she related with 
 pleasure having met with a Mr. Beauchamp, a former 
 college friend of her brother's, who was a pleasant 
 and agreeable man, as well as a sincere Christian ; and 
 she earnestly hoped he would do Herbert some good, 
 as he seemed to like his society. 
 
 This was all the allusion to Raymond. Ethel 
 knew, had Ada had anything . pleasant to relate, she 
 would have been only too glad to communicate it ; 
 and she blamed herself for wishing to hear more of 
 him, now that they were never likely to meet again : 
 but she could not resist an intense desire to learn 
 all that was possible of the object of her affection, 
 although it might not be such information as would 
 soothe her sorrowing heart. 
 
 There was a letter, too, from Laura, who men- 
 tioned the week of enjoyment she and her husband 
 had spent in London. They had afterwards been in- 
 vited to George's father's, at Mars ton Grange, and were 
 then staying there. She said she had met, on the 
 whole, with a kind reception, though she did not much 
 like the family. Mr. Thornhill she described as an old, 
 wizened-looking man, who had hardly an idea beyond 
 horses and dogs ; and Mrs. Thornhill as a vulgar- 
 minded woman, who ruled the household with a rod 
 of iron, and who treated her like a child, and gave 
 her so much advice, she felt quite wretched at the 
 idea of spending a week longer in the house. George's 
 eldest brother was a handsome, jovial kind of man, a 
 keen sportsman, and very off-hand in manner, but 
 decidedly the nicest of the family, and disposed to use 
 all his influence with his father to get them an addi- 
 tion to their income. The daughters (one of whom 
 had married a rich farmer in the neighbourhood) 
 were styled by Laura as silly, good-natured, awkward, 
 
woman's ministry. 323 
 
 badly-dressed girls, with hardly an idea in their heads. 
 The letter concluded with a lament that George was 
 not the eldest son. On the whole, however, it was 
 satisfactory to Ethel. It was very well the Thornhills 
 had received the runaways so kindly, for she had 
 every reason to fear that Mr. Woodville would never 
 take Laura into favour again. He gloried in declaring 
 that, when once offended, he never forgave, and in 
 but too many instances Ethel had witnessed his in- 
 veterate hatred against any one who had thwarted 
 him: and Laura had done this. It had been his 
 ambition to promote his own aggrandisement by the 
 marriage of his daughters, and he had spared no pains 
 to bring them forward, though the modest propriety 
 of Ethel's conduct had been such as to prevent her 
 father's manoeuvring designs becoming known, and 
 her renouncement of all fashionable amusements had 
 prejudiced him much against her. In Laura, there- 
 fore, his chief hope lay, and now she had disappointed 
 him. Ethel shuddered as she thought of the burst of 
 rage in which she knew her father would indulge, 
 when he heard of the event. She wished to write to 
 him, it would be better for him to receive the intelli- 
 gence that way ; but he had left no address, and had 
 told her coldly she need not write, he was determined 
 to enjoy three weeks without being harassed by busi- 
 ness, and there was nothing else of moment she would 
 have to tell him. At length there came a few lines 
 from him, to inform her they intended returning the 
 day following, when Mr. Woodville hoped Ethel would 
 have everything in order, and "be ready," as he coldly 
 concluded, " to forget all prejudice, and receive his 
 wife with the affection due to "a mother." Oh! how 
 the word grated on Ethel's ear, — "a mother!" and 
 such a one ! Could she ever have a kindly feeling 
 
324 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 towards the woman who had embittered the life of 
 her own precious parent, over whom the cold grave 
 had closed, covering her broken heart; and whose 
 silent suffering and patient endurance were all for- 
 gotten by her husband, whilst her slanderer was pro- 
 moted to the place which once was hers ! Ethel's mind 
 resisted the thought of bestowing her affection on her 
 father's wife. Rebellious feelings rose in her heart, 
 and strong temptation assailed her, in spite of her 
 desire to be charitable. 
 
 Whilst this feeling lasted she wished, and even 
 longed, for an opportunity to treat her with cold 
 dignity ; to show her how she despised and disliked 
 her monopoly and insincerity, and to show her neither 
 respect nor assist in making her home comfortable. 
 
 There are moments like these which every Christ- 
 ian feels — times when the tempter sorely tries him ; 
 but he is never permitted to gain the victory when 
 the believer turns his eye to Him who was tempted as 
 never man was tempted before. 
 
 Startled and grieved by her own passionate and 
 revengeful desires, Ethel sought for strength to resist 
 them. She resigned herself once more to the guiding of 
 that blessed Spirit who sanctifies and purifies all our 
 corrupt and sinful desires, and whose fruits are " love, 
 joy, peace, and long -suffering" teaching us to bear 
 with one another and to forgive one another, know- 
 ing how much we have been forgiven — the Spirit 
 which gives us power to heap coals of fire on the 
 enemy's head, by a retaliation of good for evil, kind- 
 ness for unkindness. It was such treatment her own 
 mother would have given, and would have wished her 
 child to give, in such a case ; and this thought had 
 recalled Ethel to herself. In earnest, heartfelt con- 
 trition for her sin, Ethel knelt and poured out her 
 
325 
 
 whole heart before the Saviour's mercy-seat, and 
 prayed for forgiveness ; casting off all self-dependence 
 (knowing how weak was her own nature), and asking 
 for strength to do what was right, more especially 
 with regard to the fulfilment of her father's wishes. 
 She rose subdued and calm, and prepared to treat her 
 father's wife with such respect and consideration as 
 would leave no ground of complaint; and with the 
 happy thought that, if offences did come, she might 
 not have to blame herself for having been their pro- 
 moter. In her own strength this struggle would 
 have overpowered her, but " One mighty to save " 
 was with her. There was much of pride and haugh- 
 tiness left in her disposition, which at times she had to 
 battle with, and which often threatened as it were to 
 bring discredit on her Christian profession ; but as 
 she advanced in her heavenward course she learnt to 
 keep a more careful watch over, not only her words 
 and actions, but also her thoughts — not even per- 
 mitting herself to indulge in an uncharitable feeling 
 towards any one, without confessing it to God and 
 praying for pardon. 
 
 She had only just entered tli3 breakfast-room, 
 with her father's letter still in her hand, when Sally 
 came in with the tea-kettle. She looked earnestly at 
 her young mistress, and though she saw no trace of 
 tears, it was evident some emotion oppressed her. 
 
 " Pray, Miss Hethel, is that from t' master ?" she 
 inquired, glancing at the open letter. 
 
 " Yes ; he and Mrs. Woodville return to-morrow 
 evening." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! Then I'se hae to pack up my 
 traps. Well ! Hannah Mallom is quiet ready to slip 
 into my shoes, and she's a good servant : so I shaln't 
 be missed, except by you, Miss Hethel ; and maybe, 
 
326 ETHEL ; OK, 
 
 when you and your grand step-mother quarrels you'll 
 remember Hedgerow Farm, if please," said Sally, 
 trying to look indifferent, but hardly able to keep 
 from crying. 
 
 " Miss you, Sally ? We shall all do that. None 
 more than I, certainly. We shall never like any one 
 so well as you; but you will be very happy with 
 Jonas, and when I can, I will come and see you," 
 replied Ethel, as cheerfully as she could. 
 
 " I'se honored abown all I can tell you, in that 
 promise. How I shall look to t' pleasure o' having 
 on you, my dear Miss Hethel ! I'll make all strait 
 afore I go, for your sake (not hers, mind). She 
 shaln't say t' house wasn't clean when she came. I 
 wish I warn't going while at after they just comes in ; 
 I could like for to see t' master's face when he hears 
 on Miss Laura's weddin'. He'll be fair mad ; and, by 
 your leave, serve him right, too. I believe as how 
 he'd grand idees about Miss Laura's marriage. He 
 would hae liked some one wi' Sir or Lord afore his 
 name to have had her. But she's fixed him this time, 
 sure enough. There's no gettin' t' head out o' that 
 haltar ; t' knot can never be huntied. But while 
 I'se here, Miss Hethel, I could like for to say a few 
 words to you, as it's t' last time as I can say 'urn. 
 You 11 let me?" 
 
 " Yes. Only you must not say anything dis- 
 respectful of either my father or his wife." 
 
 " It's nowt about 'um. I've done wi' 'um, I'm 
 thankful to say. It's just about yourself, Miss Hethel. 
 Ye mind what I said about beaux, or sweethearts as 
 I should call 'um, and about it's not being right to 
 have more nor one string a-going at a time ?" 
 
 " I remember perfectly," replied Ethel, a sad smile 
 playing for a moment round her lips, succeeded by a 
 
woman's ministry. 327 
 
 thrill of regret for Raymond's and her own blighted 
 happiness. 
 
 " Very well ! You know what you said when ye 
 was delarious — a deal about t' young Thurlston gen- 
 tleman ; and by all as I heerd ye cracked that string 
 yourself, though for why I never could tell, for ye 
 seemed like fond on him, or I'm mistaken. And I 
 sure a handsomer, eleganter, civiler - spoken young 
 man, never darkened these doors, and never will 
 again, I know ; for / never set eyes on the likes of 
 him. And you, Miss Hethel, was worthy on him ; and 
 you might hae driven down this very street wi' your 
 carriage and them beautifullest horses I ever see'd, 
 and had footmen and coachmen, and sights o' other 
 servants ; and, for aught I know, been as rich as t' 
 Queen herself, and as happy. And there 'd hae been 
 me as would hae gloried of seeing you dashing about, 
 and being dressed grand, wi' your handsome husband 
 by you. But, howsomever (I see you don't like to 
 be contained), you've missed t' mark some way, and 
 right sorry I am. Many's the tear as I've cried o'er 
 it, but it can't be helped now. I want you to take 
 my hadvice now, and don't crack t' other bowstring, 
 Miss Hethel. I dunnot think t' parson's fit to hold a 
 candle to t' other lad ; but he's a good man, and 
 would make ye a good 'usband. I'se not so fond o' 
 matrimony myself, only for ladies and gentlemen as 
 likes courtings, and as reely likes one another, it's a 
 rare thing, more nor for poorer folks like me, who's 
 summut else to do. But I think t' sooner ye gets 
 away from this place t' better ; ye'll hae nowt but un- 
 quietness wi' her: she's t' worst temper of any one I 
 ever heerd on, and I know it from good authority. 
 She 'shad more maids nor anyone [ knows, and none '11 
 stay wi' her for her awkwardness. Then, there's an- 
 
328 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 other thing as I wanted to say : there's a deal o' reports 
 about t' town about ye and Mr. Raymond. Folks 
 will talk ; and ye see there was Mrs. Fletcher, as is 
 always sitting opposite at t' window, she watches who 
 conies here, same as if it were her business : but some 
 people has nowt to do, they're hallus t' most mis- 
 chievous, and tells t' most tales. She's at t' bottom 
 of all these reports ; she like told she saw Mr. Ray- 
 mond come here several times when Mr. Woodville 
 was out, and partic'lar t' last time as he was here. 
 She said she see'd him come out, looking almost wild, 
 wi' his hat t' wrong way on, and same as if he were 
 daft ; and she's set it about as there was something, 
 only some says it's not you as he liked, it's Miss 
 Laura ; and when he found about Mr. Thornhill, he 
 like went away almost mad. But I've never like told 
 nobody nothing noway, Miss Hethel, for I'm fair 
 terri/zed your father should hear aught about it, and 
 I'm telling you, Miss Hethel, ut ye may be impared 
 (prepared) with an answer for him in time ; and I'd 
 also hadvise you to marry t' parson without delay, 
 and then these busy-bodies' tongues '11 be stopped. 
 That's what as I've got to say, Miss Hethel. I mean 
 it for your good ; but you can foller it or not, as you 
 choose ! " said Sally, earnestly, and looking anxiously 
 at Ethel for an answer. 
 
 " Thank you, Sally. You mean me well, I know. 
 I accept your advice with thanks, and shall not forget 
 it," replied Ethel, as she quietly buttered her toast. 
 
 Sally was not satisfied, and she wanted to have 
 said more ; but Minnie came in for her breakfast, and 
 she reluctantly quitted the apartment, resolving to 
 add a little more if opportunity occurred. 
 
woman's ministry. 329 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " Ah, be not sad, although thy lot he cast 
 Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste ! 
 No shepherd's tents within thy view appear, 
 But the chief Shepherd even there is near. 
 Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain 
 Flow from a foreign land, but not in vain ; 
 Thy tears all issue from a source divine, 
 And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine : 
 So once on Gideon's fleece the dews were found, 
 And drought on all the drooping herbs around." 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 The next day all was bustle and confusion, in prepa- 
 ration for the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Woodville. 
 Ethel, weak and ill as she was, superintended every 
 arrangement, and with her own hands added many little 
 finishing touches to Mrs. Woodville's room, and wearied 
 herself in thinking of anything which she thought might 
 gratify her. At length all was finished, and Ethel 
 took her last survey of her step-mother's apartment. 
 The fire burnt cheerfully in the grate, and the gas 
 added its cheery light, as, worn out with fatigue, Ethel 
 sank into a large arm-chair by the bedside. The 
 scene of her mother's death forcibly recurred to her ; 
 it was the same chair in which she had sat when with 
 
330 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 her the night she died, and the bed on which she 
 had peacefully breathed her last, and trembling sensa- 
 tions of agony rose to her heart at the thought of the 
 changes since then ; when her sad thoughts were in- 
 terrupted by hearing the approach of wheels, and in 
 another moment they stopped before the house. Ethel 
 rose with a powerful effort ; outwardly calm and col- 
 lected, her eye tearless, and no emotion visible in the 
 almost stern expression her face assumed. It was no 
 time for indulging in regrets for the past ; she must 
 do her duty in the present, and this was to meet 
 her father's wife with a kind greeting : but her heart 
 beat wildly beneath her quiet exterior as the door 
 opened, and Mrs. Woodville's voice was heard 
 saying :— 
 
 " There are eight packages, Charles, and don't for- 
 get my dressing-case under the seat," and then the 
 lady entered the hall. Ethel stood there ready to re- 
 ceive her, holding Minnie by the hand, who looked 
 wonderingly at the mass of velvet and furs which ap- 
 peared before her. 
 
 " How do you do, Ethel ? " inquired Mrs. Wood- 
 ville, coldly advancing to shake hands with her step- 
 daughter, expecting to meet with an equally chilling 
 reception. But Ethel, remembering only her good re- 
 solutions, advanced with a kind greeting to Mrs- 
 Woodville, kissed her, and hoped she was not fatigued 
 with her long journey. Mrs. Woodville was so sur- 
 prised, her manner softened a little. 
 
 " Here, Minnie, come and kiss your new mamma," 
 she said, extending a finger to the child, who was 
 clinging to Ethel's dress. Minnie's face worked con- 
 vulsively, and she nearly choked herself with restrain- 
 ing her tears, which, child as she was, she was too 
 proud to show. 
 
woman's ministry. 331 
 
 "You are not my mamma! My mamma was 
 Ethy's mamma, too, and she is in heaven ; and I won't 
 have another ! I don't love you at all ; you are only 
 Miss Grant, and you shan't be anybody's mamma but 
 Laura's," burst from her lips at last, and tears gushed 
 from her eyes notwithstanding her efforts to check 
 them. 
 
 " Oh, Minnie, what a naughty little girl you are! 
 Go away directly! I shall punish you for this," said 
 Ethel, gravely, giving her little sister to the servant's 
 care. All Mrs. Woodville's coldness returned ; it was 
 in vain for Ethel to apologise : an irreparable offence 
 had been committed, which could never be forgotten. 
 Mr. Woodville entered the dinning-room just as Ethel 
 returned from showing Mrs. Woodville to her room. 
 
 " Well, Ethel, are you the only person visible ? 
 Where's Laura? having another fit of hysterics, eh? 
 I've a capital cure for that — a red-hot poker applied by 
 way of blister to the back will soon teach her who 
 she has to deal with. Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Mr. 
 Woodville forcedly. Then, having no reply from Ethel, 
 he looked at her scrutinisingly. 
 
 "Bless my life, child! what is the matter with 
 you? You look very ill — ten years older; positively 
 got wrinkles on your forehead ! This won't do ! I gave 
 you credit for better sense than to be fretting about 
 my marriage." 
 
 " I have not been fretting about it, papa. I have 
 been very ill since you left, and am by no means well 
 yet: that has altered me," replied Ethel, in a faint 
 voice. 
 
 " Ah! well, if you are getting better, it's almost the 
 same as being well. You must keep up your spirits, 
 and so on. But where is Laura ? I insist upon know- 
 ing how she dare treat us with such neglect. I'll soon 
 
332 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 let her know about this, and so will Elizabeth," said 
 Mr. Woodville. 
 
 " Laura is .not at home " began Ethel. 
 
 " Not at home ! " exclaimed Mr. Woodville, fiercely, 
 with an oath. "What do you mean, child? How dare 
 she leave without permission?" 
 
 "Papa, do hear me! Laura was unhappy, and — 
 
 and — without thought she went, and " Ethel 
 
 stopped again, almost breathless. 
 
 " Speak out! will you, girl? " exclaimed her father, 
 furiously. 
 
 " I do not like to tell you, unless you will promise 
 to forgive Laura ; she did not consider the conse- 
 quences," said Ethel, in her agony grasping her 
 father's hand. He shook it off angrily. 
 
 "Ethel, when will you have done with this un- 
 necessary display of feeling ? Tell me instantly where 
 Laura is! Do you hear me?" 
 
 " She is married." 
 
 " To whom? " shouted Mr. Woodville, in his tempest 
 of rage. 
 
 " George Thornhill," replied Ethel, in a low voice. 
 A fearful oath escaped her father, which made her re- 
 coil in horror from him; and then such a torrent of 
 rage burst forth from his lips as she had never heard 
 before. He cursed Laura and Thornhill, and swore 
 they should never be forgiven; while he headed op- 
 probrious epithets on Ethel for not having prevented 
 the marriage, without considering or knowing the cir- 
 cumstances. Ethel stood powerless and mute before 
 him, supporting herself against the back of her chair, 
 listening to his dreadful language and threatenings; 
 while he declared, that henceforth Laura was as dead 
 to them. Mrs. Woodville re-entered before he finished, 
 and on ascertaining the cause her face grew pallid 
 
woman's ministry. 333 
 
 in its expression of passion. She had looked for- 
 ward with almost fiendish exultation to retaliation on 
 Laura for all her undisguised dislike to herself, and 
 now her chance was past. But with a powerful effort 
 she controlled her indignation, and requested Ethel to 
 relate how the affair had occurred, which hitherto she 
 had had no opportunity of doing. In a low, trembling 
 voice, Ethel briefly explained everything, omitting any 
 details needlessly annoying to her father, and then 
 raising her pale, wasted face to him, she implored him 
 to forgive her sister. 
 
 "No ! " exclaimed Mr. Woodville, fiercely, " I never 
 will forgive her : and I desire you never to hold any 
 communication with her. Do you hear me, Ethel? " 
 
 His daughter made no reply: her trembling lips 
 refused to speak. 
 
 " That is right, Charles; nothing should ever induce 
 me to notice one who has so disgraced your name. I 
 am glad to hear your determination," said Mrs. Wood- 
 ville, a sardonic smile playing round her mouth. She 
 turned to see the effect her words produced on her step- 
 daughter. But Ethel's strength could bear no longer, 
 she felJ to the ground insensible ; her head receiving a 
 stunning blow from the table. Mr. Woodville raised 
 her, and a gleam of softness for the moment rose to 
 his heart as he held his beautiful daughter in his arms, 
 and placed her on a couch. 
 
 "Really your daughters are very fond of dis- 
 playing their feelings," exclaimed Mrs. Woodville, 
 as she mercilessly dashed a shower of cold water on 
 Ethel's face. 
 
 " Ethel does not usually give way ; and she has 
 been very ill since we left. Do you not see she is much 
 changed, Elizabeth ? " replied Mr. Woodville, apolo- 
 getically. 
 
334 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 Ethel did not remain long insensible, but opened 
 her eyes and looked round in a sort of bewildered 
 manner. 
 
 " You are better now, Ethel ; I suppose we can 
 have tea," said Mr. Woodville, leaving her side. 
 
 "Yes, thank you, I am better," Ethel replied, 
 making a powerful effort to rise. She moved slowly 
 to the door, perceiving her presence was not desired. 
 
 " You had better go to bed. A good night's rest 
 will set you all right," her father said, carelessly. 
 
 Ethel did not reply. Her strength was almost 
 gone, but after taking some sal volatile she seemed 
 better, and went to find Minnie, who was in disgrace, 
 waiting her punishment. Ethel found her sitting in 
 her chair by the kitchen fire, where she had been con- 
 veyed by the servant. She looked sullen, and her 
 little face betrayed an obstinate determination not to 
 yield. 
 
 " Have you considered, Ethy ?" she said, demurely. 
 
 ' ; Considered what, Minnie ?" 
 
 " What you will do with me, because I won't call 
 Miss Grant mamma." 
 
 " Yes," replied Ethel, gravely, taking the child by 
 the hand and leading her up-stairs. Minnie did not 
 resist anything, until Ethel having silently undressed 
 her, told her to get into bed. 
 
 " I hasn't said my prayers, sissy ! " 
 
 " You are not fit to say them now. God cannot 
 hear prayers from a little girl who is not sorry for her 
 disobedience, and until you are ready to tell Jesus 
 Christ you wish to be a better girl I dare not let you 
 pray." 
 
 This, as Ethel well knew it would, had the desired 
 effect. Minnie dare not sleep without having said her 
 prayers, so rooted was the feeling in her youthful 
 
woman's ministry. 335 
 
 heart that no blessing could be Jiers if she neglected 
 them. Her little breast heaved with her childish 
 emotion and intense struggle to do what was right- 
 Ethel took no notice, and busied herself with other 
 things. 
 
 " Oh, Ethy, I must be sorry, but I can't. Will 
 God be very angry if I say, Miss Grant?" she said 
 at last. 
 
 " God is always angry with little children who are 
 disobedient and wilful, as you have been. They are 
 not then the lambs which Jesus loves and folds in his 
 bosom. And can Minnie like to be a child of the 
 devil and love sin?" 
 
 " Oh, no, no, sissy ! I will be sorry, I am sure. But 
 I cannot see things ; Miss Grant isn't my mamma." 
 
 " She is married to papa, Minnie, and therefore 
 she is in the place of a mamma ; and when you know 
 papa wishes you to call her so, it is very wicked to 
 refuse." 
 
 " Then I will say mamma, sissy. Do let me say my 
 prayers now," said Minnie, kneeling by her sister's side. 
 
 " Stay, Minnie, dear. You must promis some- 
 thing else : you must tell mamma you were sorry you 
 were so naughty." 
 
 Minnie's head dropped, and she burst into tears, 
 and begged earnestly Ethel would not wish her to do 
 this, but Ethel felt it her duty to be firm. Now was 
 the time to teach the child a lesson of submission she 
 would never forget. And Minnie yielded at last, and 
 said she would tell her step-mother she was sorry, 
 and then her sister allowed her to say her prayers. 
 When she came to the usual petition, "bless dear 
 papa," she paused. 
 
 "Must I say, Miss Grant, too, Ethy?" 
 
 " You must say, mamma." 
 
336 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 Minnie slowly repeated it ; after which Ethel laid 
 her in bed, and she soon fell into a sweet childlike 
 repose. 
 
 " Would I could forget and rest as that precious 
 darling ! " sighed Ethel, as she laid her weary head 
 beside her little sister's. " Happy, happy child- 
 hood ! with its sorrows soon forgotten. How pleasant 
 to be a child again ! " and hot tears sprung into her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! thou art pleased to try me in the 
 furnace of affliction. Keep me ; be with me ; lead 
 me nearer to thyself, to stay on thee ; to make thee 
 my all in all. I know all is well, though my wild, 
 wayward nature, would fain rebel against thee often, 
 if thou didst not hold me with thy right hand. 
 Oh, my precious Saviour ! still lead and guide me : 
 show me the way by which every thought, feeling, 
 desire, and hope, may be brought into captivity to the 
 obedience of thyself; and then, whether for life or 
 death, I shall be thine, waiting ready for all it is thy 
 good pleasure to allot for me, steadfast, unmovable, 
 always abounding in thy love," she said, as with diffi- 
 culty she once more rose and went down-stairs. 
 
 Her object was to meet Harry (who had been 
 spending the evening with a schoolfellow, and whose 
 loud ring at the door had roused her), and to warn 
 him not to allude to Laura in any way, or interrupt 
 Mr. and Mrs. Woodville, lest there might be a repeti- 
 tion of the scene she had just undergone. 
 
 " Harry, I want to speak to you," said Ethel, 
 softly, as she drew him into the drawing-room. 
 
 Her pale face and sunken eyes at once attracted 
 his attention. 
 
 " What's the row, Thella ? eh ? Governor angry 
 at Laura's flight?" he began, in a loud voice. 
 
woman's ministry. 337 
 
 " Hush, do ! pray speak more softly." 
 
 " Why ? And what am I to be dragged into this 
 cold room for ? " 
 
 " Don't go into the dining-room — you may dis- 
 turb them. And oh, Harry ! don't allude to Laura in 
 any way. I never saw or heard such fearful passion 
 in my life as papa has given way to this evening 
 about it." And Ethel shuddered as she spoke. 
 
 " Confound papa ! What does he mean ? " ex- 
 claimed Harry, angrily. 
 
 " Don't use such expressions, Harry. I do not 
 mind what he has said to me, but it is the language 
 he has used makes me shudder." 
 
 " Tell me all about things," said Harry, affec- 
 tionately drawing his sister to the couch, and putting 
 his arm round her. 
 
 Ethel, in a few words, related what had passed, 
 and earnestly entreated him to endeavour to give no 
 offence, and to treat Mrs. Woodville with respect, and 
 avoid for the future, as much as possible, anything 
 that might lead to unpleasant feelings. Harry re- 
 luctantly promised for Ethel's sake, though it was 
 giving up a dear wish, for he had delighted in the 
 thought of defying Mrs. Woodville. 
 
 " And now, dear Harry, I must go to bed. I 
 really feel as if I should be deprived of my senses, my 
 head throbs so wildly; I must have hurt it when I 
 fell. I hope I shall not be ill again ; but God knows 
 what is best," Ethel said, as she rose with difficulty. 
 
 " Let me help you, dear sister. Poor Thella ! how 
 much you have to bear! — you are a regular female 
 Job in patience. I wish you were married, and away 
 from this place. Do you know, Thella, I more than 
 half thought you and Raymond would have made a 
 match of it. I am sure he admired you : but I sup- 
 
 vol. i. z 
 
338 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 pose it's all up — at least for the present — as Thurlston 
 is closed for some time to come. Well, never mind, 
 Thella ; next month I go to Brown and Adam's ware- 
 house, and I shall soon have enough salary to keep 
 you and Minnie on, and then you shall be taken away 
 from the claws of that old cat-like creature. Won't 
 it be jolly that, Thella?" 
 
 Ethel tried to smile as he helped her up-stairs, but 
 the effort was too great. She murmured her thanks, 
 and Harry, having kissed her tenderly, then left her. 
 
 Her mind was too confused, and her brain too 
 much overstrained, to think with any clearness over 
 her many trials. She only knew she was very ill and 
 very unhappy, but that there was a Friend near her 
 who had sent these afflictions to try her faith, and 
 who will not heat the furnace one degree more than 
 is needful, but will bring his people forth through the 
 fiery trial, not one hair of their heads hurt ; and will 
 also let the world know, that though the trial may be 
 severe, the God-man is seen there walking with them, 
 even in the midst of the fire ; " for in all their afflic- 
 tions He is afflicted." 
 
 Morning found Ethel on a bed of sickness, weak 
 and feeble as an infant, in a low, sinking fever, brought 
 on by intense mental anxiety, and suffering from the 
 wound on her head. Sleep had never visited her 
 eyes throughout that long night of anguish. She was 
 utterly powerless on attempting to rise, and fell back 
 almost insensible with the effort she had made. 
 
 Mrs. Woodville was extremely annoyed when the 
 servant brought a message to say that Miss Woodville 
 was too unwell to leave her bed. It was so pro- 
 voking, just when she had returned, she said, and 
 when she had so many things which Ethel ought to 
 have done for her. 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 339 
 
 Mr. Woodville comforted her with the assurance 
 that Ethel was never ill long, her constitution was 
 far too good for that. 
 
 " Yes ; but Ethel said she had been ill before, and 
 certainly you must admit she was looking very unwell. 
 You were rather alarming in your language last 
 night, Charles, and may have provoked a return of 
 the illness." 
 
 Mr. Woodville made no reply. His heart was a 
 little touched by his injustice and harshness the pre- 
 ceding evening ; and the care-worn, sorrowing face of 
 his daughter, made him, on remembrance, feel rather 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 It was this feeling which induced him to pay a 
 visit to Ethel's room, to judge of her state for himself, 
 and to obtain medical aid, if needful. He was un- 
 prepared to find her so really ill as she was. In an- 
 swer to his inquiry, her voice was so low he had to 
 bend over her to catch the words. 
 
 Her hands lay powerless on the bed ; her eyes 
 had lost their lustre ; and her face (with the hair 
 drawn back) looked so wan and attenuated, that what 
 feeling he had left within him was roused. 
 
 The remembrance of Ethel's mother flashed upon 
 him, for his daughter now looked painfully like her ; 
 and the uncomfortable conviction suggested itself, 
 that his unkindness had been the cause of her pre- 
 mature death. 
 
 " You seem ill, certainly, Ethel. Well, I will see 
 that Carter comes directly to you. You must not 
 attempt to move, and keep as quiet as you can ; there's 
 nothing like it for invalids. Now, good-by ! my time's 
 up." 
 
 Indifferent as his words seemed, there was a 
 slight tinge of uneasiness in his manner, which 
 
340 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 brought joy to Ethel's heart. She was so unaccus- 
 tomed to receive even civility from her father, that 
 it showed he still retained some affection for her. 
 
 A short time after he had departed the doctor 
 arrived. He was an old friend, and always took the 
 greatest interest in Ethel; and he showed real sym- 
 pathy at finding her so ill. 
 
 Mrs. Woodville did not even take the trouble to 
 come up-stairs with him to hear his opinion on her 
 step-daughter's case. 
 
 " I am sorry to find you so unwell, Ethel," Dr. 
 Carter said, as he felt her pulse, which was so low, 
 he could hardly perceive its beatings. " But you must 
 keep up your spirits as much as possible. Don't, on 
 any account, attempt to move. You must be perfectly 
 quiet, free from excitement ; and then, I trust, with 
 God's blessing, you may soon be restored." 
 
 The doctor spoke cheerfully ; but his heart was 
 sad to see his favourite young friend lying on a bed 
 of sickness, which might prove death. This touched 
 him greatly, for the utter prostration of strength, 
 with the evident excitement of the whole nervous 
 system, made it very doubtful whether she could rally. 
 He left her, promising to call again in the after- 
 noon. Mrs. Woodville met him in the passage as he 
 was leaving. 
 
 " Pray, what do you think of your patient?" she 
 inquired, carelessly. 
 
 " My decided opinion is, madam, that she is in a 
 state of imminent danger ; and if the greatest care and 
 the most vigilant watching are not bestowed on her, 
 she will never rise from her bed." 
 
 " It seems very sudden, I think," replied Mrs. 
 Woodville. 
 
 " Miss Woodville had a very severe attack of 
 
woman's ministry. 341 
 
 illness while you were away, madam ; so severe, that 
 I then considered her to require the greatest care. 
 This attack seems, however, to have been brought on 
 by mental anxiety ; from what cause I know not — her 
 sister's marriage, or other circumstances, may have led 
 to it. At all events, no time must be lost. Shall I 
 send a nurse this morning ? I know of an excellent 
 one," inquired Dr. Carter, coldly, for Mrs. Woodville's 
 heartlessness made him indignant. 
 
 " You had better consult Mr. Woodville on the 
 subject; he will know best what is to be done about 
 his daughter : he may not like the expense of a nurse." 
 
 " It is no time to talk of expense, when it is a 
 case of life and death, Mrs. Woodville ; but I will 
 see Mr. Woodville at once. Good morning ! " 
 
 Mrs. Woodville bowed stiffly. She was very angry 
 with the doctor's near guess at the truth of the reason 
 of Ethel's illness, which was revealed in his eye more 
 than his words. 
 
 The doctor lost no time in going to Mr. Wood- 
 ville's office, and representing the case in such a light 
 that Mr. Woodville felt bound to allow a nurse to be 
 sent, lest, if anything should happen to Ethel, the 
 world (Mr. Woodville's only terror) should accuse him 
 of harshness and neglect. 
 
 An excellent nurse, fortunately, was engaged for 
 Ethel, who otherwise must have been left unattended. 
 When the doctor paid his afternoon visit he found 
 no material change in his patient, although she did 
 not seem worse, which at least was a hopeful sign. 
 
 Again he tried to cheer her, and told her how 
 anxious Miss Hackett (then an invalid) was to hear 
 how she progressed ; and that if she wished for any- 
 thing it was in her power to provide, she was to let 
 her know at once. Ethel thanked the doctor for this 
 
342 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 message, and promised compliance ; but it seemed 
 as if she but little heeded anything now. 
 
 Dr. Carter left the house, with scarcely more hope 
 than in the morning. He felt deeply for the poor 
 young girl, who seemed fading away, without any 
 kind hand of affection to cheer and support her. No 
 father, no mother, no sister's affectionate tenderness 
 to watch beside her bed, and soothe her in this hour 
 of sickness ! 
 
 It was pretty well noised about Carysford now 
 what sort of man Mr. Woodville was ; and his wife, 
 notwithstanding her bland manner, had no small share 
 of blame bestowed on her : for the thin veil of hypo- 
 crisy had been penetrated, and her real character was 
 becoming known. 
 
 Sally, too, had made it her business to propagate, 
 with real energy, the way things went on at home, 
 and the troublous time " Miss Hethel" led. So well 
 might the good man ponder sorrowfully over the 
 lonely fate of Ethel, but he little dreamt of the 
 heaviest sorrow of all, which pressed down her young 
 spirit — her blighted affection, and the knowledge 
 that he, who was dear to her as life, had wandered 
 into the fearful paths of infidelity ; or his pity would 
 have been been still more increased, if that were 
 possible. 
 
 For many days Ethel hovered between life and 
 death, her strength seeming well-nigh gone. But no 
 murmur escaped her lips, though she firmly believed 
 she was treading " the valley of the shadow of death." 
 Still, no doubts or fears were allowed to disturb the 
 holy calm which shed its light upon her soul. If it 
 were God's will she should be taken, she was willing 
 it should be so ; she knew she was safe, whether 
 living or dying. It seemed in those silent hours, 
 
woman's ministry. 343 
 
 when all was hushed that she might be undisturbed, 
 as she lay in a state of dreamy unconsciousness, that 
 the sting of death had been taken away. The thought 
 of repose in heaven, " where the wicked cease from 
 troubling and the weary are at rest," was so de- 
 lightful and so joyous, that earth had not one thing 
 left to draw her back again to linger there. 
 
 Such is the peace God 'often vouchsafes to his 
 chosen people. In health, even with believers, there 
 is always a something on earth to which they cling 
 with fond regret at the thought of parting. 
 
 In sickness that stumbling-block is removed ; and 
 as they lie with strength gone, and pains to oppress 
 them, still there is a holy calm, which lifts them, as 
 it were, to heaven's portals, and makes them feel even 
 then " 'tis pleasant to die." And this feeling was 
 Ethel's. 
 
 In health, the thought would have oppressed her, 
 — " what would have become of her dear little sister, 
 were she removed?" Now she was willing quietly to 
 leave all these events in the hands of God, knowing 
 that " he will provide." 
 
 But Ethel's sickness was not unto death ; the 
 " Lord had need of her." She had worked but 
 one short hour in his vineyard, and she was yet to 
 labour on through the burden and heat of the day for 
 him. Dark, untried scenes, were yet before her ; but 
 her ever-present God would place under her the sup- 
 port of his own arm, and make her a witness of the 
 wondrous mercies he had in his providence graciously 
 designed to achieve ; and then, aided by his mighty 
 power, permit her to be an humble instrument in his 
 hands of leading souls to himself. 
 
 Several weeks passed by before she was able to 
 leave her bed, but, thanks to Dr. Carter, she was well 
 
344 • ETHEL; OR, 
 
 nursed by the excellent woman he had engaged to 
 attend her. 
 
 Little Minnie, too, added her mite in sitting by 
 her sister watching her, and her sweet, childish talk, 
 was a great comfort to Ethel, and the only sympathy 
 on which she had to depend ; for Mr. Woodville, when 
 danger was passed, relapsed into his usual cold, stern 
 manner. As for her step-mother, she rarely entered 
 her room, and then only to make some alteration which 
 detracted from Ethel's comfort, so that her presence 
 could not be hailed with pleasure. Very slowly 
 Ethel's strength returned, but as soon as she could be 
 removed, Miss Hackett requested Mr. Woodville's 
 permission to watch over her precious young friend's 
 recovery, and also to take charge of little Minnie for 
 a time. 
 
 Then Ethel's strength came rapidly, and a visit to 
 the south of England during the month of April with 
 Miss Hackett was of great benefit in reviving her 
 drooping spirits, and restoring vigour to her system. 
 When they returned home again, Miss Hackett would 
 not hear of their removal to their father's house 
 until Ethel had quite recovered. Here she rejoiced 
 in Christian communion. Every day the young clergy- 
 man paid them a visit, and had Ethel's heart been 
 free, it must have yielded to his delicate attentions and 
 kind thoughtfulness. He spoke to her unreservedly 
 of what was dearer to him than life, his love to the 
 Saviour. He lent them many excellent books, and 
 read to them in an evening, and his words had much 
 weight in leading his aunt and Ethel to more earnest 
 seeking after " the truth as it is in Jesus." 
 
 Many were the hours thus spent in Christian con- 
 verse, and surely a blessing from the Lord rested on 
 them in it; for we are told of the prophetic period, 
 
woman's ministry. 345 
 
 that " then they that feared the Lord spake often one 
 to another, and the Lord hearkened and heard it, and 
 a book of remembrance was written before him for 
 them that feared the Lord, and that thought upon his 
 name;" and how touchingly beautiful the reward he 
 confers on his people for thus honouring him. " They 
 shall be mine, saith the Lord of Hosts, in that day 
 when I make up my jewels" (or, "special treasure," in 
 the marginal reading), "and I will spare them as a man 
 spareth his own son that serveth him." 
 
 Alas, that those who do profess to love and serve 
 God should so shrink from speaking of him to others ! 
 Can it be possible that they are ashamed to own they 
 love him who has done so much for them ? Why is 
 it that in our daily intercourse, in society generally, the 
 name of Jesus is so little heard? Why is it that 
 Christians dishonour him by speaking vain and idle 
 words, instead of talking of his lovingkindness ? We 
 hear them reply frequently, that such a time and 
 place is not suitable, and it is better not to mix 
 religion with the common parlance of the day. This 
 is a vain excuse. If Christians know they are going 
 anywhere, or into any society, in which worldly 
 conversation only must be introduced, why do they 
 bring discredit on their profession by appearing there 
 at all? Christians should be burning and shining 
 lights in the world; if they hide their lights, in 
 what are they different from other men ? But we 
 believe, that in the majority of cases it is the fault 
 of professing Christians, that religion is not more 
 the theme of conversation. It is a want of moral 
 courage, a fear of the sarcastic smile and the sneering 
 remark, which makes them shrink at the mere thought 
 of introducing those subjects which are regarded by 
 them of so much importance. We have heard worldly 
 
346 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 people, who, perhaps, might be the very ones to laugh 
 at them if they did speak, yet repeatedly make the 
 remark, how indifferent Christians are, and how little 
 they seem to care to converse with others on these 
 subjects — that Christians seem to be selfish with 
 regard to one another's salvation; that they have no 
 life, no earnestness of purpose. This has been men- 
 tioned in reference more especially to ministers of the 
 Gospel. Where is their Christian converse ? where 
 their meeting together for strengthening and confirm- 
 ing one another? and where is the difference in 
 society frequently between them and their more 
 worldly friends ? Their conversation is the same as 
 that of others, and it is by this that the character is 
 but too generally judged. It is this, doubtless, which 
 so often hinders persons from either appealing to their 
 ministers for advice, or paying attention to their 
 sermons. They feel uncertain about the minister's 
 sincerity, and consider that it is his duty first to make 
 an effort to speak on religion to them. 
 
 But let us not be mistaken in our meaning, in 
 regard to religious conversation. We do not desire to 
 advocate what may properly be termed, a " dragging- 
 in " of religion on every occasion, as we have some- 
 times found to be the case. This frustrates the 
 design intended, and often produces indifference 
 instead of attention. There is a vast distinction 
 between cant and earnestness — between those who 
 are anxious to display their powers in religious con- 
 versation, and those who, from true, genuine love to 
 the Saviour, make it the theme of their discourse. 
 The Christian, whether minister or layman, ought 
 ever to be watching his opportunity for turning the 
 conversation into the right channel, so that it may 
 flow into it naturally., and the worldly feel themselves 
 
woman's ministry. 347 
 
 irresistibly drawn in, without finding it wearisome or 
 monotonous. This was precisely the way in which 
 Mr. Bevan aimed to introduce religion, and it was 
 seldom he failed, as Ethel had frequently noticed, 
 both in society and in private life. This circumstance 
 had increased her respect and esteem for him, and she 
 had also often heard her worldly acquaintance use the 
 expression, " Mr. Bevan never forgets he is a clergy- 
 man." Certainly Ethel found his Christian sympathy 
 and society a wonderful soother to her aching heart, 
 and she could not fail to notice how Miss Hackett 
 seemed to love to dwell, more than ever, on the words 
 of truth which fell from her nephew's lips. 
 
 But deeply as Ethel respected and liked him, she 
 had no affection to give, even supposing he should 
 ever ask her to bestow it upon him. But she hoped 
 Miss Hackett had been mistaken ; for never, by word 
 or action, did he seem to imply he valued and liked 
 her, otherwise than as a friend, and as one much 
 loved by his aunt. 
 
 Ethel, as her health returned, still retained the 
 calm which had been given her from above to bear 
 the bitter trial appointed for her ; and she thanked 
 God more than ever that strength had been hers to 
 resist the temptation of earthly love and grandeur, 
 that she might follow Him the more, unfettered by 
 any love of the world. That Raymond was dear as 
 ever she felt undeniably, and she did not think she 
 could ever allow any affection again to enter her 
 heart ; yet she could leave all in the hands of 
 God, and thank him that her prayers might still be 
 given for the beloved one, that he might be reclaimed, 
 and brought back to the fold from which he had so 
 grievously strayed. 
 
 Laura wrote once to Ethel while they were at 
 
348 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 Miss Hackett's, and Ethel did deem it right to resist 
 her father's orders in the answer. She wrote a long 
 and affectionate reply, softening his harsh conduct, 
 and his command that no correspondence should 
 pass between the families ; but adding, that no 
 effort on her part should be wanting to reconcile 
 him, if she could, to her sister : also, that Miss 
 Hackett would be glad if Laura would write to 
 her, and she would reply to her letters ; by which 
 means the sisters might continue to hear of one 
 another. Then Ethel concluded, by entreating Laura 
 to let her know if, at any time, she could be of use to 
 her, and she would do anything in her power to serve 
 her. 
 
 About the middle of May Ethel returned to her un- 
 genial home, much to her own and Miss Hackett's regret. 
 But Ethel felt that her health was now re-established, 
 and sundry hints received from Mr. and Mrs. Wood- 
 ville made it plainly her duty to do so. For herself, 
 she had firmly resolved, by God's help, patiently to 
 submit ; it was for poor little Minnie she so much 
 dreaded the renewal of persecution. But here we 
 must leave Ethel, and return to Raymond. 
 
woman's ministry. 3 19 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " Oh ! child of sorrow, be it thine to know, 
 That Scripture only is the cure for woe ; 
 That field of promise, how it flings abroad 
 Its perfume o'er the Christian's thorny road ! 
 The soul reposing on assured belief 
 Feels herself happy amidst all her grief; 
 Forgets her labour as she toils along, 
 Weeps tears of joy, and bursts into a song." 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 " Proud science scales the skies from star to star to roam, 
 But reacheth not the shore where lies the spirit's home. 
 Impervious shadows hide this mystery of heaven ; 
 But where all knowledge is denied, to hope is given ! " 
 
 J. Malcolm. 
 
 Ada understood very little of the overpowering in- 
 tensity of her brother's feeling, though she knew 
 enough to make her grieve deeply ; but her own 
 nature not being so powerful, she was not able either 
 to appreciate or conceive the depth of wretchedness 
 into which he was plunged, and the poignant 
 suffering he endured. Herbert knew and felt this, 
 and therefore he could not confide . his misery so 
 openly as under more ordinary circumstances : he felt 
 the chief burden of his heart must be borne alone. 
 He returned home from his interview with Ethel an 
 altered man. The joyousness of his existence was 
 poisoned, and having no hope for the future, his only 
 desire was to drown care until death, when eternal 
 
350 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 sleep, he believed (or thought he believed), would 
 terminate his misery. His first passionate outburst 
 was to Ada, to whom he briefly related what had 
 passed between himself and Ethel, and with bitter 
 sarcasm he expressed his opinion of her religion. 
 " If that," said he, " is the reason why her happiness 
 and my own are to be ruined, I hope it may never 
 be my lot to be a Christian." His tempest of con- 
 centrated indignation, though not vehement in ges- 
 ture, alarmed Ada, who had never seen her brother 
 so fearfully reckless before. It was in vain she tried 
 gentle, soothing words, and endeavoured to lead him 
 to see the hand of God in the trial. He sternly 
 interrupted her, by requesting at least he might be 
 spared a repetition of the name of religion, for he 
 hated it. Ada ceased, fearful of exciting her brother's 
 anger, and tried other means of soothing him ; but in 
 vain — Herbert seemed utterly incapable of listening 
 to anything. He did not blame Ethel, he said ; she 
 was a high-souled woman, and had acted up to what 
 she believed her duty : but it was her religion, which 
 was so deeply rooted in her heart, as to teach her to 
 resign every other consideration in order to adhere to 
 her principles. It was madness to him to know and 
 feel that it had more power over her than his affec- 
 tion, and it added to the hardness he already felt for 
 the truths of the Gospel. 
 
 " And now, dear Ada," he concluded, with mourn- 
 ful bitterness, when his words were somewhat calmer, 
 " I have told you all that has passed between us. I 
 am lonely, desolate, and almost broken-hearted ! 
 There seems to me nothing worth living for in the 
 world : I feel reckless as to what becomes of me. If 
 only I can, by any means, drown this overwhelming 
 sorrow, until death sets me free, I shall be thankful. 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 351 
 
 One thing is certain, we must leave Thurlston at 
 once ; I cannot live near her. Do not, if you have 
 any regard for me, mention her name oftener than 
 you can help. She is the only woman I can ever 
 love, but I must strive to forget her ; for she will 
 never marry me unless I am a Christian, — which 
 event is the most unlikely thing I can ever conceive. 
 You feel for me, I know, dearest ; but you can never 
 know — and I trust you never may — what it is to 
 have your affections blighted as mine are. Forgive 
 me if I have been harsh or ungrateful, and forgive 
 also all the inconsistencies you will probably see me 
 practise ; and never suppose, though you may fancy 
 me outwardly gay, that I feel the less. But the world 
 must not know what I suffer ; and even to you, dear 
 Ada, I cannot bear to speak of — of Ethel." He 
 pressed his hand to his face, and fearing to give way 
 before his sister, rose hastily, and left her. 
 
 Poor Ada wept that day, and many more, in 
 private for her brother's grief. She looked at him in 
 agony, as, when he rejoined her, all trace of violent 
 emotion had passed, and had been succeeded by a 
 stern, inflexible expression of sorrow, which scorned 
 all sympathy, and defied all efforts at comfort. He 
 sorrowed alone. None knew how night after night 
 succeeded, which found him never once laid on his 
 couch ; and often, hour after hour, he paced his room, 
 when all else was hushed in slumber. With folded 
 arms and bowed head he mourned in secret over 
 blighted hopes. Truly, " the sorrow of the world 
 worketh death," for Herbert only grew more deter- 
 mined to harden himself against that Saviour for 
 whose sake Ethel had made so great a sacrifice. But 
 it was this very feeling which hardened him. Some- 
 times, when overpowered by the temptation of the 
 
352 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 evil one, he experienced a wild, unhallowed kind of 
 satisfaction in his very defiance of his Maker, imagin- 
 ing that he, too, was making a sacrifice for the sake 
 of the truth of reason. He seemed, in some moments, 
 to glory in his unbelief, half desiring she might know 
 it. Yes ! know how little he cared for those things 
 which were to her as life. Alas for these dark 
 moments ! how every noble, generous impulse of his 
 natural disposition had fled, when he indulged in such 
 unholy thoughts. But he was under the influence of 
 the " god of this world," and his powers of darkness. 
 He seemed, at times, to have given himself up to their 
 pernicious temptations. The feeblest spark of gospel 
 light which had hitherto shed a faint ray in his heart 
 seemed well-nigh gone. All was darkness — gross 
 darkness ; and, says holy writ, "if the light that is in 
 thee be darkness, how great is that darkness !" 
 
 " Darker and darker still that blackness of night grew. 
 At length he sunk, and disappointment stood 
 His only comforter, and mournfully 
 Told all was past. His interest in life, 
 In being, ceased ; and now he seemed to feel, 
 And shuddered as he felt, his powers of mind 
 Decaying in the spring-time of his day. 
 
 ****** 
 The blue heavens withered ; and the moon and sun, 
 And all the stars, and the green earth, and morn, 
 And evening, withered, and the eyes and smiles, 
 And faces of men and women, withered : 
 Withered to him ; and all the universe, 
 Like something which had been, appeared, but now 
 Was dead, and mouldering fast away. 
 
 * * Enjoyment now was done, — 
 
 He had no hope, no wish, and scarce a fear ; 
 Or being sensible, and sensible 
 Of loss, he as some atom seemed which God 
 Had made superfluously, and needed not 
 
woman's ministry. 353 
 
 To build creation with ; but back again 
 
 To nothing threw, and left it void, 
 
 With everlasting sense that once it was. 
 
 Oh ! who can tell what days, what nights, he spent, 
 
 Of tideless, waveless, sailless, shoreless woe ! 
 
 And who can tell how many, glorious once, 
 
 To others and themselves of promise full, 
 
 Conducted to this path of human thought, 
 
 This wilderness of intellectual death, 
 
 Wasted and pined, and vanished from the earth, 
 
 Leaving no vestige of memorial there ! " — Pollok. 
 
 Raymond had at once determined on leaving Thurls- 
 ton, it was insupportable to think of remaining there ; 
 and his mother was much astonished at what appeared 
 to her his changeable conduct, when, with forced readi- 
 ness, he accepted her invitation to spend the season in 
 town, which a day or two before he had positively 
 declined, accompanied by the declaration, " Nothing 
 bored him so much as the gaieties of town life." But 
 Lady Harcourt did not care to fathom his motives ; she 
 was only too glad to hear him agree to her proposal, 
 and delighted in the prospect of seeing her handsome 
 son the admired of all, amid the circles in which they 
 moved. How little she penetrated the secrets of his 
 aching heart, and the motive which made him rush 
 into dissipation to drown care ! She could not fail, 
 however, to notice the change in his outward appear- 
 ance which his restless nights caused, the listlessness 
 and sternness which settled on his brow when he 
 joined in conversation, and earnestly inquired if he 
 were ill, and although assured to the contrary, con- 
 tinued to press upon him the desirableness of seeking 
 medical advice. 
 
 " It is of no use, mother," Herbert said one day, 
 shortly after their arrival in London, when Lady 
 Harcourt had been urging the matter once more. 
 
 VOL. I. A A 
 
354 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " I have told you nothing is necessary ; no physician 
 can cure me* Pray do not tease me on this subject 
 again." 
 
 Lady Harcourt was annoyed and surprised by his 
 cold, stern tone and manner, and by her silence showed 
 marked displeasure. Herbert, whose ungentlemanly 
 speech shocked himself, instantly apologised to his 
 mother, the words having escaped inadvertently ; but 
 adding, the subject distressed him, and he trusted she 
 would not make herself anxious on his account. 
 
 From that hour Herbert acted a part to save his 
 mother's feelings. In her society, and in public, he 
 was merry and careless, all her fears subsided, al- 
 though she still noticed the hue of health was wanting 
 in his face ; and no wonder, for this incessant strain on 
 his emotions, and his forced manners, were far more 
 really injurious to him than remaining silent as he had 
 done before. 
 
 Night after night Herbert perseveringly frequented 
 the concert, ball-room, or the Opera-house, in the vain 
 hope of drowning care by ceaseless dissipation. Soon 
 after they had settled in town he met an old college 
 friend, the Edward Beauchamp alluded to in Ada's 
 letter to Ethel. They had not seen each other since 
 they quitted Oxford, for Raymond had never cared to 
 renew so profitless an acquaintance as Beauchamp's 
 then was; and he, in turn, had been too much engrossed 
 with other things even to desire a renewal. Raymond 
 had known him as one of the wildest men of his col- 
 lege — a swearer, gambler, and wineparty-giving young 
 man, who never seemed happy but in the indulgence 
 of some excess. Yet he was too good-humoured and 
 jovial not to draw forth some degree of friendly feel- 
 ing from the quieter sort of worldly men at college, 
 and Raymond was one of them ; so that on meeting 
 
woman's ministry. 355 
 
 him once again, notwithstanding the character he 
 had known him to have been, there was a pleasure 
 in reviving old recollections. He soon, however, 
 perceived Beauchamp's character had changed. His 
 daring, defiant language, was gone ; his manner, though 
 retaining all his natural frankness and heartiness, was 
 softened ; and in fact he was, in all respects, an altered 
 man. It was not long ere the reason for this appeared. 
 He was a Christian — the principles of the doctrines 
 of Christ were firmly implanted in his heart, and now 
 all his time and energies seemed to be devoted to the 
 service of that Saviour who had " called him out of 
 darkness into his marvellous light." He had not with- 
 drawn from society, though he never indulged in any 
 pursuit which the Gospel does not sanction, and which 
 may be ranked among the " pomps and vanities of this 
 wicked world." No sooner did Herbert find an op- 
 portunity of speaking to him than he endeavoured to 
 laugh him out of his scruples, but in vain. They 
 
 were sitting together in the club-room when 
 
 Herbert first alluded to his changed views, with some- 
 thing like satire in his looks and words. 
 
 " It is in vain, Raymond, to tell me religion can do 
 no good! Experience proves the contrary. I very 
 much doubt whether you can boast of happiness in the 
 apparent neglect you evince to the service of God; 
 and after watching you carefully, I have come to the 
 conclusion that you are not so happy as you outwardly 
 wish to appear. What the reason may be I know not, 
 but I am sure that the religion of Christ is the only 
 true consolation in the hour of sorrow," replied Beau- 
 champ gravely, as he placed his seat nearer Raymond, 
 that no one might hear their conversation- Herbert 
 laughed forcedly. 
 
 "Well, I don't know how you can have judged of 
 
356 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 my unhappiness: you never saw me otherwise than 
 apparently happy, at all events." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but when you are silent there is 
 something about you which appears to me sadly out of 
 harmony with your manner. I do not wish your con- 
 fidence on the subject unless you volunteer it, but I 
 should like to direct you to the same source of conso- 
 lation that I have found." 
 
 " I do not see where your need of comfort lies," re- 
 plied Raymond, coldly. 
 
 " You little know, then, all I have gone through 
 of mental agony since we met, and uncertainty as 
 to acceptance with God eventually ; my mother's lin- 
 gering illness and death were a bitter trial, for I 
 believe my recklessness laid the foundation of her 
 disease, she mourned over me so much. You cannot 
 conceive the bitter suffering that thought has caused 
 me, although, thank God, she led me to my Saviour 
 before she died, and blessed and forgave me all: but 
 I could not soon regain my spirits, and I could tell 
 you of weeks, ay, months of suffering I have under- 
 gone, since we met." 
 
 " Well, it is a mournful satisfaction, at least, to 
 meet with some one who knows what real mental 
 agony is. I had rather be lashed to death, or, indeed, 
 undergo any bodily torture, than distress of mind," 
 replied Raymond, who was softened by Beauchamp's 
 frankness. 
 
 " Then you admit you have felt it?" 
 
 "Yes, I will. Somehow, since I have met you, 
 Beauchamp, this time, I have felt more disposed to 
 unburden my mind to you than any one, because there 
 seems something about you which will lead you to 
 sympathise with me. I confess, then, to be suffering 
 from a sorrow, which is never likely to terminate but 
 
woman's ministry. 357 
 
 with life. I only seem to grow worse instead of better. 
 It is not, however, my want of religion that preys upon 
 my mind, and yet" (he added, abruptly) "it is certainly 
 connected with that; but perhaps you will not care to 
 hear it?" 
 
 " If you will give me your confidence, I shall be 
 only too glad to possess it," replied Beauchamp. 
 
 " Did you ever know what it was to suffer from an 
 unfortunate attachment? I am not speaking senti- 
 mentally. At College we used to joke about ' broken 
 hearts,' and throw all such notions overboard, and I 
 do not say that love will break my heart either ; I am 
 inclined to wish it would : for, after all, there is such 
 a disease (so physicians say). Perhaps, when the 
 cold grave has closed over me there may be rest," 
 Raymond said, the words escaping in the bitterness 
 of his soul. 
 
 " I should be the last man in the world to think 
 you sentimental. I am thankful to say I have never 
 yet been placed in your position, and I trust I never 
 shall ; but I can readily understand the suffering you 
 may endure. Yours is not a heart which would soon 
 yield, I should imagine ; but would be all the more 
 devoted to the object of your love, when once really 
 roused to affection." 
 
 " You have judged correctly there. I believe I 
 am cursed with intensity of feeling when once en- 
 grossed, and this prevents me forgetting, so readily as 
 some men do, who form new ties before (what would 
 seem to me) their first shock was over. But really I 
 am making a fool of myself to talk in this way ; I feel 
 half ashamed of my confession," said Raymond, almost 
 impatiently, and pretending to notice some passage in 
 a paper before him. 
 
 " I cannot press you to speak, Raymond, as I said 
 
358 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 before. I can only say I am very much interested, 
 and should be very glad to hear more, if you are dis- 
 posed to go on." 
 
 " If you really are, I almost feel it might be a 
 relief to mention her. It is so bitter to be always 
 playing a part, and keeping one's real feelings hidden. 
 I know with you I am safe, so you shall hear all. 
 Ada used to be the object of my confidence, but she 
 is her friend, and as they correspond I have not the 
 same openness now ; for, however careful my sister 
 might intend to be, things might be said which I 
 would rather were not. But I need not bore you 
 with unnecessary detail. Suffice it, I met a lady in 
 Carysford — not a very likely place in which to find 
 a beautiful girl. But, however, she is very lovely 
 and lady -like, even to outward appearance, for it was 
 that which first attracted me. But I found her mind 
 was superior even to her external charms. I believe 
 I loved her from the first ; but there was one thing 
 which seemed to place a barrier between us. She is 
 very religious. I believe her to be a real Christian, 
 if there exists such a thing. Instead of injuring her 
 in my estimation, however, it seemed irresistibly to 
 raise her ; it gave a transparent loveliness to her cha- 
 racter, and seemed so entwined with her very exist- 
 ence, that I resolved to make her my wife, if I could 
 but win her affection. Fool I was, to suppose my irre- 
 ligion would make no difference to her ! I sought 
 her confidence, for I longed to comfort her. I saw 
 there was no one around who understood and appre- 
 ciated her like myself; she seemed grateful to me, and 
 I hoped — I dared to hope — she would be mine. But 
 I found myself irresistibly drawn into making con- 
 fessions of my own doubts and perplexities on the 
 doctrines of religion. I saw she was grieved and 
 
woman's ministry. 359 
 
 shocked by my indifference, but not disgusted. She 
 pitied me; and 'pity is akin to love;' and here 
 lay my strength. I should have felt it dishonour- 
 able to withhold from her any doubts I had, and 
 therefore she knew all my difficulties. She com- 
 bated with me well; that is, as a Christian would 
 do, and was very sincere. I liked to hear her speak, 
 and to watch her earnestness on my behalf; still my 
 doubts increased, and continued to do so. Never- 
 theless, unwittingly, she loved me who doubted, and 
 I loved her who knew not what unbelief meant. 
 Strange we should have been so unguarded ! But 
 she did not know her heart until very shortly before 
 we left Thurlston ; and when I saw she knew it, 
 her agony seemed to resemble in depth my own 
 feeling. Family troubles crowded thickly upon her, 
 and I longed to take her away from them, and make 
 her life as happy as it was then wretched. I pro- 
 posed, I may say twice — for I would not take a 
 first refusal. I saw she was not indifferent to me — 
 but it was of no use : she believed it was incon- 
 sistent with her Christian principles to marry one 
 who differed on minor points." 
 
 " Minor points, my dear fellow ! Questions for 
 eternity minor considerations ! What do you mean ?" 
 interposed Beauchamp, shocked at Raymond's ex- 
 pression. 
 
 " I regard them as such. There was no real 
 cause to prevent our being happy together. It was 
 in vain for me to entreat and argue with her, and 
 represent the numerous troubles to which she was 
 subject at home. She resisted me still. Twice I 
 saw her waver ; but she only grew firmer after- 
 wards, and we parted. The thought almost mad- 
 dens me, for separation only increases my attach- 
 
360 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 ment to her, and each effort to forget only makes 
 remembrance stronger. Sometimes I feel ashamed, 
 even to myself, to own all this weakness, and to feel, 
 as I do, so thoroughly unmanned ; but it is in vain to 
 struggle to repress my feelings. Once the idea sug- 
 gested itself of again seeking to win her ; but it seems 
 selfish and ungenerous. I will not think of it ; but I 
 cannot bear the thought of her enduring the trials of 
 her home life, when I have it in my power to release 
 her from them. There is no sacrifice I would not 
 make for her pleasure ; and as to being a Christian, 
 my word of honour should be pledged she should 
 have no hindrance." 
 
 " Oh, Ethel ! Ethel ! you little know the ruin 
 and desolation you have brought on me ! " Herbert 
 murmured to himself, as he ceased to address his 
 friend. 
 
 Beauchamp pitied him deeply. He had known 
 Raymond in days when his own reckless conduct at 
 College had brought the upright, unswerving morality 
 of Raymond into strong contrast with his wild and 
 heedless career. 
 
 He thought of times when Raymond's firmness 
 and moral courage had exercised so strong an influ- 
 ence over himself, and when he had kept him from 
 many a temptation to sin : of how heedless he had 
 been of the ridicule of others, when he refused to join 
 in some immoral pursuit, and how Beauchamp had 
 been constrained to respect him for it : of his talents 
 and many admirable qualities, straightforwardness, and 
 honourable conduct, which made him the admired of 
 the many, and when he had often envied him for the 
 seeming happiness he enjoyed. And to see him now, 
 so reckless as to his words and actions ; with his 
 hopes disappointed, and his affections blighted ; and 
 
woman's ministry. 361 
 
 all because he refused to own the Saviour, and sub- 
 mit to the precepts of that Gospel, which had made 
 himself free, from the bondage of sin, and given him 
 the glorious liberty of the children of God ! That 
 Gospel, which had subdued his own sinful nature, 
 and rendered him a happy man ! As these thoughts 
 crowded thickly on him, he did not immediately reply, 
 which Raymond misunderstood to imply indifference. 
 
 " You are silent, Beauchamp. I suppose you 
 think me a fool, an infidel — I know not what ?" 
 
 " Certainly not ; it was because I was so much 
 distressed by your recital. And yet, I hardly know 
 how to express my opinions without giving you 
 pain." 
 
 " You may say what you like ; for it is of little 
 consequence what any one thinks of me now." 
 
 " Then I will speak freely. I do most sincerely 
 sympathise with you ; yet I feel that the lady you 
 love has done right in refusing you. Regarding this 
 simply for your own sake, it was better : you would 
 not have been happy together, unless your views had, 
 to some extent, coincided. From your description 
 she is not a mere nominal Christian, as, apparently, 
 she has sacrificed her own feelings of affection. Had 
 she yielded to your entreaties, she could not have 
 been firm in her religious principles ; consequently 
 your influence would probably have won her back to 
 the world, and you would but have grown more indif- 
 ferent yourself to religion. But, granted that in a 
 moment of weakness she had yielded to the tempta- 
 tion (although firmly resolving to adhere to her faith), 
 do you think she would have been happy ? She 
 must have mourned over your indifference, and her 
 life would thus have become one continual trial ; 
 while you, in time, would have grown weary of even 
 
362 ETHEL; OK, 
 
 her gentle admonitions and persuasions : and thus you 
 would have become mutually estranged." 
 
 " There you are mistaken. If she had been my 
 wife, I should never even have tried to lead her 
 back to the world. I am no lover of its hollow 
 pleasures ; and in spending our lives together, we 
 should have needed no other society. And as to 
 my doubts and difficulties, I would have carefully 
 concealed them, that nothing might alloy our hap- 
 piness." 
 
 " How utterly inconsistent and impossible, my 
 dear fellow ! The very means you would take to 
 preserve her happiness would be her greatest trial. 
 Never to speak of your doubts to your affectionate 
 wife, and pour into her sympathising ear the history 
 of your pains and joys, when the union which would 
 exist between you should lead you to the strictest 
 confidence in relating one another's hopes and fears ! 
 I think you would find your plan impracticable. And 
 then, your wife : would she not long for one upon 
 whom to lean, from whom to ask advice — a husband 
 for her support and guide — one who would walk with 
 her along the narrow road to heaven ? She, whose 
 very existence (by your own confession) is connected 
 with her faith, could she always restrain the best 
 feelings of her heart, and never address you on the 
 subject of religion ? No, it is impossible ! And then 
 you would weary of her earnest entreaties to be re- 
 conciled with God, unless the Spirit of God had 
 been shed abroad in your heart. I believe, in such 
 a case, you would as much desire to rush into pleasure 
 again, to drown the stings of conscience, as you 
 now do to forget your sorrow," replied Beauchamp, 
 earnestly. 
 
 " I cannot agree with you. If she would have 
 
woman's ministry. 363 
 
 tried me she might have won me to her views, for no 
 one has such influence as she has over me; and she 
 really did once or twice make me wish to be a 
 Christian. You know your Bible says, ' the wife 
 may be the means of winning her husband back to 
 God.' Why do you presume I should prove an 
 exception ? " 
 
 " You forget another precept of the same apostle's, 
 to young women ; they are only permitted to ' marry 
 in the Lord.' This plainly shows us the meaning of 
 your quotation, viz. if, after marriage, the husband 
 or wife become the object of saving faith, it may 
 please God to make them the instrument of their 
 partner's conversion also. The passage bears no 
 other construction. Had the lady married you, she 
 would have been inconsistent and disobedient to the 
 principles laid down in the Bible, which is, of course, 
 the Christian's only rule of faith and duty." 
 
 " But, my dear fellow, look around you at nine 
 tenths of the marriages that take place ; you rarely 
 see Christians united. Do you mean to say that, 
 consequently, every one must necessarily be an un- 
 happy union ? I know that this is not the case, 
 and therefore your arguments cannot carry convic- 
 tion." 
 
 " I do not mean to say there are not many worldly 
 marriages which do, in the main, prove happy. There 
 are also many who are united, who are just sufficiently 
 alive to some few practices of religion, in which both 
 agree to join, and on which they rest all their hope. 
 Such unions, again, may not be productive of either 
 misery or discord, although it is not the permanent, 
 unchangeable happiness which I should choose, were I 
 to marry. But these are not cases in question. I 
 maintain that a union between two who differ so 
 
364 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 greatly as you and the object of your affection 
 could not but be miserable. I do not dispute there 
 might be much real and deep affection between you ; 
 but the greater the attachment, the more agonising 
 would be the thought to your wife, that your union 
 on earth would not be one also in heaven. How 
 could she bear, day by day, to see you pass on the 
 broad road which leadeth to an eternity of misery, 
 while she was drawn towards an eternity of happi- 
 
 ness 
 
 P»> 
 
 Raymond's face had assumed an expression of 
 deep thought ; he rested his head on his hand a 
 moment, and then replied : — 
 
 " You speak strongly on this point. If I could 
 think my union with her would be productive of such 
 a result, I could not — dare not — desire things other- 
 wise than they are ; it would be selfish for my 
 own gratification to wish to make her mine. But 
 I cannot but regard her still as labouring under a 
 delusion." 
 
 " There can be no delusion in well-grounded hopes 
 for eternity, Raymond. Would that I could bring 
 you to see these things in the right light ! would that 
 you would view this disappointment as a means of 
 awakening you to the importance of religion, that you 
 would see in it the hand of God drawing you to him- 
 self ! Remember that the nature of a man is too 
 deeply wrought upon by adverse circumstances, to 
 allow of their passing away without leaving a trace 
 behind. Your moral character will either be im- 
 proved or deteriorated — softened or hardened — more 
 alive to the teaching of God's Holy Spirit in nature, 
 providence, and grace, or with a conscience more 
 seared, and a heart more closed against their entrance. 
 Believe me, I have tasted the blessed effects of afflic- 
 
woman's ministry. 365 
 
 tion ! You know what I was, and what God has 
 been pleased to work in me ; and I can truly say, I 
 thank him that I was ever thrown into the furnace. 
 I would rather give up all I have — life itself — than 
 the blessed thought that Christ has washed me in 
 his precious blood, and clothed me in the robe of 
 his righteousness. I never knew what happiness 
 was until I became a Christian, and went, weary 
 and heavy laden, with my burden to the foot of 
 the cross, and found rest and peace under its sha- 
 dow. Will not you, too, search and see for your- 
 self — not even for her sake ?" said Beauchamp, 
 earnestly. * 
 
 " For her sake ? Yes, I would do much for that. 
 But then I have read the Bible scores of times, and I 
 find no rest or consolation there, as I told her ; and 
 she gave me a very good answer why it did not profit, 
 something about not being mixed with faith ! I know 
 I have no faith, and I cannot compel it ; so why weary 
 myself in a vain pursuit ?" replied Raymond. 
 
 Beauchamp was about to reply, when a tall, dark- 
 looking man, who might have been styled handsome, 
 but for the supercilious, defiant expression on his 
 countenance, approached them, and familiarly accosted 
 Raymond. 
 
 "Ha, Morton! old fellow, how are you?" said 
 Raymond, warmly. " You remember Beauchamp ?" 
 
 Morton bowed, and Beauchamp returned the 
 courtesy, with a distant recognition. Morton took no 
 notice, and putting his arm through Raymond's, the 
 young men left the place together, on apparently very 
 good terms. Beauchamp almost shuddered : Morton 
 was a known and avowed Atheist, and he dreaded his 
 influence on Raymond, whose mind just now seemed 
 so fearfully disposed to cavil at the dispensations of 
 
366 ETHEL; OK, 
 
 Providence. Silently Beauchamp in his heart offered 
 up a prayer for Raymond, that he might be preserved 
 from the temptations which would be placed before 
 him, asking also for guidance and direction how to 
 rescue his friend, if it were needful, from so fatal a 
 delusion. 
 
woman's ministry. 367 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " Nay, these wild fits of uncurbed laughter 
 Athwart the gloomy tenor of your mind, 
 As it has loured of late, so keenly cast, 
 Unsuited seem, and strange." — Joanna Baillie. 
 
 " * * * * Man look'd abroad, 
 
 And on his spirit rushed one vast belief! From life and 
 matter, from the sun and moon, 
 
 And the deep waters, did a power appeal, attesting God, and 
 teaching His domain ; 
 
 But how to worship, how his law obey, in vain would phi- 
 losophic Beason find 
 
 In pensive shade, or academic bower." — Montgomery. 
 
 " G-od, the Father of the soul ! Jesus, Saviour of the 
 world ! 
 Spread knowledge, then, from pole to pole : be Faith's bright 
 
 banner wide unfurled ; 
 For whatsoe'er the soul may be, or wheresoe'er the soul may 
 
 dwell, 
 To live for immortality is better than to live for hell." 
 
 C. Swain. 
 
 Some weeks passed on, and Beauchamp and Raymond 
 frequently met in society, but they had no opportunity 
 of renewing their conversation : indeed, Raymond 
 avoided such an opportunity, for his conscience re- 
 proved him for his continued intimacy with Morton, 
 whom he knew was in every respect an undesirable 
 companion for him. He still continued to act his part 
 
368 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 in the gay circles in which he moved, and had 
 seemingly grown indifferent as to the manner in 
 which he recklessly trifled away his time in flirting 
 with girls for whom he had little or no esteem, while 
 he rather countenanced than otherwise the evidently 
 unpleasant attentions of Morton to Ada, even though 
 he was one of the last men he would have desired to 
 see the husband of his sister. The Misses Beauchamp, 
 sisters of Raymond's friend, were fine, showy girls, 
 whose end and aim in life seemed to consist in making 
 the most brilliant alliance they could ; and for this 
 purpose each brought all her battery of charms to 
 play upon Raymond, who from being by far the 
 handsomest and richest marriageable man they knew, 
 was deemed an object worthy of special attention for 
 the amusement of an idle hour. Raymond laughed 
 and talked with them, and people soon began to 
 conjecture that one of the Misses Beauchamp would 
 win the prize; though, as his attentions seemed equal, 
 it was difficult to say which would secure him. 
 Meanwhile Beauchamp found much pleasure in the 
 society of Ada Raymond, whose pleasant manners, 
 earnest sincerity, warm-hearted enthusiasm, and evi- 
 dent Christian principle, seemed far more likely to 
 win his affection than his sisters were to secure 
 Raymond's. 
 
 " What a really excellent, delightful man, Mr. 
 Beauchamp is ! I wish, Herbert, you would cultivate 
 his acquaintance," said Ada, one evening, after they 
 had been in town some weeks, as she threw herself 
 back in the carriage on returning with her brother 
 from an evening party. 
 
 " Yes ; Beauchamp is a nice fellow enough : but 
 rather too much of the Methodist about him for my 
 taste, I confess," returned Herbert, moodily. 
 
woman's ministry. 369 
 
 " What you call Methodism, I esteem and admire. 
 To me it is really refreshing to converse with him 
 after the many irreligious people I meet with; 
 Mr. Morton, more especially. He annoys me exces- 
 sively with his disagreeable attentions ; I can hardly 
 be civil to him," continued Ada. 
 
 " There is much I like about Morton. I should 
 wish you to remember he is my friend." 
 
 "I am sorry to hear it, Herbert ; but not even 
 that can increase my esteem for him." 
 
 " Very well ! do just as you please. Of course it 
 would make no difference to you whether I liked a 
 person or not, now that we seem so much estranged." 
 
 Ada was shocked and deeply grieved by Herbert's 
 reply, but she had no time to answer, for the carriage 
 door was opened and they alighted. 
 
 Ada little knew the anguish of mind which op- 
 pressed Herbert, and which day by day only increased 
 his wretchedness, for now he had found that all hi3 
 endeavours to forget had been unavailing. Where- 
 ever he went, pleasure illuded him like a phantom. 
 Dancing he hated, because Ethel had expressed her 
 dislike to it; and it never had any great charms in- 
 dependent of that. The music of the Opera, once so 
 absorbing and delightful to him, seemed dull and in 
 bad taste; for Ethel's beautiful, mellow voice, possessed 
 for him more charms than songs from the finest 
 singers in the world. If he talked and flirted with 
 ladies as beautiful, and more elevated in station than 
 Ethel, yet to him they all appeared insipid, frivolous, 
 or heartless, only serving to bring the exquisite 
 modesty and transparent loveliness of her character 
 into strong contrast. His wearied heart knew no 
 rest, and although he had every means that money 
 could purchase and fancy suggest for his happi- 
 
 VOL. I. B B 
 
370 ETHEL; OK, 
 
 ness, still Herbert Raymond was the most unspeak- 
 ably wretched of men. Sometimes, in moments when 
 his heart was softened, he felt a desire to possess 
 Ethel's peace in believing ; but when he remembered 
 the source whence sprung her happiness, he would 
 spurn the thought from him, and become more 
 hardened than before. On the night in question, he 
 was more than usually oppressed ; but his conscience 
 upbraided him, as it always did when he had spoken 
 hastily to any one. As Ada lifted her face to his to 
 wish him good night, he took her hands in his own 
 and gently obliged her to sit down by him. 
 
 " Dear Ada, forgive my irritability. I believe I 
 grow intolerable, but you do not know what I feel, 
 and how grieved I am when I find myself yielding to 
 these abominable humours." 
 
 " Never mind them, dear Herbert. I am quite 
 ready to forget everything. I only wish you would 
 take me into your confidence again. I feel sorry 
 when I see you shun me," Ada said, affectionately. 
 
 " I can hardly endure to speak sometimes ; but I 
 begin to feel very anxious about her. You have 
 not heard anything of her for so long, — something 
 must be wrong. Have you ever written to Lambert 
 to inquire ? " 
 
 " I have been very anxious, but have waited day 
 by day, hoping Ethel would write." 
 
 Ada felt Herbert's whole frame agitated as she 
 pronounced Ethel's name. 
 
 "And has nothing been heard from Thurlston?" 
 
 " Oh ! there is a letter for me from Lambert, which 
 I put aside to-day hurriedly, supposing it would only 
 be for directions. Just ring for it." 
 
 The letter was brought, and Herbert eagerly 
 broke open the envelope. 
 
woman's ministry. 371 
 
 " Let me read it first," said Ada, with ready 
 tact, conceiving, if it contained bad news, it was 
 better she should break it to him. 
 
 "No, no!" he exclaimed impatiently, for his eye 
 already rested on her name. 
 
 The paper dropped from his hand, which Ada 
 eagerly seized, while Herbert covered his face for 
 a moment, and then rushed from the room before 
 she had time to speak. Ada took up the letter 
 anxiously. The passage which the old house- 
 keeper had written was just as she ended the letter, 
 and was simply to the effect that " perhaps Miss 
 Raymond had not heard that Miss Woodville had been 
 very dangerously ill for several weeks — that her life 
 had been despaired of — that, though now she was 
 pronounced out of danger, she had seen her driving 
 out with Miss Hackett in a close carriage — and that 
 she looked so fearfully altered, it was generally feared 
 she was going off in a decline." Ada, too, dropped 
 the letter in agony, and left the room to try to gain 
 admittance to her brother. She knocked gently, 
 and receiving no reply, she entered. There was no 
 light except what came from the fire. Herbert was 
 half laid on a couch, his face buried in his hands, 
 seemingly dead to all around him. 
 
 " Herbert ! my own dear brother! do speak to me," 
 exclaimed Ada, throwing herself on her knees beside 
 him ; but he gave no reply, She then rose, and 
 putting her arms round his neck, while her warm 
 tears fell on his hands, implored him to speak to her. 
 The tears falling roused him, and he drew his hands 
 from his face. 
 
 " I have killed her ! " he said, with a thrilling 
 pathos in his voice. "Would I had never been 
 born!" 
 
372 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 " No, no, Herbert, dearest! do not give way! You 
 know Lambert is given to exaggeration ; what she 
 says is not the opinion of the doctor ; he has pro- 
 nounced her out of danger : do not make troubles. 
 I will write to Dr. Carter to-morrow myself, and Miss 
 Hackett ; and we shall soon have a favourable reply, 
 I doubt not," said Ada, feeling that it was necessary 
 she should not appear at all alarmed. She sat by 
 Herbert some time longer, fearing to disturb the 
 calm which she hoped was stealing over him. He 
 rose at last with outward composure, and pressing 
 her in his arms, begged she would leave him : he was 
 better ; the shock had overpowered him, but it had 
 passed away : and Ada, reassured by this calm, with- 
 drew, to weep in secret over what had been, indeed, a 
 severe blow to herself. But now came Herbert's 
 burst of passionate grief, as, having locked the door, 
 he paced wildly up and down his chamber, hardly 
 knowing what he did, or the awful thoughts which 
 he suffered the tempter to suggest. His heart re- 
 belled more than ever against God. If he did, in- 
 deed, exist, where was the necessity of thus torturing 
 his creatures ? Where was his mercy ? — his love ? 
 Why was she, the young, the beautiful, the holy, thus 
 to suffer ? What had she done to call for vengeance 
 on her head like this ? And why had he ever been 
 born to bring such desolation and woe upon the idol 
 of his heart ? And why might he not die ? Why 
 did his heart not break, and end at once this weight 
 of misery ? No ! there could not be a God that 
 ruleth ; he would not believe it ! Almost maddened 
 by conflicting emotions he passed the night ; at one 
 time trembling at his defiance of his Maker ; at 
 another, reckless as to the result of his unbelief. 
 His appearance was so wan and haggard, and his head 
 
woman's ministry. 373 
 
 throbbed so wildly, that he sent an excuse to Lady 
 Harcourt for his non-appearance at breakfast. The 
 whole of the day he spent in his private sitting-room, 
 making business a plea for absence, and not suffering 
 even Ada to enter. The day following he allowed 
 her to come to him for a short time, and she was 
 shocked to see the havoc suffering had made in his 
 appearance. He declared his intention of going to 
 Thurlston the day following, if no news arrived, and 
 personally ascertaining Ethel's state. But, joyfully, 
 Ada announced to him next morning that Dr. Carter 
 had written, in answer to her note, favourably of 
 Ethel, and also that she had received a line from 
 Ethel herself, saying she really was better, though 
 very weak, and hoping Ada would not alarm herself 
 about her, as all danger seemed now past. Ada 
 watched the returning glow in Herbert's face, as 
 with an expression of intense emotion he read the 
 letters. 
 
 " They are worth all the world to me, Ada — you 
 must give me this," he said, taking Ethel's letter from 
 his sister. Ada was only too glad to bestow anything 
 to make her brother happy. But though it seemed 
 to bring comfort to Raymond, in comparison with the 
 two days of mental agony he had endured, yet with 
 it soon returned the burden of his grief, that he 
 might never see Ethel again — never call her his 
 own, although she would be living still, and, per- 
 haps, eventually become the wife of another : so 
 that he soon relapsed into his hopeless state of 
 misery, and began to feel he must devise some new 
 scheme for spending time, as London attractions were 
 growing insupportably monotonous to him. 
 
 One afternoon, a few days after he had received the 
 announcement of Ethel's recovery, he allowed himself 
 
374 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 to accept an invitation to ride out with Beauchamp, 
 hoping that his friend's conversation would divert his 
 thoughts a little. 
 
 Having left the busy streets, the two friends rode 
 leisurely up the hill towards Hampstead Heath. 
 
 " How delicious to get a breath of pure air once 
 again ! " remarked Raymond, as they reached the top of 
 the hill, and felt the refreshing breeze, always so re- 
 viving after the close air of London. 
 
 " Yes, this is something like country ! I quite longed 
 to get back again home, and this increases the desire. 
 When are you leaving town?" 
 
 " Soon, I hope. I am heartily sick of these insipid 
 so-called pleasures. Morton and I have been nego- 
 ciating together to pass the spring and summer 
 abroad. But I confess to some surprise at your 
 remaining, Beauchamp, when you profess to have 
 so few attractions in town." 
 
 Beauchamp looked slightly embarrassed. 
 
 " I own to an unwillingness to leave town just now. 
 There is an attraction I should feel it hard to part 
 from — at least, just at present," he replied hurriedly. 
 " And besides, I have pledged myself not to be more 
 away than I can help, as my father has an important 
 law-suit going on which I have to attend to. Then 
 another thing, I do not wish to leave before the middle 
 of May, as I like to attend some of the religious meet- 
 ings in Exeter Hall." 
 
 Raymond smiled contemptuously. 
 
 " And do you really mean to say you care about 
 hearing a number of old, withered missionaries, shout- 
 ing out their experience among cannibals — some 
 hired Jew, to tell he is the subject of conversion — or a 
 jolly fat rector, relating a pack of lies, as the marvels 
 achieved by his ill-paid curate?" 
 
woman's ministry. 375 
 
 " I can scarcely wonder at your speech, Raymond, 
 although shocked to hear it, when you have just ac- 
 quainted me with your intention to have Morton for 
 your travelling companion ! A man known and 
 shunned, even in worldly society, for his blasphemous 
 rejection of revelation, and even of revelation's God," 
 replied Beauchamp, gravely. 
 
 " There is much to admire in M6rton. I like to see 
 a man who boldly stands out for the evidence of rea- 
 son. He has openly renounced all belief in those in- 
 fatuating tenets which many profess, but comparatively 
 few hold, but which nevertheless seem fashionable 
 now-a-days." 
 
 "Indeed I fear it is often but too true — men live 
 lives of practical infidelity, while professing and call- 
 ing themselves Christians. But surely, Raymond, you 
 cannot uphold or countenance such awful unbelief 
 yourself?" 
 
 "I should scorn to profess what I do not believe. 
 I am, to say the least, a doubter of the truth of reve- 
 lation." 
 
 " And when did you first learn to doubt the truth 
 of God's revealed will? What books have you read? 
 and what society have you been in, besides Morton's?" 
 said Beauchamp. 
 
 " I have never read any infidel books, and have no 
 intention of doing so. I am doubtful from my own 
 convictions. And now answer me this ; why does the 
 Almighty permit such doubts to arise in my mind if 
 they are sinful ?" 
 
 " 'Let no man say when he is tempted, I am 
 tempted of God,' says the Bible. No, Raymond! these 
 doubts proceed from the evil one, and your own carnal 
 mind. You have not taken to you ■ the whole armour 
 of God' to protect you; you have not asked for God's 
 
376 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 strength instead of your own in the battle, and so 
 you have fallen." 
 
 " All very well for you to condemn me, you who 
 have never doubted ; you don't know what the feeling 
 is," replied Raymond, bitterly. 
 
 " I beg your pardon. There are few persons 
 who have not, at some time or other, temptations 
 to dishonour God by faithlessness. I have felt 
 them, though, thank God, I never did disbelieve. His 
 grace was my support, and plucked me as it were ' a 
 brand from the burning,' and saved me ere my day of 
 grace was passed." 
 
 " And what convinced you of your error?" 
 
 " I do not know that outward reasoning did ; I had 
 little opportunity for hearing that. But I received the 
 witness in myself, by the Holy Spirit's aid, and this is 
 the surest evidence." 
 
 " Precisely what she said! But then, I have not 
 that evidence, and therefore no convincing proof." 
 
 " I can give you several reasons, excellent ones, 
 irrespective of my inward conviction, Raymond, if you 
 will give me a patient hearing ; but I must first know 
 more of your views. You never used at Oxford to 
 give evidence of such unbelief — outwardly, at all 
 events. What was the first step you took in this fatal 
 course?" 
 
 " I always held certain views, at least when I 
 thought of religion at all ; which in their latitudina- 
 rianism I consider laid the foundation for future infi- 
 delity. One of my earliest impressions is, that good- 
 ness, not sinfulness, is the nature of man. Consequently, 
 every man has the elements of salvation within him; 
 and in that case, with few exceptions, all will be saved, 
 and none lost eternally: for it would be, to my mind, 
 injustice to believe a merciful God would condemn for 
 
woman's ministry. 377 
 
 ever any creature. Then, from that I began to doubt a 
 divine revelation, because it seemed to me to be im- 
 possible to believe the Bible, and yet hold some 
 of the views I did. Then again, revelation had so 
 little effect, I could not believe it emanated from the 
 Deity, or men would give more earnest heed to it. 
 When I look around on every side, and see crime and 
 vice of all kinds rampant in the land, how can I ever 
 believe a Supreme Being governs his people, when 
 they so despise his laws?" 
 
 " And this is the light you discovered by reason, 
 is it?" inquired Beauchamp, quietly. 
 
 "I conclude so! " 
 
 " Well may you say it were inconsistent with the 
 Bible to believe in man's nature being good. You 
 could not read such passages as these, without feeling 
 you or the Bible were wrong, — ' The heart is deceitful 
 above all things, and desperately wicked ;' ' In sin did 
 my mother conceive me.' Did it never occur to you 
 that it is the corruption of the heart which blinds the 
 light of reason ? for reason, really, would never lead 
 you to doubt God's word." 
 
 "Ido not think it. But with regard to the pas- 
 sages you quote, I believe they were more appli- 
 cable to the times in which they were written than 
 to the present. People were sunk in gross idolatry 
 and superstition. The case is altered. Science and 
 literature, for instance, are wonderfully transforming 
 the nature of man." 
 
 " My dear fellow, what a preposterous argument ! 
 and a decided contradiction of what you just told 
 me ; that, because such fearful crimes were committed, 
 and things wore so black an aspect, you disbelieved ! 
 How can, then, the moral character be improved?" 
 
 " I was speaking then of the common, illiterate 
 
378 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 people. Education is what they want ; the tone of 
 society is elevated in proportion as learning increases. 
 Only let the masses of the people be educated, and you 
 will see the country rise as it never has done before." 
 
 Beauchamp shook his head. 
 
 " You cannot prove that, Raymond. I quite agree 
 with you that science, and learning of all kinds, is on 
 the increase ; indeed, I think it is taking the place, in 
 the hearts of the many, of the simple truths of the 
 Gospel. And this is why we see in the working 
 classes, and even in the higher ranks of life, such a 
 perfect refinement of vice. I grieve over the system 
 of wide-spread literature; why, there is almost as 
 much required in the National Schools now, as there 
 was formerly in college examinations. Do not, how- 
 ever, mistake me. I think education highly desirable 
 for the people ; but unless religion is the 'primary 
 consider atio?i, it will be worse than useless in raising 
 man. I tremble for my country when I hear, in our 
 National School examinations, the Latin and mathe- 
 matics, which seem required ; especially when I con- 
 sider the limited time the children generally have 
 at school for obtaining the more necessary branches 
 of education : consequently, I fear the amount of reli- 
 gious instruction given must be very small. Then, 
 again, of what use are such acquirements to boys 
 whom God in his providence has ordained to earn 
 their bread in the sweat of their brow ? Is there any 
 wise end generally achieved by this sort of instruc- 
 tion ? My experience (and I can testify to constant 
 attendance at both schools and Young Men's Associa- 
 tions) is decidedly to the contrary. The youths quit 
 the school with the belief that they know a great deal 
 about everything, because they seem to have acquired 
 (to use a somewhat inelegant phrase) a smattering 
 
woman's ministry. 379 
 
 of everything ; but they only verify the old adage, ' a 
 little learning is a dangerous thing.' Thus it is that 
 the majority of them get puffed up, begin to talk 
 largely of ' rights,' and being * equal,' and soon learn 
 to neglect their lawful business, thinking themselves 
 above it. The beer-house then becomes the resort, 
 where they meet to talk on the affairs of the nation, 
 and how the levelling system is to be effected. Then 
 they become Chartists, profligates, drunkards, and 
 infidels ; ' glorying in their shame ; not afraid to speak 
 evil of dignities ; presumptuous, proud, heady, high- 
 minded,' as the Bible prophesies they shall do, in these 
 latter times. As a proof of what I am speaking, I will 
 give you an instance. In our nearest town there is 
 a Mechanics' Institute, established some few months 
 ago. As my father is the principal person in the 
 neighbourhood, I thought that, as his son, it was only 
 proper to promote the interests of our tenants as far 
 as possible, and therefore agreed to accept the office 
 of president to the institution, at the request of the 
 members. Now I quite consider such establishments 
 very useful in their way ; but they require some one 
 who will thoroughly observe all that goes on, or So- 
 cialism and Infidelity will soon creep in. This one 
 I found, on investigation, was little better than an 
 infidel club. When I discovered this, I immediately 
 called a meeting of the members, and told them frankly, 
 that although I was anxious for their interest and 
 welfare, my duty forbad my countenancing anything 
 which tended to place religion in the background ; 
 that I could not consistently remain their president, 
 unless all Socialist and Infidel publications were forth- 
 with ejected from their library. A great many inso- 
 lent-speeches were made on the occasion, which, how- 
 ever, was of no consequence to me. Abuse was 
 
330 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 bestowed freely, and chiefly by a parcel of mere 
 boys, whose heads were crammed with scraps of 
 secular knowledge, which they believed was every- 
 thing. They expressed a desire to argue the point, 
 and to convince me by the light of reason that I was 
 wrong and they were right. I told them quietly I 
 should be very glad to hear all they had to say, and 
 that, if convinced, I would own it. This rather sur- 
 prised and mortified them ; for, as I afterwards learnt, 
 they did not think I would discuss the subject, and then 
 they would have given it out I dare not answer them. 
 To make the matter short, we met for the discussion 
 shortly afterwards, and made an evening's work of it. 
 They had their say, and I mine. Among other things 
 brought forward was the present government. One 
 young man confidently assured me they knew a man 
 (absent that night) who was willing to undertake the 
 office of prime minister for a few hundreds a-year, and 
 they all knew he would manage much better than 
 
 Lord does.* I am thankful, however, to say, 
 
 that what I afterwards told them was not unheeded 
 by all." 
 
 Raymond laughed. 
 
 " On my honour you have a clever set of people 
 at Stillington." 
 
 " It is no laughing matter, though. They were 
 perfectly serious in all they said. They firmly be- 
 lieved they had more wisdom and power to guide the 
 state than the ministry. I was thoroughly disgusted. 
 A set of half-educated lads presuming to such know- 
 ledge ! But this only is what will always be the 
 result when secular education is placed before reli- 
 gious. They took occasion to tell me that night, too, 
 
 * A fact. 
 
woman's ministry. 381 
 
 that they were men of reason, and believed in nothing; 
 that they had read Paine and Voltaire, and so forth. 
 They were a little startled when I told them they had 
 thus placed themselves on a level with the brute beasts, 
 who likewise had no power to believe in anything, 
 so that they showed no proof of enlightenment. I then 
 seriously and earnestly dwelt on the deathbed scenes of 
 such men as these, depicted their wretchedness, and 
 asked if they would desire their own end to be like 
 theirs. Receiving no response, I brought before them 
 the closing scenes in the lives of some eminent Christ- 
 ians, with whose names they were at least familiar, 
 and concluded by endeavouring affectionately to warn 
 them of the end to which they were hastening, and 
 how important it was to prepare for death ; and I trust, 
 in God's mercy, I was made the humble instrument 
 of doing some of them good." 
 
 " I had no idea we had so many men of this class," 
 said Raymond, not apparently heeding the latter part 
 of his friend's speech. 
 
 " So many ! there are thousands, and they are in- 
 creasing every day. You may depend upon it, Ray- 
 mond, man is not good by nature, but sinful and 
 polluted ; and it is only the grace of God's Holy Spirit 
 which can change that nature." 
 
 " I dare say you think so ; Christians always hold 
 up religion as the grand cure for everything : but I 
 think differently. The Bible plan is worn out, the 
 march of intellect is taking its place. I for one intend 
 to follow the dictates which my reason affords me." 
 
 " May God have mercy on you then, Raymond ! A 
 time will come when you will assuredly repent such a 
 determination as yours. Remember the words of the 
 wisest of men: ' Rejoice, young man, in thy youth ; 
 and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, 
 
382 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of 
 thine eyes : but know thou, that for all these things 
 God will bring thee into judgment.' The Bible dis- 
 tinctly prophesies of times like the present, and doc- 
 trines such as you hold. Of those who turn ' the grace 
 of God into lasciviousness, denying the only Lord God, 
 and our Lord Jesus Christ.' Of ' a spirit of anti- 
 Christ,' which even in the time of St. John had begun 
 its deadly work. Of 'scoffers who shall walk after 
 their own lusts.' ' False teachers, who will bring in 
 damnable heresies, even denying the Lord who bought 
 them, and bring on themselves swift destruction ; and 
 many shall follow their pernicious ways, by reason of 
 whom the way of truth shall be evil spoken of.' Of 
 times when people 'will not endure sound doctrines, 
 but after their own lusts shall heap to themselves 
 teachers, having itching ears ; and they shall turn 
 away their ears from the truth, and shall be turned 
 unto fables.' That prophecy has been remarkably 
 fulfilled : fables are indeed believed, and the truth dis- 
 regarded. I have heard men argue, that they believe 
 in the Siege of Troy, or in Romulus and Remus — 
 events and persons which are wrapped in myste- 
 rious uncertainty — and yet refuse to believe in the 
 word of the living God, which has been handed down 
 to us from age to age, and whose existence in the 
 earliest ages, and direct divine inspiration, can be 
 proved beyond all doubt, both from heathen and 
 Christian writers. If it had not been for the Bible's 
 distinct prophecy that such disputes should arise, we 
 might well have wondered how any could be so 
 daringly defiant of revelation ; but this in itself only 
 proclaims the truth by proving how exactly prophecy 
 is fulfilled." 
 
 " You really are an admirable quoter, and a most 
 
woman's ministry. 383 
 
 unsparing one, too. Nevertheless you interest me, 
 Beauchamp," said Raymond. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it." 
 
 "You must not think to make a convert of me ; 
 though interested in argument, I am not convinced. 
 You have brought forward no proofs of revelation 
 yet." 
 
 " I am aware of that. But if you will dine with 
 me this evening, I will readily resume the subject with 
 you." 
 
 " Are you quite alone?" 
 
 " Yes. My father is out of town, and my sisters 
 will be from home." 
 
 " I have an engagement for the Opera this evening, 
 but I can spend a couple of hours with you, if you 
 like." 
 
 "I shall be glad of your company at dinner at 
 seven then, and that will be early enough not to in- 
 terfere with your engagement, if you still wish to 
 keep it ; but I confess, I wonder you should frequent 
 places in which you find no pleasure, even by your 
 own account." 
 
 " Simply because one must do something. I find 
 it insupportably monotonous to be alone, and having no 
 interest in life I must employ myself to prevent being 
 bored to death with ennui." 
 
 Beauchamp looked deeply pained. 
 
 " And could no other interest be found than mere 
 amusement ? Suppose you began now and made dili- 
 gent search into the truth of God's word ; read dili- 
 gently all you could on the subject: can you think it 
 right to leave one stone unturned to find the truth ? 
 Is it not your bounden duty to « prove all things,' 
 to search and see whether these things be so or 
 not?" 
 
384 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " It may be ; but I have no heart for such an 
 undertaking. I go to the Opera because there is 
 neither thought nor trouble connected with it. Theo- 
 logical study would require both. One idea ab- 
 sorbs me: night and day I know no rest! I do not 
 suppose I could pay attention to any deep reading at 
 present." 
 
 "And yet, professing earnest love for a Christ- 
 ian, you will not even rouse yourself to inquire into 
 the source of her happiness ! Raymond ! I had ex- 
 pected better things from you. You seem to have lost all 
 energy, and all care for everything, either temporal or 
 spiritual ; and believe me, this lethargy is not entirely 
 resulting from disappointment. I will be perfectly 
 sincere with you. Wounded pride is at the bottom of 
 this indifference. 1 see you do not like the doctrines 
 of the Bible ; the meek and lowly Saviour himself is 
 too humble to be your king. Like the Jews of old, 
 your feeling is, ' We will not have this man to reign 
 over us.' The road is too narrow for you — the thorns 
 in it annoy you ; you run in the broad path, because it 
 seems the easiest ; but remember, ' the end thereof is 
 death.' Some darling and cherished sacrifices must 
 be made, or you cannot be Christ's disciple. You 
 desire to wallow in the impurities of the world, 
 and your heart refuses to leave all these pollu- 
 tions and follow Him : this is the grand secret, I am 
 convinced." 
 
 " You may settle it so in your own mind if you 
 like, Beauchamp : you may be correct ; but I cannot 
 say I think you are. I believe we often don't know 
 our own motives for things. But all seems to me to 
 proceed from the trial I have undergone. However, I 
 suppose there is a truce to argument for a few hours, 
 as we must look out in this crowd," replied Raymond, 
 
woman's ministry. 385 
 
 for they had begun once more to thread their way 
 among the busy thoroughfares of the metropolis ; and 
 they soon after separated — Herbert to spend an hour 
 with Ada ; Beauchamp to attend a meeting of a Rag- 
 ged School Committee in the City, in which he was 
 deeply interested. 
 
 vol. i. c c 
 
386 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 " There is a tongue in every leaf, a voice in every rill ; 
 A voice that speaketh everywhere, in flood, and fire, through 
 earth and air; 
 
 A tongue that's never still. 
 'Tis the great Spirit wide diffused through everything we see, 
 That with our spirits communeth of things mysterious — life 
 and death, 
 
 Time and eternity." — Anon. 
 
 " I've had a regular sermon from your friend Beau- 
 champ," said Herbert, throwing himself on a couch 
 in his sister's boudoir, on his return from his ride. 
 He had not observed the agitated flush of indigna- 
 tion which glowed on Ada's cheeks as he entered. A 
 letter fell from her hands as he spoke, but she gave 
 no reply, and raising his eves he saw her look of 
 annoyance. 
 
 " What is the matter, dear Ada ? " 
 
 " I feel insulted by the contents of that letter," 
 she said, her eyes sparkling with indignation. 
 
 " Insulted ! Who dare ? " said Herbert, an- 
 grily, springing to his feet. 
 
 " You may read it," she said, laconically, as she 
 reached the letter to him, which her brother perused 
 eagerly. 
 
 " And pray, where is the insult, Ada ? Your 
 prejudices gain sadly too much ascendancy over you. 
 
woman's ministry. 387 
 
 Morton has paid you the highest compliment a man 
 can pay to a lady, by offering you his hand and 
 heart," replied Raymond, coldly. 
 
 " And you would encourage him ? " inquired Ada, 
 indignantly. 
 
 " No, certainly not. I should not wish to see you 
 married to him : that alters the case." 
 
 " And you consider it a compliment to receive an 
 offer from a notoriously bad man and an infidel — a 
 man whose whole fortune, as I have been informed, is 
 almost gone in his gambling debts — a man who wishes 
 for my fortune to continue his abominable practices — 
 a man who has no love for me whatsoever, and whose 
 proposal is only the result of selfish motives ? How 
 dare he suppose I would accept him ; and after he 
 has seen how I have avoided and discouraged him on 
 every occasion ? I do consider it insulting that he 
 should suppose me capable of such want of principle 
 as to unite myself to him," exclaimed Ada, with 
 flashing eyes. 
 
 " Pray calm yourself, Ada, before you speak of 
 your brother's friend in such abhorrent terms. I feel 
 bound to say, I think any man who proposes to a 
 lady, whatever he may be, deserves lady-like treat- 
 ment at her hands. Besides, as I before said, he is 
 my friend, which ought to weigh with you," said 
 Herbert, almost sternly. 
 
 "More the pity, Herbert! I have watched in 
 agony your acquaintance with him. I have seen how 
 like a serpent he has been coiling his loathsome and 
 insidious doctrines round you, crushing your remaining 
 religious principle, poisoning your soul, and blinding 
 your eyes to all that is pure and holy. How can I 
 speak calmly of him ? " exclaimed Ada, bitterly. 
 
 " And this is the way Christians display their 
 
388 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 charity, is it ? I should have thought, after all your 
 professions, it would have been different ; but this 
 is their way," remarked Herbert, sarcastically. 
 
 Ada burst into tears — tears of anger and sorrow 
 mingled strangely. 
 
 " You know, Herbert, I am passionate ; I would 
 not willingly speak unkindly of any friend of yours. 
 But how can I help it when, day after day, I have seen 
 you more estranged from me ; and when I know that 
 man is the cause ? I know he is goading you on to 
 infidelity, and entangling you in his meshes : how can 
 I feel charitably disposed towards him ? God knows 
 my heart, and how agonising all this is to me. Dearest 
 Herbert, do avoid him ; believe me, ' the way of 
 transgressors is hard/ and must end in eternal death," 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 " You are very much mistaken in all this, Ada ; 
 Morton has not led me on to infidelity. It is true I 
 am an unbeliever, but not through him. I follow no 
 man's rule of faith," replied Herbert, haughtily. 
 
 Ada had no idea Herbert had really lost all 
 Christian principle ; she only feared it might result 
 in this, but she had never dreamed it had gone so 
 far. She sobbed violently in the bitterness of her 
 heart. 
 
 "My brother an unbeliever! — an avowed one! 
 I cannot believe it ! It will kill me !" she exclaimed, 
 in the paroxysms of her grief. " I know Morton has 
 encouraged this," she added. Seizing his letter and 
 tearing it in pieces she threw it into the fire, where 
 she watched it consume with eyes blazing with the 
 strength of the flame. 
 
 " Would I could see those doctrines burn like that, 
 instead of the awful thought that my brother himself, 
 unless ' saved so as by fire,' should suffer the anguish 
 
woman's ministry. 389 
 
 of those torments, 'where the worm dieth not, and the 
 lire is not quenched ! ' Oh, Herbert ! beloved Her- 
 bert !" she added, with thrilling softness, "how can I 
 think of your being of the number of those for whom is 
 ' reserved the blackness of darkness for ever ! ' " She 
 shuddered as she spoke. 
 
 Herbert was softened and grieved by her agony, 
 and putting his arm round her, drew her gently to 
 him. 
 
 " Do not distress yourself, darling. I never be- 
 lieved in eternal punishment, and now I do not believe 
 in punishment at all ; therefore I have no fears for my- 
 self. But do not let us discuss these points. If it is 
 a consolation to you to be a Christian, I would not wish 
 to shake your faith, only leave me to follow the dictates 
 of my own reason. Now I must go, as Beauchamp 
 dines early. I shall meet Morton at the Opera, and I 
 will take your answer. Let it be a civil one, dear ; and 
 wash these tears, ' these idle tears,' away, and let us 
 be friends again," he said, affectionately. 
 
 But this could not compensate to Ada for what he 
 had told her ; she could make no reply, and her tears 
 fell heavily. After waiting a moment he said, " Come, 
 dear Ada, here are pens, ink, and paper ; make haste 
 and write your reply, I cannot wait." 
 
 Ada rose, and snatching her pen, wrote a few 
 hurried lines. 
 
 " I cannot do it ; I cannot thank him for the com- 
 pliment, as you call it," she said, throwing the paper 
 into the fire. 
 
 " Here, give me a scrap of paper. I have not had 
 much experience, but I can at least manage this," Ray- 
 mond said, as drawing out his pencil, and scribbling 
 a few lines, he handed them to his sister. 
 
390 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 " There, write those, dear ; they do not express 
 much gratitude, but they are civil, at all events. 
 Pretty work for me to have to refuse your offers for 
 you ! " he said, with a smile. 
 
 Ada wrote almost mechanically, and then having 
 directed the letter, Herbert sealed it for her and 
 placed it in his pocket. 
 
 " The carriage is at the door, sir," said the ser- 
 vant, entering as he finished. 
 
 " Very well. Now, good-by, dear Ada : forgive 
 and forget what is past," he said, stooping to kiss her 
 pallid face. But Ada had no heart to return his affec- 
 tion, and he left her unanswered. 
 
 " Now I suppose I am in for a sermon. But I 
 must warn you, Beauchamp, you have only a short 
 time, as I must keep my engagement ; so make quick 
 work of it," said Raymond, languidly throwing him- 
 self into an easy chair, as Beauchamp and he rose 
 from the dessert-table. 
 
 "You are mistaken, Raymond, if you suppose I 
 wish to sermonize. I only want to lay before you in 
 a simple, straightforward manner, a few of the many 
 proofs which are to my mind conclusive. The event 
 I leave to God, for it is not in your own power to be 
 convinced. Now, will you state to me, as far as you 
 can, what you do and what you do not believe ? " 
 
 " It would be difficult to answer the former part of 
 the question, for I really hardly know any religious be- 
 lief. The second is more easily answered. For some- 
 time past I have doubted revelation ; I have felt there 
 seems no evidence of even the existence of God ; I 
 cannot see decided proofs of it. Of course this brings 
 
^woman's ministry. 391 
 
 me to the conclusion, we are not immortal — that when 
 we die there is an end of all." 
 
 " Then you are an Atheist," replied Beauchamp, 
 slowly and emphatically. 
 
 " Does not an Atheist say there is no God ? I do 
 not say that. There may be one, but I have not 
 found him." 
 
 " No ! You rarely meet with what may be termed 
 an anti-theist — one who denies all possibility of a God. 
 In fact, such a thing is impossible. 'To be able to 
 say there is no God,' says Chalmers, ' we must walk 
 the whole expanse of infinity, and ascertain by obser- 
 vation that such vestiges are to be found nowhere.' * 
 This involves an endless search. Sun and moon, every 
 star that studs the heavens, must in turn be explored ; 
 the deepest caverns of the earth, every mine and 
 strata, ocean's depths, and all the expanse of nature, 
 must be visited before such an assertion can be made. 
 Moreover, it would require the gift of ubiquity itself; 
 because, while you might be in one place, a vision of 
 Deity might appear in another : thus can no man dare 
 to say * There is no God ! ' It would require a know- 
 ledge of past, present, and future to assert the non- 
 existence of Deity. You see, therefore, it would require 
 a God clearly to prove that there was none. But I 
 need not pursue this argument further. There seem 
 to be three points I should like to speak to you about, 
 which we had better take up in order : 1st. The im- 
 mortality of the soul, and the resurrection of the body. 
 2d. The existence of God, as proved from nature. 
 And 3d. The necessity and truth of revelation. Now 
 what reason have you for doubting the resurrection of 
 
 * Chalmers' Natural Theology, vol. i. p. 60. 
 
392 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 the body? I take this first, because, if after death 
 there is no hope of life, it is of comparatively little 
 importance making any further theological investi- 
 gation." 
 
 " I do not know that I have given myself oppor- 
 tunity for inquiry. I only feel that we see the cold 
 grave close over those nearest and dearest ; we see 
 their bodies become corrupted, — the food of worms, 
 and no manifestation to prove either the existence of 
 a soul ; or if there be one, that it will last for ever, 
 and be united again to the body," replied Raymond. 
 
 " The invisibility of the soul proves it an emanation 
 from the Deity, who is himself a spirit, invisible to 
 the mortal eye. But let me ask you, Raymond, have 
 you never been conscious, when bending over the 
 grave of some dear one, of a feeling that hereafter you 
 will meet again ? What are those high aspirations, 
 those heart-yearnings and imaginations, into which 
 are crowded the images of glorified beings, dwelling 
 in purified bodies in some blessed land, in peace and 
 harmony? Have such feelings never been yours? 
 Have you never thought of a sinless country free from 
 sorrow, where the 'weary are at rest' for evermore? 
 Lives there a man who has not ? " inquired Beauchamp, 
 earnestly. 
 
 "It would be needless to deny that I have, ay, 
 and sometimes do it still in spite of myself, — it is 
 such a pleasant delusion," replied Raymond. 
 
 " Do not call it a ' delusion.' Is it not a feeling 
 implanted by God himself, to raise our thoughts to 
 heaven? There is nothing on earth to suggest such 
 vivid conceptions. And I rejoice in the fact, that 
 revelation has been mercifully given to tell us more 
 of that blessed region, the faint, shadowy outline of 
 
woman's ministry. 393 
 
 which we receive from nature. God has given us 
 evidences of the resurrection of the body in the com- 
 mon events of life. We see the flowers die in the 
 cold, dreary winter, and rise to bloom again in the 
 genial warmth of spring. The butterfly, bursting its 
 shell, soars away in life and beauty, when it has been, 
 to all appearance, dead. Are not these emblems of 
 immortality ? We fade and die ; but in the morning 
 of the resurrection the prison shall be burst open, and 
 we shall rise, changed and beautified in the image of 
 the Redeemer. Is not this a soul-stirring thought to 
 the Christian?" 
 
 " I grant it. Would that I could see it, not merely 
 as a beautiful poetic idea." 
 
 " Now, as a proof of the immortality of mind over 
 matter, you may see a man reduced to the verge of 
 the grave — his body diseased and debilitated, but his 
 mind fresh and vigorous as ever. And so does he 
 die, conscious to the last — possessing a power of 
 thought and memory ; and will you tell me, Ray- 
 mond, that the mind, therefore, dies with his body ? * 
 
 " I do not give a positive opinion. I own it is 
 a mystery, and I cannot fathom it. You know that, 
 though it is possible for a man to retain his intellect 
 to the last, there are instances to the contrary." 
 
 " And would you from that infer that sometimes 
 the soul is immortal, and sometimes not?" 
 
 " I do not think that could be. But as there is 
 doubt on the subject, I cannot help thinking the mind 
 dies with the body." 
 
 " But what is mind ? You know it is not matter. 
 And we can neither see it nor feel it in reality." 
 
 " True, but we feel its effects ; therefore, I con- 
 clude, it is a substance of some kind. But in what 
 
394 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 part it is I know not ; some people say, in the brain, 
 or that part of it termed the pineal gland. I am not 
 prepared to say whether this is correct or not." 
 
 " Better you should not, indeed ! The substance 
 of that part of the brain having been discovered to be 
 phosphate of lime when analysed, you would not be 
 so absurd as to tell me this is mind. Matter cannot 
 think ; therefore, mind is not matter ; and there is no 
 part of the human frame — it is proved from anatomy 
 — which can supply entire substance for mind. Igno- 
 rant we should be, indeed, of what mind is, had not 
 the light of revelation made it known to us. Here 
 we learn that the soul of man is that part which is the 
 image of God (the spiritual part). Man's body could 
 not be in God's image, because that dies ; and, being 
 material, returns again to the dust, from which it was 
 formed. But God is immaterial and immortal ; so 
 must also his image be. Man cannot be eternal, 
 because he once began to be. Eternity has no com- 
 mencement. We know, indeed, from a higher source, 
 that after the material body comes a spiritual body, 
 in which man, when reunited with his soul, is to 
 receive the fruit of that which it has sown in the 
 mortal state, and that the new being is to inherit the 
 kingdom of God. But that spiritual body does not 
 exist as yet; and what could it be other than the 
 souls or spirits of the redeemed that John saw under 
 the altar, when he was distinctly told they were the 
 souls of them that were slain for the word of God ?" 
 
 " You are arguing from revelation, Beauchamp. 
 You have yet to convince me of its truth." 
 
 " I understand you. Now for the second part of 
 the subject — God in nature. I am sorry to leave the 
 first point ; it would take me a whole night to do jus- 
 
woman's ministry. 395 
 
 tice to it ; I should like to resume it some time.* In 
 the first place, I cannot impress on you too strongly 
 that it is the duty of every one, where a doubt exists, 
 to make the most diligent search for truth. Look at 
 its vital importance ! It is a question of life and 
 death, time and eternity." 
 
 " In one sense, perhaps. But mysteries can never 
 be explained; therefore, there is no help," said Ray- 
 mond, moodily. 
 
 " There is no mystery in revelation, contrary 
 either to experience or the evidence of the senses. 
 And God has promised his Holy Spirit to them that 
 seek him ; and this Divine Teacher can explain all 
 things. I never knew any science without mysterious 
 uncertainty connected with it ; and yet no one would, 
 therefore, reject it. It is impossible that man can 
 understand God's ways; and, therefore, it is only a 
 proof of divinity that mysteries should be connected 
 with religion." 
 
 Beauchamp paused. 
 
 " Go on, Beauchamp," was the only reply. 
 
 " I cannot but think you are wilfully blinding 
 yourself to the truth, Raymond. And your own con- 
 science ought to tell you, you are guilty of the basest 
 ingratitude to enjoy all the blessings of this life with- 
 out one thought of Him who is the giver ; and yet you 
 persist in wandering further away, without an effort 
 to find him." 
 
 " And what are my blessings ? Life itself is a 
 burden." 
 
 " Because you persist in making it so. You are 
 
 * Further arguments on this point are omitted, to avoid weary- 
 ing many readers : those who wish for more evidence will find 
 abundance in some of the works named in a succeeding note. 
 
396 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 bound, by every debt of gratitude, to God, for his 
 innumerable mercies. ' In him we live, and move, 
 and have our being;' to him we ' owe our creation, 
 preservation, and all the blessings of this life ; ' for 
 health and strength, friends, riches, everything. Nor 
 is it the least, but the greatest of your mercies, that 
 you are still spared, and have time given you for 
 repentance of this your awful alienation from him. 
 No wonder you are wretched ; the sense of alienation 
 alone will make you so. As the earth would be if 
 deprived of its attraction to the sun, so is the man 
 who is estranged from God. Though you are not 
 now a worshipper of God, you are either a wor- 
 shipper of the creature or your own evil inclinations ; 
 for it is inherent in man to worship something ; and 
 in proportion as you fly from God's service, must you 
 sink into the lowest depths of depravity." 
 
 " But surely, Beauchamp, conscience is a safe- 
 guard against that ?" replied Raymond. 
 
 " Conscience ! And who implanted conscience in 
 the heart ? Did Nature ? But mind, this conscience 
 is a moral faculty only — the highest, I grant — but 
 certainly not a religious one. ' Faith governs con- 
 science.' What you believe will, in proportion, act 
 upon it ; therefore, as regards religious feeling, no 
 dependence can be placed upon it. Take the instance 
 of St. Paul, previous to his conversion. He tells us 
 he thought verily he ought to do many things, as 
 persecuting the Christians, his conscience having 
 been warped by his superstitious faith, so that it led 
 him into the most wicked extravagances." 
 
 " Really, Beauchamp, you hold most extraordinary 
 views : but proceed." 
 
 " They are scriptural ones. We look around the 
 
woman's ministry. 397 
 
 world, and see in everything the effects of a cause : 
 everything has been made by some one ; therefore, 
 the world itself must have been created by an 
 invisible power." 
 
 " I do not see the force of that argument. Why 
 may not the world have been in existence from all 
 eternity, as well as God ?" 
 
 " Because, although the material of which the 
 earth is made may have existed thousands, millions 
 of years, we have decided proof that the world, as it is, 
 cannot have lasted longer than the Bible proclaims it 
 to have done. There are many instances of this. I 
 cannot stay now to give you more than one, though 
 several occur to my mind — it is an argument used by 
 Dr. Cumming, in his excellent work, entitled, ' Manual 
 of Christian Evidence.' He says, ' There are millions 
 of miles upon the surface of the earth not yet peopled ; 
 but if the earth had been twenty thousand years, or 
 thirty thousand years, old, the presumption is, that it 
 would have been covered with a population which it 
 would be scarcely adequate to maintain. Instead of 
 that, if the earth should last other five thousand 
 years, and the ratio of population should proceed as it 
 has done, it would be abundantly adequate to accom- 
 modate and support all its children upon its sur- 
 face If we take these facts — the fact that we 
 
 have no authentic history older than three or four 
 thousand years — the fact that the population of the 
 earth has not yet covered one-half of it — and the 
 fact that science and literature bear upon their brows 
 the proofs and demonstrations of childhood ; I think 
 the presumption is overwhelming, that the earth, in 
 its present collocation, is not older than the Mosaic 
 record represents it to be. It is contrary to reason to 
 
398 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 suppose the earth eternal ; it is rational to believe it 
 the creation of God, and evidence, therefore, of his 
 existence.' " 
 
 " A very good argument, I am bound to confess ; 
 but still it does not solve the difficult y. All these 
 things are wrapped in profound mystery. We cannot 
 tell whence we are, or whither we go, and I think it 
 is better to leave these things — the less knowledge 
 the less responsibility," said Raymond. 
 
 "A sadly mistaken idea, and one that will not 
 avail in the day when God shall call upon you to 
 render an account of the power he has given you to 
 use for his glory. But to pursue the first argument 
 still further. The earth being absolutely proved to 
 be non-eternal (and also carrying the elements of its 
 own future destruction in it), how did man first come 
 into existence ? He could not spring up as the trees 
 and herbs of the field. It would be outrageous to 
 suppose so ; for in like manner he would still continue 
 to derive his existence ; therefore, there must be a 
 great First Cause to have created him in the beginning. 
 Am I not correct ?" 
 
 " You perplex, without convincing me," replied 
 Raymond, moodily. 
 
 " That is something : perhaps, before I have done, 
 conviction may be the result." 
 
 " After all, you know, these things may have 
 been the effects of chance; there can be no certainty." 
 
 " Chance could never make the beautiful harmony 
 and arrangements which characterise the works of 
 creation. A chance world would be a mass of con- 
 fusion — a complete chaos. Races would intermingle 
 strangely ; the sun might cease to shine at any time ; 
 we might have winter in summer, or the reverse : in 
 
woman's ministry. 399 
 
 fact, the extraordinary effects of a chance would 
 throw everything out of its course. Now, whatever 
 way we turn, we see in the world the adaptation of 
 means to an end : and this alone proves it no work of 
 chance ! Take a few examples of this. In the very 
 air we breathe what consummate wisdom ! Composed 
 of two poisonous gases, oxygen and nitrogen, yet so 
 admirably adapted, that while animals absorb oxygen 
 and give out carbonic acid gas, vegetable substances 
 are made to absorb carbonic acid gas and give out 
 oxygen. What a proof of the wonderful adaptation 
 of means to an end ! All nature harmonises with God 
 — creation teems with revelations of its Creator. 
 t The heavens declare the glory of God, and the 
 firmament showeth his handiwork. Day unto day 
 uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth know- 
 ledge. There is no speech nor language where their 
 voice is not heard. Their line is gone out through 
 all the earth, and their words to the end of the world.' 
 The wonderful mechanism of the human frame is 
 another proof of design in the wisdom of God ; the 
 adaptation of animals to their several uses and habits. 
 Then, again, look at birds, fishes, and insects. Who 
 taught the bird to build her nest, and lay up for her 
 young ? the fish to ascend the river and lay its eggs 
 in the best and safest position ? the spider to weave 
 her web ? the bee to gather honey from the opening 
 flower ? Did man ? Instinct does it, you will say. 
 But who gave them that ? Surely their Creator 
 alone could bestow upon them such a wonderful 
 power. Indeed, Raymond, I find so many proofs, I 
 am puzzled where to end. But it would not suit my 
 purpose to multiply evidence here. Creation, with 
 one consent, proclaims itself the design of God ; and 
 
400 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 you may just as well seek to persuade me that that 
 timepiece is the work of chance, as that the world 
 was made by chance : in fact, the former is far more 
 likely than the latter." 
 
 " Be it so, if you choose to believe it. But can 
 you give me any instance of the interposition of 
 Deity?" inquired Raymond, believing it impossible 
 for Beauchamp to answer him. 
 
 " Yes ; one that you, who are interested in geology, 
 ought surely to remember. In the researches of 
 geologists, as you well know, the fossil remains of 
 animals are found — races distinct from those which 
 now inhabit the earth. Now you will perceive it is 
 utterly contrary to nature that the different races of 
 animals can intermingle, therefore these new races 
 must be an entirely new creation. From whence did 
 they spring ? Here is a clear proof of decided inter- 
 position of the Creator in the formation of new races 
 of animals on the earth. I now come to the last point 
 I shall mention to-night of this argument, and to me 
 the most conclusive. I refer to that ' rudimental 
 theology' which every one of God's rational creatures, 
 whether civilised or barbarous, possesses. Every 
 human being has in his nature some conception of a 
 Deity, else how comes it that among the most savage, 
 almost unknown tribes, they possess an object or 
 objects of worship ? Therefore, even the heathen, to 
 some extent, are responsible, though to what extent 
 we cannot determine : we only know, ' the servant 
 which knew not his Lord's will shall be beaten with 
 few stripes,' and the Judge of all the earth will do 
 right. This is not for us to discuss. The word of 
 God says, ' The Gentiles who did not then possess the 
 moral law, have the law written in their hearts ; they 
 
401 
 
 are a law unto themselves.' I am only quoting from 
 the Bible to prove how nature harmonises with scrip- 
 ture. The moral obligations are incumbent on every- 
 one . In the committal of sin we feel them. Now 
 how, by any possibility, could this be so, if there were 
 no holy God to whom we felt responsible ? " 
 
 " Oh ! by the natural sense of right and wrong : 
 we see that the well-being of society depends upon 
 them." 
 
 " That only is an additional proof. Who consti- 
 tuted society so that it should feel the need of such 
 morality ? Depend upon it, Raymond, such argu- 
 ment as that cannot hold good ; even your own sense 
 will tell you so, I think. It is impossible we could 
 feel a consciousness of sin, unless implanted by God. 
 Now, I suppose, with all your professed liberty, you 
 feel an impelling power ; you are not conscious your 
 life is perfect?" 
 
 " I should be a fool if I thought myself sinless. 
 In fact, sometimes, if I do really think about it, I be- 
 lieve I am the worst man alive," replied Raymond, in 
 his frank manner, which always found its way to the 
 heart. He was so sincere, so excessively truthful, 
 that Beauchamp felt all the more drawn towards him, 
 and knew, that if his friend were once guided into truth 
 he would be a bright ornament to Christianity, nature 
 having been bountiful in bestowing upon him such 
 admirable qualities." 
 
 "Very well! You own to this consciousness of 
 sin ; this is a ' moral light even in the midst of in- 
 tellectual darkness,' and the first dawnings, I should 
 trust, of a better life. You must now see that such 
 consciousness involves a responsibility, and is an evi- 
 dence of the existence of a God. So far for what 
 nature tells us. We come now to the third and 
 
 VOL. I. D D 
 
402 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 last part — the necessity and need for a written re- 
 velation." * 
 
 * In the foregoing conversation the writer feels that little 
 has heen said on this all-important question ; but enough, it 
 is hoped, to induce the reader to examine the subject for him- 
 self. It is highly necessary, in these days of scepticism, that 
 every one bearing the name of Christian should be ready to 
 ' give a reason for the hope that is in him.' This is a scriptural 
 command, and therefore imperative; and it is applicable not 
 only to the evidences of Christianity, but also in regard to the 
 subtle arguments of Home. There are many able and valuable 
 works publisbed on the " Evidences of Christianity" well worth 
 a careful perusal, and to some of these the writer is much in- 
 debted for the ideas and chain of thought they have suggested. 
 Among them occur more especially Chalmers' Natural Theology, 
 Dr. Cumming's Manual of Christian Evidence, Leslie's Short and 
 Easy Method with the Deists, and The Philosophy of the Plan of 
 Salvation, kc. 
 
woman's ministry. 403 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 " Send back the wanderer to the Saviour's fold, 
 That were an action worthy of a saint ; 
 But not in malice let the crime be told, 
 Nor publish to the world the evil taint. 
 
 Eebuke the sin, and yet in love rebuke, 
 Feel as one member in another's pain ; 
 
 Win back the soul that his fair path forsook, 
 
 And mighty and eternal is thy gain." — Edmeston. 
 
 Just at this moment Raymond's carriage was an- 
 nounced. 
 
 "Must you positively go now?" inquired Beau- 
 champ. 
 
 "I must some time — soon ; but half an hour can- 
 not make much difference. Tell Saunders to return 
 in that time," said Raymond to the servant. 
 
 Beauchamp was gratified that Raymond did not 
 seem weary. 
 
 " Then I have no time to lose, as you give only 
 half an hour." 
 
 " I have already heard a great deal on the present 
 point from — from her, which made at the time an im- 
 pression on my mind, but, somehow, it has passed 
 away." 
 
 " Not being mixed with faith it would, but a time 
 may yet come when the words will return to your 
 
404 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 heart with power ; you must not deem them profitless, 
 because no present fruit appears. Seed sown first 
 dies ; afterwards it revives. We have now done with 
 proving what nature shows of a God. It proves his 
 wisdom and power, but not all of his attributes — as 
 holiness, justice, truth, and love: these are left to the 
 light of revelation to unfold. Now, if there exist a 
 consciousness of sin naturally, we ought to know the 
 means of obtaining forgiveness for that sin ; but here 
 nature is silent, and affords us no clue, except by im- 
 planting in our minds a conviction that those who live 
 holy lives will surely obtain something hereafter which 
 the wicked will not. It is utterly impossible that, 
 without a revelation, man can have right conceptions 
 of a Creator. Look at the misdirected conceptions of 
 the unchristianised world, their ' gods many and lords 
 many,' and the gross characters attributed to many of 
 them." 
 
 " That only proceeds from natural ignorance." 
 
 "Not always. The Hindoos and Chinese, for 
 example, are decidedly clever nations — their disco- 
 veries in science and invention have been great, and 
 yet look at the gross darkness which reigns around 
 them, their superstitious and abominable idolatries ; 
 this, then, is a clear evidence that the cultivation of 
 the intellect will not improve the moral character. 
 And such must be the result were revelation banished 
 from our native isle ; we should then sink as low as 
 the veriest heathen." 
 
 " Infidelity has never had a fair trial among what 
 / should term civilised people." 
 
 " You forget France during that awful period em- 
 phatically termed ' the Reign of Terror.' To what 
 awful excesses did infidelity lead that people ! You 
 know all this better than I can tell you, and you must 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 405 
 
 also remember what Robespierre said — lie ' saw it 
 ivas utterly impossible for society to hold together 
 without a Being to worship, so unconquerably was 
 that propensity implanted in the heart of man.'' I 
 maintain that to be the truth which reforms and reno- 
 vates man's fallen nature, which purifies and moulds 
 his affections, and brings all his thoughts and desires 
 into captivity to the obedience of Christ. You can 
 never prove this to be the case with infidelity ; and 
 with Christianity it has been tried and proved tri- 
 umphantly for ages : it casts down all vain imagina- 
 tions, subdues and purifies the heart of stone when 
 nothing else can. This, then, must be truth." 
 
 " I do not know. I confess I have seen rare in- 
 stances of the effects of Christianity — yourself, for in- 
 stance. You are, I believe, a true Christian ; but 
 multitudes so called are not thus changed." 
 
 " Then they are but professing Christians. Christ- 
 ianity suffers fearfully by them in the estimation of 
 such men as yourself. Believers themselves see why 
 these things are permitted : it does not perplex them : 
 but depend upon it, when the grace of God has really 
 entered the heart of man, he is a new creature. Of 
 course there is a growth in grace, and allowance must 
 and ought to be made for newly-awakened and seeking 
 Christians, if I may so speak. The sinful propen- 
 sities of man's old nature are not all at once subdued 
 by the new principle implanted from above, and the 
 diversities of original character remain unchanged, so 
 that there will be observed in some really good people 
 a greater tendency to visible and external sins than in 
 others. Moreover, Christians are as cities set on a 
 hill ; they are a gazing-stock for the world ; therefore 
 the slightest stain of sin on their white garments is 
 observed and eagerly commented upon by the multi- 
 
406 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 tude, who rejoice to find a flaw, and will readily take 
 up the very smallest fault which would pass unnoticed 
 among the worldly. But, be the sins of professing 
 Christians what they may, if you were to look at the 
 champions of infidelity you will find far more for 
 censure. The names of Paine, Voltaire, Rousseau, 
 Hume, Gibbon, Hobbes, and Bolingbroke, bring only 
 a feeling of horror with them. They were men 
 who generally led the grossest and most abandoned 
 lives. How can you rank yourself under the banner 
 of such men ? I tremble lest you should be led into 
 their awful excesses ! And, let me ask you solemnly, 
 if you would like your death-bed to be like theirs ? 
 Take Voltaire's as an instance, praying and blas- 
 pheming God alternately, and lost to every feeling 
 of hope." 
 
 An expression of deep thought rested on Ray- 
 mond's brow as he replied — 
 
 " No ! Not like Voltaire's, certainly." 
 
 Beauchamp looked at him attentively for a mo- 
 ment, and then resumed his argument. 
 
 " Do you think it a probable thing that a God, 
 who has made so beautiful a world, and given so 
 many comforts to man, as to force the conviction of 
 his wisdom and care for his creatures, and who has 
 implanted a feeling of responsibility to him in their 
 hearts, would leave millions and millions to die with- 
 out one clear proof of what he requires, and how he 
 would be worshipped?" 
 
 " I do not. If once I believed firmly in a God, I 
 should find no difficulty in believing a revelation both 
 probable and necessary. But, I am not quite sure 
 whether the revelation of the Bible is precisely such 
 a one as I should have expected. Miracles are so en- 
 tirely against our experience. I should have thought 
 
woman's ministry. 407 
 
 some continued manifestation of the presence of Deity 
 would have been more probable." 
 
 " ' My ways are not your ways, neither my thoughts 
 your thoughts, saith the Lord.' It pains me deeply, 
 Raymond, to hear you speak in this manner. What 
 right have you to presume on the supposition that 
 some other way than the one given would have been 
 better? But I will endeavour to prove to you that 
 the way given is, without doubt, the best way. In 
 the first place, it is hardly possible to believe in God 
 without believing in miracles, as a test of his divine 
 power, which they establish : the mind seems, some- 
 how, positively to require this. Now, that the mira- 
 cles of revelation are true, is abundantly tested and 
 proved historically, as are also other facts related in 
 holy writ. As, for example, Tacitus relates the fact 
 of Christ being put to death in the reign of Tiberius. 
 Suetonius, Pliny, &c, also give evidence of certain 
 scriptural events ; and all, though enlisted on the 
 side of his enemies, are constrained to admit that 
 Christ himself was a good man. Certain facts, there- 
 fore, relating to Scripture are admitted, even by in- 
 fidels and heathens. Gibbon's history is a proof of 
 this, as, unintentionally, he relates events, the fulfil- 
 ment of which is minutely prophesied in the Bible. 
 And it is a wonderful fact, that the more the Scrip- 
 tures have been reviled and doubted, the more con- 
 verts have been made to the truth of them. God can 
 bring light out of darkness. But I must hasten on with 
 my subject. If you would take the trouble to read a 
 book I will lend you, you will find it proved, that at 
 the time of our Lord's appearance there was a neces- 
 sity for a divine interposition. Man had fallen so 
 low, some manifestation was required to raise him. 
 For this purpose a perfect example was required, — 
 
408 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 Christ was that perfect model, and one, too, who wa; 
 tempted and suffered even as all other human beings 
 do, yet was sinless. Now, the prophecies of the Old 
 Testament had pointed out the time of Messiah's ad- 
 vent, and at the very time he did appear the Jews 
 were looking for him ; not as poor and lowly, but 
 as a great king and deliverer ; not as ' the Man of 
 sorrows and acquainted with grief/ as one of their 
 own prophets had foretold'. Therefore they rejected 
 him, and still looked for the appearance of a mighty 
 king. Now, the Jews themselves admit the time for 
 Messiah's coming is past, and persist in rejecting the 
 Saviour still, saying Messiah has not come because 
 of their sins, though they have not the slightest 
 foundation in Scripture in support of this assertion. 
 Had their perfect example come invested with all the 
 grandeur of priestly decoration, and regal pride and 
 splendour, the poor would have lost the lessons of 
 humble contentment he came to teach, and might 
 have been tempted ambitiously to covet the highest 
 places. Christ came, therefore, as the lowliest of 
 men, with nothing to sanction ambition and selfish- 
 ness, and his followers likewise surrendered willingly 
 all that was of value to them. Here, then, we have 
 a perfect example. His divine power was abund- 
 antly testified by the miracles he performed ; and yet, 
 though multitudes followed, comparatively few were 
 convinced, because their eyes were blinded, and their 
 hearts hardened. Now, were there to be, as you 
 desire, a continued manifestation of the Deity, or any 
 other visible sign, it would result in hardness instead 
 of conviction. External evidence only hardens ; in- 
 ternal, which is of faith, is only realised more and 
 more as we advance in our Christian course. And 
 now, Raymond, I will not take up your time longer, 
 
WOMAN S MINISTRY. 409 
 
 than by laying down Leslie's ' Four Ways of proving 
 Revelation,' with an earnest request that you will 
 peruse his admirable work. Follow him out in his 
 distinct evidence that Christianity will alone be proof 
 against this test: — '1st. That the matter of fact be 
 such as that men's outward senses — their eyes and 
 ears — may be judges of it. 2nd. That it be done 
 publicly in the eyes of the world. 3rd. That not 
 only public monuments be kept in memory of it, but 
 some outward actions to be performed. 4th, That 
 such monuments, and such actions or observances, be 
 instituted, and do commence from the time that the 
 matter of fact was done.' Now, these tests are abun- 
 dantly and ably proved here, if you will only take the 
 trouble to read them," said Beauchamp, handing his 
 friend the book. 
 
 " If he really can prove them, they would be very 
 convincing. I do not know why I am not convinced 
 now, for you are an able defender ; but I seem still as 
 much as ever averse to be a Christian. Can you 
 account for it ? " inquired Raymond, who had admitted 
 the force of many of his friend's arguments, without 
 being convinced. 
 
 " Yes ! I can readily do that. You want the 
 Holy Spirit's aid ere conviction can be attained. Fer- 
 vant, earnest prayer will obtain for you this blessing, 
 and this alone. You cannot expect to be convinced, 
 except through the means God has appointed; for 
 although it does please him sometimes to strike con- 
 viction to the heart unasked, and to compel, as it 
 were, a belief, this is not the usual way he has of 
 dealing with his creatures, nor one which leaves 
 room for any presumption on the part of the uncon- 
 verted. But I fear you do not, in the heart, wish to 
 believe. I can see that pride, which was the ruin of 
 
410 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 mankind, holds so great a sway over you as to quench 
 the desire of being a Christian. Is it not so?" in- 
 quired Beauchamp, earnestly. 
 
 " I do not say you are incorrect, but I confess to 
 a dislike to be bound down to a code of rigid laws 
 such as the Gospel enforces, and I should scorn**to 
 rank myself under the name of Christian unless I had 
 resolutely determined to adhere strictly to its pre- 
 cepts," replied Raymond. 
 
 " Will you allow me to quote myself as an example 
 of the question in point ? When we were at College 
 you knew me as a man who gave free vent to my pas- 
 sions ; I do not know that I ever denied myself any 
 gratification that I wished for, whether lawful or 
 unlawful. This was what you would call liberty, I 
 suppose. But instead of deriving happiness from such 
 indulgence, I invariably experienced, often at the time, 
 and always afterwards, the utmost misery. The 
 upbraidings of conscience, and the unsatisfying results 
 of such sins, produced a feeling of the greatest depres- 
 sion. Since I came under the influence of Divine 
 grace I can say, with the utmost sincerity, I have 
 been a happy man. I find real peace and joy in be- 
 lieving." 
 
 " And have you really experienced a forgiveness 
 of your former sins?" inquired Raymond, earnestly, 
 as he rose to take leave. 
 
 " Yes ! I do feel it most truly. And I also feel 
 that ' to whom much is forgiven, the same loveth 
 much.' I have sinned deeply, darkly ; none more ; 
 and yet it is all blotted out, washed away in the blood 
 of Christ. Should I not love such a Saviour?" was 
 the fervent reply. 
 
 " Ah ! would that I were a Christian ! " murmured 
 Raymond to himself, as he looked at the quiet repose 
 
woman's ministry. 411 
 
 of Beauchamp's countenance. " Would that I could 
 feel forgiveness ! would this aching void, these heart- 
 yearnings were satisfied ! " he continued ; and then 
 aloud he added, in a more cheerful voice, — 
 
 " You are a happy man, then. I wish I could say 
 as much. Well, I must go. A quarter of an hour 
 longer than I said, but you have interested me, and 
 the word may some time return with power ; who 
 knows ? I thank you, Beauchamp, for your trouble." 
 
 "But will you not search and see? Will you not 
 ask the aid of the heavenly Teacher?" 
 
 " I cannot tell. Do not expect too much," Ray- 
 mond replied, hurriedly grasping his friend's hand. 
 As his carriage rolled on to the Opera-house, a faint 
 ray of conviction shone across his path ; " almost he 
 was persuaded to be a Christian ;" but alas ! he 
 deemed it not a "convenient season" just then. It 
 was like the seed sown by the wayside ; he had heard 
 the word, but understood not its hidden, spiritual 
 meaning : therefore, in the words of holy writ, " then 
 cometh the wicked one, and catcheth away that which 
 was sown in his heart." Soon the good seed was 
 taken away, for on arriving at the Opera-house he met 
 his friend Morton, whose reckless, daring conversation 
 made Raymond as hardened as before. Not that he 
 admired the character of Morton, or that his infidel 
 companion possessed any allowed influence over him, 
 but we know that " evil communications corrupt good 
 manners," and that to the unregenerate man, who has 
 no safeguard against temptation, the unlawful com- 
 panions he chooses must necessarily tend to harden 
 him; for man cannot live in a polluted atmosphere 
 and not inhale the malaria, nor "can a man touch 
 pitch and not be defiled." Thus it was with Ray- 
 mond, and before the evening was over he had made 
 
412 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 final arrangements for Morton's accompanying him 
 abroad. 
 
 Late as it was when he returned, he found Ada 
 sitting up in the drawing-room, in a loose wrapper. 
 He entered softly, and looking over her shoulder, saw 
 she was reading the Bible, and several large tears had 
 fallen upon its open pages. His eye fell on the pas- 
 sage — "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose 
 mind is stayed on thee : because he trusteth in thee. 
 Trust ye in the Lord for ever : for in the Lord Jehovah 
 is everlasting strength." 
 
 " What comforts Christians must have if they can 
 believe such glorious promises as that ! " thought Her- 
 bert, as he laid his hand gently on Ada's shoulder. 
 She started, and hastily dashed the tears from her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Is that you, Herbert, dear ? I thought you were 
 never coming home." 
 
 "It is late: I was delayed in returning. But 
 what makes you sit up so long, dear Ada ? you will 
 make yourself ill," he said, gently. 
 
 Ada laid her head on his shoulder, and said humbly, 
 as tears again came into her eyes, — " I could not rest, 
 dear Herbert, because I felt I had done wrong to- 
 night. I was rude and passionate, and you might 
 well taunt me with my want of Christian charity, 
 leaving me as you did, still unsoftened. Will you 
 forgive me, Herbert ? I am very sorry." 
 
 "My darling Ada, we never quarrelled. I had 
 forgotten all about it. Do not distress yourself any 
 more — it is all past, dearie; I have nothing to forgive," 
 Raymond said, with much affection, pressing her in 
 his arms. 
 
 " Thank you, Herbert. I have been made so 
 unhappy by what you told me, and I feared, too, you 
 
woman's ministry. 413 
 
 would think of me as one who was disgracing the 
 Christian profession." 
 
 " I did for the moment, but it would not have 
 returned to my mind again. I only wished I had not 
 told you, dearest, of my unbelief; it is needlessly 
 making you miserable." 
 
 " No ! no ! I would rather you told me. I shall 
 pray for you all the more earnestly. But will you tell 
 me, Herbert, — did Ethel know all this ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear Ada, she did. It would have been 
 cowardly and dishonourable on my part if I had not 
 told her." 
 
 " Yes, it was better she should know it. But, oh ! 
 what will she suffer ? " 
 
 " Do not speak of it, Ada. The misery I have 
 brought upon her and you almost breaks my heart. 
 I can never forgive myself, but truth must be told. 
 You little know what it has cost me, and all I am now 
 suffering," replied Herbert, with emotion. 
 
 " It must make you wretched," said Ada, almost 
 shuddering as she spoke. 
 
 "I feel that I must seek something away from 
 here ; it is insupportable even to be with those dearest 
 to me : so I have made up my mind to leave England 
 in the course of a few days, and wander about on the 
 Continent for awhile." 
 
 "Oh ! do not go, dear Herbert ! You will only be 
 more wretched away from us." 
 
 " No, dearest : it matters not what becomes of me ; 
 only I cannot remain where my presence brings sor- 
 row. Much as I love you, in some points there must 
 necessarily be an estrangement between us, and this 
 would be insupportably bitter. Better, therefore, I 
 should go away now, and gradually you will get accus- 
 
414 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 tonied to my unbelief; and then, if I live to return, 
 we shall meet, and be the same as ever." 
 
 " I should always love you, Herbert. Nothing 
 could ever lessen my affection, whatever differences 
 of feeling on religion might arise. I wish you would 
 stay here." 
 
 " It is impossible ! I cannot bear it ; it would be 
 selfish to do so, for I know it would cause you addi- 
 tional unhappiness. But ever remember that my 
 affection is unchanged, although I believe you to be a 
 victim to a delusion. England is no place for me; I 
 must try in other lands to dispel this load of wretched- 
 ness which rests on my heart." 
 
 " Believe me, dear Herbert, the load of which you 
 speak can never be removed until you cast it at the 
 foot of the cross. Like the weary dove, when sent 
 forth by the patriarch, you will find no rest for the 
 sole of your foot until you return to the ark of God's 
 love ; there you would be safe, even amidst this deluge 
 of sorrow which threatens to overwhelm you. Oh, 
 dear, dear Herbert ! when will you respond to the 
 Saviour's loving words, — ' Come unto me, all ye that 
 labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you 
 rest ? ' " said Ada, earnestly. 
 
 " Rest ! not for me, Ada ; no rest in this world. 
 Death, that ' eternal sleep,' may bring it, though I may 
 be unconscious of it : but there is no repose but in the 
 quiet grave," said Herbert, pressing his hand to his 
 throbbing temples. 
 
 " Oh, Herbert ! do not say so ; it almost breaks 
 my heart. The grave would but open to you the 
 gates of that awful region of everlasting wretched- 
 ness, where, in the misery of the lost spirits, you 
 would find your own increased a hundredfold." 
 
woman's ministry. 415 
 
 " Do speak of something else, Ada ; it is most 
 distressing. You must pray for me, if you have faith 
 in God ; surely with her prayers and yours a blessing, 
 if there be one, will be vouchsafed to me. Now, 
 darling, you are weary ; you had better retire to rest. 
 Do not let the thought of me disturb you — I am not 
 worthy of your love ; and I shall no doubt get over 
 this by and by," he said, in a forcedly cheerful voice, 
 for he was aware he was contradicting his previous 
 assertion, that there was no rest for him while life 
 continued. 
 
 Silently Ada received her candle from him, and 
 his parting embrace ; her heart felt almost bursting, 
 and yet she was unwilling to show Herbert the an- 
 guish his words had caused. 
 
416 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " The tones in every household voice are grown more sad and 
 
 deep, 
 And the sweet word, 'Brother!' wakes a wish to turn aside 
 
 and weep. 
 Oh, ye beloved, come home ! The hour of many a greeting 
 
 tone, 
 The time of hearth-light and of song returns — and ye are 
 
 gone ! " — Mes. Hemans. 
 
 " Thus stood his mind, when round him came a cloud — 
 Slowly and heavily it came ; a cloud 
 Of ills we mention not. Enough to say, 
 'Twas cold and dead, impenetrable gloom. 
 He saw its dark approach, and saw his hopes 
 One after one put out, as nearer still 
 It drew his soul ; but fainted not at first, 
 Fainted not soon. He knew the lot of man 
 Was trouble, and prepared to bear the worst ; 
 Endure whate'er should come without a sigh ; 
 Endure, and drink e'en to the very dregs 
 The bitterest cup that time could measure out ; 
 And, having done, look up and ask for more." 
 
 Pollok. 
 
 Poor Ada was, if possible, as wretched as Herbert. 
 It seemed to her the bitterest cup of sorrow that could 
 have been given, to know that her beloved brother 
 — the man Ethel had loved — could have sunk so 
 low as to declare himself an alien from God. She 
 felt the shock now more than at any time, because 
 
woman's ministry. 417 
 
 she was just herself rising, as it were, from the bondage 
 of sin into the glorious liberty of the children of God. 
 She had tasted to some extent the preciousness of the 
 Saviour's blood, and now her only brother had de- 
 barred himself from participation in His redemption. 
 Deeply had she mourned over her want of Christian 
 charity and her passionate outburst to Herbert; but 
 the shock of his declaration, and Morton's offer, had ab- 
 sorbed all her watchfulness. She knelt long in her 
 own room in earnest supplications for her brother; 
 her heart was too full to think of a form of words, — 
 they came at intervals, as in bursts of anguish she 
 poured out her soul to God. 
 
 What would be the end of all this unbelief ? 
 Could she do anything, make any sacrifice, in order to 
 save him, or convince him ? was the question she asked 
 herself, as she restlessly tossed on her pillow. But she 
 felt prayer was her only weapon. She could not argue, 
 she knew nothing of evidence, beside the witness which 
 every child of God possesses in himself. Moreover, 
 although an earnest seeker after truth, her natural dis- 
 position was by no means tamed. Quick, impulsive, and 
 impatient of restraint, hers was not the mind, as she 
 rightly owned, to cope with Herbert's, or meet his so- 
 phistries. He knew and felt his superior intellect, and 
 would but regard her with indulgent kindness if he 
 listened at all, considering her incapable of the task. 
 Besides, what convinced Ada would not be conclusive 
 to him. Her best course she felt, therefore, was in silence 
 and prayer, in which she was resolved never to faint, 
 and give the Almighty "no rest" until he had mercy 
 on her brother. There was one bright spot of hope 
 which gleamed to cheer her. The growing conviction 
 that she was dear to Edward Beauchamp. Several 
 times he had spoken words which led her to this con- 
 
 VOL. I. E E 
 
418 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 elusion, though she resolved not to give credence to 
 what might, after all, proceed from his natural kind- 
 ness of disposition, believing it better, if possible, 
 always to wait for an express declaration of affection, 
 before it is implicitly believed. The efforts a lady 
 may make to repress the feeling of affection for a special 
 object of regard, will by no means prevent its flowing 
 spontaneously and abundantly, if it should ever be 
 directly appealed to by him who has given rise to it. 
 
 It would be well if each and all were wont to set 
 a guard over the affections, and carefully watch a 
 development of sensibilities which may be doomed 
 to hopeless disappointment. But, alas ! this is too 
 seldom the case. The heart yields unconsciously, and 
 is wholly taken up by the beloved one before any in- 
 timation has been received of a reciprocal attachment. 
 In a moment the veil is withdrawn, the blight falls 
 with all its withering power, and the being most be- 
 loved becomes (perhaps quite unwillingly) the means 
 of inflicting a wound which death alone can heal. 
 It is true there are those who wilfully work upon 
 woman's affection, merely for the amusement of an idle 
 hour, and who seem to revel even in seeing the misery 
 they cause. Of such it need hardly be said, that if 
 there be a despicable character to be found, it is that 
 of the man who can knowingly trifle with woman's 
 love. But Ada knew that such would never be the 
 case with Beauchamp, his Christian principle alone 
 would prevent his amusing himself at the expense of 
 another's happiness. Still, without intention of win- 
 ning her affection, he might like her friendship ; and 
 never having spoken words of love, Ada wisely deter- 
 mined to banish him as much as possible from her 
 heart, lest her life should be embittered by hopeless 
 disappointment. 
 
woman's ministry. 419 
 
 After a night passed in sorrow and sleeplessness, 
 Ada met Herbert at breakfast. He saw her efforts 
 to appear composed and as usual, but her wan, hag- 
 gard looks, could not escape his notice. This only 
 added an additional pang to his own misery, and 
 made him more desirous to leave one to whom he 
 was the cause of so much unhappiness. 
 
 Lady Harcourt was surprised by her son's sudden 
 determination to leave England, but was always will- 
 ing to acquiesce in any fancy of his when she be- 
 lieved his happiness was concerned ; and as he said 
 it was positively necessary, she did not trouble herself 
 to inquire further into his motives. She was sorry to 
 lose him, and to find her plans frustrated for a bril- 
 liant matrimonial alliance for him, in the person of a 
 certain Honourable Miss Montague, an heiress; having 
 other schemes in abeyance if that should fail : and in 
 her mortification at his resolving to leave England at 
 that moment, little did she suspect he was enduring 
 disappointment with respect to one Lady Harcourt 
 knew to be beneath him in station, and to whom she 
 would scarcely have paid the attention she did, had 
 she imagined for a moment her son had destined her 
 for his wife. 
 
 In a few days more all was ready, and Herbert 
 only lingered to take leave of his mother and sister. 
 
 Ada stood pale and tearful by the window, watch- 
 ing the packing of luggage into the travelling-carriage, 
 while Herbert was saying his farewell to Lady Har- 
 court. When he turned to her, unable to restrain her 
 emotion, she hung on his neck, weeping bitterly. 
 
 " Don't go, Herbert. I feel you are better here. 
 Oh, stay with us !" she said. 
 
 " Dearest, impossible ! But I shall, perhaps, be 
 back before you expect me. We shall hear of one 
 
420 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 another very often ; and," he added in a low voice, 
 " tell me sometimes if she is well, or anything about 
 her that I should like to know." 
 
 He kissed her in an agitated manner, for it was a 
 moment of intense pain to him, and then hurried 
 away. 
 
 Ada turned to the window once more, to see the 
 last of her brother ; she watched the carriage drive 
 away in the drenching rain, and then returned slowly 
 and sorrowfully to weep in solitude over this bitter 
 trial. 
 
 But an event was in store for her, which, though 
 it did not lessen her sorrow for her brother, added to 
 her own happiness, and enabled her to bear the trial 
 with greater fortitude. Edward Beauchamp spoke to 
 her of his affection, and Ada felt her heart bound with 
 a feeling of happiness when he asked her to become 
 his wife. 
 
 It seemed as if God had sent her an earthly guide 
 and comforter, and that, when apparently forsaken, he 
 had raised up such a Christian companion as Beau- 
 champ. The engagement was formed ; circumstances, 
 however, rendered it necessary that the marriage 
 should not take place for a year. We will therefore 
 leave the affianced ones in the enjoyment of their 
 pleasurable anticipations, and accompany Herbert in 
 his continental wanderings. Paris was fixed upon 
 as their first destination. Here Morton, who was 
 acquainted with almost every place of dissipation and 
 excess, introduced Raymond to haunts of infamy and 
 vice. And Herbert (once so pure in his pleasures) 
 was now led on a willing victim, vainly hoping in riot 
 and excess to drown the ceaseless stings of conscience. 
 He revelled and gambled with the vilest of com- 
 panions, feeling in the excitement of the gaming-table 
 
421 
 
 a sort of frenzied interest which was a relief to him. 
 He stayed not to think of anything, the amusement of 
 an hour was all to him. But when night returned, so 
 did his feeling of responsibility to his Maker. An 
 all-piercing Eye seemed upon him, shining through 
 the darkness, obliging him to admit, though not in 
 words, the truth of that wondrous declaration : " O 
 Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou 
 knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou 
 understandest my thoughts afar off. Thou compassest 
 my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with 
 
 all my ways Thou hast beset me behind 
 
 and before, and laid thine hand upon me 
 
 Whither shall I go from thy Spirit ? or whither shall 
 I flee from thy presence ? If I ascend up into heaven, 
 thou art there : if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou 
 art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell 
 in the uttermost parts of the sea ; even there shall thy 
 hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If I 
 say, Surely the darkness shall cover me ; even the night 
 shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth 
 not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: 
 the darkness and the light are both alike to thee." 
 He had tried, as it were, to flee further from God, and 
 desired to lose the consciousness of His existence, which 
 he felt, though he owned it not, even to himself. He 
 had tried to stifle the warnings of that moral principle 
 which still remained, by plunging in deeper, darker 
 sin ; but the all-piercing eye of God followed him 
 wherever he went. Truly he might have been said to 
 have " made his bed in hell," for he had rioted in the 
 pollutions of the world, and still without success. If 
 for a few hours he seemed unconscious of his respon- 
 sibility in the day-time, when he sought his bed in the 
 silent watches of the night it returned with over- 
 
422 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 powering force. If sleep did visit his eyes, his dreams 
 were those of feverish excitement, when he was revel- 
 ling in some loathsome sin, and he felt the curse of 
 God was upon him. Feign did he long, like Byron's 
 Giaour, to " sleep without the dream of what he was ;" 
 but this was denied him. Waking or sleeping, night 
 or day, there was no rest. " There is no peace, saith 
 my God, to the wicked." 
 
 Yes ! the God, in whose existence he professed to 
 disbelieve, watched over him, and in love still held 
 out the sceptre of his mercy, and was speaking to him 
 by the rebukings and strivings of his Spirit, permitting 
 him to taste and see what the world's so-called plea- 
 sures will do for man's happiness, and allowing him no 
 rest while he continued a sharer in them. 
 
 Few, even among the most defiant infidels, have 
 not, at certain periods of their lives, some undefined 
 dread in the thought of the existence of a God, how- 
 ever much they dishonour and despise his commands. 
 But Raymond's consciousness was something more, 
 for never did the feeling leave him that there might be 
 a God. He was never for a moment comfortable in 
 his professed unbelief; and even when compelled to 
 own his infidelity, from principles of honour, he shrank 
 at the idea with a feeling of shame. 
 
 But solitude was unbearable to him now — so that, 
 instead of leaving the gaming-house (his most frequent 
 resort) at the midnight hour, he would either prolong 
 his stay far into the earlier part of morning, or else 
 seek Morton's apartments, and rema : n with him until 
 the necessity for sleep compelled him to retire. But 
 it mattered not where or how he tried to evade 
 thought ; he was compelled to be alone sometimes, 
 and then the ceaseless agony of his conscience was in- 
 tolerable — God was everywhere ! and as days and 
 
woman's ministry. 423 
 
 weeks passed on, his attributes of purity and holiness 
 presented themselves more to his mind, infidel that he 
 was, and the heinousness of his sins grew more over- 
 whelming. The thought was almost madness. Yet 
 nothing could take it away. Still he refused to come 
 to the Saviour — refused to be plunged in the fountain 
 of his blood which " cleanseth from all sin," believing, 
 even if it were so, he was too steeped in sin for mercy 
 yet to be granted. But " who hath hardened him- 
 self against Him and prospered?" In vain man 
 may strive with his Maker, he cannot prevail. And 
 so Raymond felt, as time passed on. And desperately 
 — more desperately — he drank the cup of sin, and 
 drained its very dregs, until his misery grew so insup- 
 portable, the tempter assailed him with suggestions to 
 terminate his wretched existence. 
 
 But the thought of Ethel saved him ; the thought 
 of her broken heart, were she to hear that the man 
 she had loved had committed suicide, roused Raymond 
 to a sense of the awful position in which he stood. 
 He now resolutely determined to leave Paris, since 
 he found he had sunk so low as to have even allowed 
 this fearful temptation to gain ground for a moment. 
 He was shocked and astonished by the depravity it 
 evinced, more than he had felt himself capable of 
 owning. He lost no time in telling his companion 
 that he should leave Paris without delay. Morton 
 in vain tried to laugh Raymond out of his fancy, 
 as he termed it, but finding that unavailing, endea- 
 voured to extract his reasons for acting thus, but 
 with similar unsuccess. " The heart knoweth his own 
 bitterness," and Raymond would have desired his 
 friend, least of all, to know the fearful struggles 
 which oppressed him. Morton reluctantly assented 
 to his request, for he gloried in the very sins which 
 
424 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 Raymond committed, and yet abhorred. No remorse, 
 no struggles, ever seemed to oppress him; his con- 
 science was seared as with a hot iron ; his reprobate 
 mind was as dark as the deeds of darkness which 
 he committed. Raymond might have been inclined 
 to envy him his indifference, had he not been disgusted 
 by Morton's undisguised pleasure in the committal of 
 sins which had always been peculiarly repulsive to 
 his own mind, and which he felt made him shrink 
 from, rather than increase his intimacy with, such a 
 man. 
 
 His abandoned associate bitterly regretted quitting 
 Paris, it was the scene of such unhallowed pleasure to 
 him ; but his vicious habits had left him almost entirely 
 dependent on Raymond, and he was, moreover, so 
 deeply in debt, that he had no resource but in apply- 
 ing to him for means to continue a free man. Baden- 
 Baden was selected by Herbert as their next place of 
 residence, as it contained both the attraction of the 
 gaming-table and is also, from its lovely situation, so 
 agreeable a place of residence. Here for a time they 
 remained, and Raymond felt somewhat soothed, and 
 his health renovated, by the change. In the morn- 
 ings he would wander through the beautiful walks in 
 the Black Forest, within which this most lovely of 
 German watering-places is embosomed. It was a 
 pleasant feeling once more to be away from the noise 
 and bustle of the town, and yet not to feel alone, as 
 he had done in Paris. Nature had ever presented 
 charms to Raymond, but Nature's God must be adored 
 ere the full beauty of his works can be enjoyed. 
 Morton never accompanied him in his rambles, and 
 Raymond could not regret it, for his companionship 
 was no longer agreeable ; there was such an entire 
 want of moral principle about him, and his whole 
 
woman's ministry. 425 
 
 nature seemed so polluted, Raymond only sought a 
 convenient opportunity for leaving his society. One 
 ceaseless round of excess must be his, or his life was 
 insupportable ; the hushed solemnity of the woods ; 
 the sweet voices of the birds, as they warbled forth 
 their tribute of praise to their Maker; the gushing 
 fountain, or rippling brook, had lost all charm for 
 him : but to Raymond they breathed a peace which, 
 though it did not exactly lessen his wretchedness, yet 
 somehow produced a better feeling. He was not con- 
 scious of committing any open sin while with nature, 
 for it could only be a proper impulse which prompted 
 his admiration for beautiful scenery; but, alas! there 
 was a void, and an awful consciousness of the sins of 
 which he had been guilty. For still in the evening, 
 when debarred from walking in the forest, he frequented 
 the brilliantly- lighted saloon, with its beautiful music 
 and soul-destroying snare — the gaming-table. But 
 he did not play frequently now, nor risk so much, 
 for he had been startled when he discovered how 
 many thousands had been lost and won while in Paris, 
 and he had resolved to be less lavish ; for, although a 
 generous man, Herbert was a prudent one, and would 
 have considered it the deepest disgrace to have ruined 
 himself by gambling. But gaming in itself had never 
 had any attractions for him beyond the excitement of 
 an hour ; he could as easily have left a gaming-house, 
 with the thought he should never have the opportunity 
 of playing again, as he would at any time leave a place 
 in which he had no interest. It was now only the 
 remaining excitement of watching others which in- 
 duced him still to attend the saloon at Baden-Baden. 
 There were some faces which he watched grow almost 
 frenzied in their expression ; others, whose assumed 
 indifference only half-concealed the anxious beating 
 
426 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 heart beneath. Night after night Herbert saw one 
 man particularly take his seat at the table, and re- 
 peatedly his miserable wife, while pacing up and down 
 the saloon, would come and implore him, in terms of 
 earnest entreaty, to leave the place ; and yet still he 
 stayed, losing continually, and each loss only making 
 him the more eager to risk a larger sum. There was 
 a pale, haggard man, too, who held a small bag of 
 money clenched fast in his hand, from which he 
 constantly took fresh supplies, never pausing until all 
 was gone ; but he had no wife, or daughter, or kind 
 friend to implore him to pause ere he was plunged into 
 the gulf before him. 
 
 There were ladies, too, though surrounded by ad- 
 mirers, who endeavoured to lure them away, still per- 
 sisted in risking, some large, some smaller sums of 
 money, and watching, with eyes sparkling with eager- 
 ness, and others with cold indifference, the turning of 
 the machine which settled their loss or gain. 
 
 Oh, fatal delusion ! extraordinary infatuation ! 
 which leads people to barter away not only earthly 
 possessions, but eternal hopes. " Wherefore do ye 
 spend your money for that which is not bread, and 
 your labour for that which satisfieth not?" How dis- 
 graceful that such places should be allowed by the 
 Government ! How many homes are rendered desolate 
 by designing men, who make merchandise of their fel- 
 low-creatures, for their own profit ! How many a wife 
 is left uncared for, and many a mother childless, by the 
 attractions of the gaming-table ! Alas, for the snares 
 of ungodly men ! . How many follow their pernicious 
 ways ! how fearful the account of those who, know- 
 ingly, permit these abuses, and dreadful their doom 
 in that last great day, when the secrets of all hearts 
 shall be disclosed ! 
 
woman's ministry. 427 
 
 Iniquity abounds ; the love of many waxes cold, 
 in these latter times. Every imaginable crime seems 
 coming to its crisis ; " the whole creation groaneth and 
 travaileth in pain together," big with the wickedness 
 which stalks through the world : and, we believe, the 
 horrors of the gaming-table add fearfully to the weight 
 in the balance of crime. Of the evils of that awful 
 system by which men are ensnared and victimised, 
 by which they are ruined, degraded, and finally lost, 
 no one can be fully aware, unless an eye-witness of 
 some of those fearful scenes which, day by day, are 
 enacted in such places as Baden-Baden. 
 
 It was one sultry evening, after they had been a 
 few weeks in the place, that the unhappy man (whose 
 wife was so distressed by his continued gambling) 
 seated himself beside Herbert, and threw down a con- 
 siderable sum of money. Raymond raised his eyes to 
 watch his unfortunate wife as she stood by, unable to 
 prevent the ruin she foresaw. She had been a beau- 
 tiful woman, but deep lines of care and sorrow had 
 done their work, and she was now a mere wreck. 
 Raymond's better feeling was roused. To see a woman 
 wretched, and not endeavour to assist her now that 
 he was near her husband, and had the opportunity of 
 speaking to him, would have been contrary to his 
 warm, generous nature. " I will save her if I can," 
 thought he. The machine turned — his unfortunate 
 companion had lost. Almost frenzied, he drew out 
 the last — the only money he still had in his purse — 
 when Raymond's hand was laid on his arm. The man 
 paused. In a low, earnest voice, Raymond pleaded 
 with him, and represented, as well as he could, his 
 ruin if he pursued this course. 
 
 The gentleman turned on him fiercely : — 
 
 " Who made you a judge ? Mind your own busi- 
 
428 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 ness ! " he exclaimed, with an oath, throwing down 
 his remaining money, which was instantly drawn 
 away by the relentless tool of the owners of the bank. 
 
 The man's eyes seemed to start from his head in 
 agonising excitement as he once more watched his 
 fate being decided. He had lost ! Oh ! that look 
 of dismay, and yet half- stupefied misery, as he threw 
 his head on the table in the hopelessness of despair ! 
 Now was Herbert's time to undo the mischief; he 
 put down the amount lost on the table, determining 
 never to cease until he had won back what the 
 unhappy man had lost. Three times he was unsuc- 
 cessful. The fourth, a heap of gold was handed to 
 him. The wretched gambler raised his eyes for a 
 moment, as he watched Raymond carefully secure the 
 money, rise, and leave the table. That look spoke 
 volumes to Herbert's better feeling, and did more to 
 show him the wickedness of gambling, than anything 
 had ever yet had power to do. He looked round 
 for the lady — she was gone. He paced up and down 
 the saloon, but she was nowhere to be found. He 
 left the room, and for a few moments walked on 
 the road outside, considering what he should do in 
 order to carry out his intention, when a low sob 
 attracted him. Turning his eyes in the direction of 
 the sound, he saw a lady resting on one of the seats, 
 and rocking herself to and fro in agony of body or 
 mind. Herbert advanced a few steps further, and 
 in a gentle, respectful manner, addressed her in 
 German, inquiring if there was anything he could 
 do for her, apologising for taking the liberty of asking 
 her. 
 
 " No, thank you. You can be of no use to me," 
 she replied, raising her face. 
 
 As the light from the open door of the saloon fell 
 
woman's ministry. 429 
 
 upon it, Herbert recognised the lady for whom he 
 was searching. 
 
 " Will you pardon me, but I hope I can be of 
 use. You are aware of the gentleman's loss who 
 sat beside me just now in the saloon?" 
 
 " Indeed T am," she replied, fresh tears coursing 
 one another down her cheeks. 
 
 " Will you excuse me taking the liberty I have 
 done, being a perfect stranger to you. When I saw 
 your distress, I did my best to persuade your hus- 
 band to leave the place. Finding that useless, and he 
 having lost all, 1 have succeeded in winning back the 
 same sum, and I have only been seeking for an oppor- 
 tunity to return it to you, who are better able to 
 retain it than he is," said Herbert, gently, at the same 
 time handing her the gold. 
 
 "You are too good, sir. I cannot take it. We 
 have no claim on you, — you won it lawfully." 
 
 " Excuse me, madam ; this cannot place you under 
 any obligation to me. I have not offered you any 
 money but what did really belong to your husband. 
 It can never be lawfully won when it deprives a man 
 of what he requires for his family ! I have watched 
 with pain how, night after night, you have endea- 
 voured to prevent your husband sacrificing his in- 
 terests to this bad practice, and I had quite resolved, 
 if it were in my power, to save him from ruin. Do 
 not, therefore, deprive me of this pleasure," he said, 
 in the kindest and most respectful manner, placing the 
 money this time really in her hands. 
 
 The lady seemed overpowered by his nobleness 
 and generosity. 
 
 " May God bless you, whoever you are ! I can- 
 not refuse. You little know the inestimable service 
 you have rendered us. Our history is soon told. 
 
430 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 We are not rich, but having a child in delicate health, 
 we came here to try the effect of the water for him. 
 My husband soon became entangled by the gaming- 
 table, and to-night he had risked the last money we 
 had to look forward to for many months. Day after 
 day I have seen this crisis approaching, and have im- 
 plored him to think of the ruin he was bringing on 
 us, but in vain ; the more he has lost, the more reck- 
 less he has become ! " she said. 
 
 Herbert pitied her deeply, and his heart bled for 
 the ruin and desolation of which she was a victim. 
 After speaking a few kind words he recommended 
 her to seek her husband, and, if possible, to keep him 
 in ignorance of the money ; and, while he believed 
 himself lost, get him to leave the place. This the 
 lady willingly promised to do, thanked him warmly 
 once more, and after Herbert had raised his hat re- 
 spectfully and passed on, she re-entered the saloon. 
 
woman's ministry. 431 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 * * * « Above me are the Alps, 
 The palaces of nature, whose vast walls 
 Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, 
 And throned Eternity in icy halls 
 Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls 
 The avalanche — the thunderbolt of snow! 
 All that expands the spirit, yet appals, 
 Gather around these summits, as to show 
 How earth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain man below." 
 
 Childe Harold, canto iii. 
 
 " He cometh ! He cometh ! the Lord passeth by; 
 The mountains are rending, the tempest is high; 
 The wind is tumultuous, the rocks are o'ercast ; 
 But the Lord of the prophet is not in the blast. 
 
 He cometh ! He cometh ! the Lord He is near ; 
 The earth it is reeling — all nature's in fear. 
 The earthquake's approaching with terrible form ; 
 But the Lord of Sabaoth is not in the storm. 
 
 He cometh ! He cometh ! the tempest is o'er. 
 
 He is come! neither tempest nor storm shall be more, 
 
 All nature reposes; earth, ocean, and sky 
 
 Are still as the voice that descends from on high." 
 
 M'Combe. 
 
 "I will never enter that den of iniquity again — I 
 will leave this place at once ! Pleasure is not, cannot 
 be found in scenes like these, which lead men to forget 
 the ties of nature, and ruin those who ought to be 
 dearest, for mere amusement. I must seek happiness 
 
432 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 elsewhere ! Dissipation and excess do not bring me 
 rest. 
 
 1 Though gay companions o'er the howl 
 Dispel awhile the sense of ill ; 
 Though pleasure fires the maddening soul, 
 The heart, the heart, is lonely still ! ' 
 
 " Where, where will all this torturing misery end ? 
 Shall I never know rest ? Will death never come ? 
 Shall I never banish all these distressing doubts and 
 fears ? Must I always feel broken-hearted in thinking 
 of her ? It seems so ! Her sweet, heavenly face, beam- 
 ing with purity and holiness, ought to breathe peace 
 rather than anguish ; but it only causes me to abhor 
 myself, and to feel still more unworthy of her love. 
 Oh ! what would she think of me now, steeped in 
 sin — the vilest creature on earth! How wounded 
 would she be !" murmured Herbert, as he paced up 
 and down, and then a half-uttered desire rose to his 
 lips, — " Would that Ethel's God were my God ! A 
 belief in him does certainly seem to soothe, and bring 
 happiness with it. But how can I believe? If some 
 miraculous proof, some manifestation were made to me, 
 then I must be convinced. When will this doubt end ? " 
 
 He still continued pacing beneath the shadow of 
 the trees, watching the brilliant lights from the saloon, 
 which lent a beautiful golden colour to their dark out- 
 line. 
 
 A loud peal of thunder and a vivid flash of light- 
 ning roused him from his reverie, and induced him 
 quickly to forsake the shelter of the trees, and make 
 the best of his way to his hotel. 
 
 The storm increased, and soon raged furiously; 
 flash followed flash, and peal after peal of thunder 
 shook the whole house. It was awfully grand, and 
 Herbert could not resist the impulse of standing near 
 
woman's ministry. 433 
 
 the window to watch the forked lightning gleaming 
 among the trees. 
 
 w Thunder and lightning, God's artillery ! What 
 a magnificent idea !" exclaimed Herbert to Morton, 
 who had just entered, and who evidently disliked to 
 hear the warring and crashing of the elements, and 
 had shrunk to a remote corner of the room, and was 
 shading his eyes with his hand. 
 
 He made no reply, and Raymond, in the enthusiasm 
 of the moment, forgetting to whom he was speaking, 
 continued : — 
 
 " To me there is something wonderfully sublime 
 in thunder and lightning. Memory again recalls the 
 time when I can well remember Ada clinging to me 
 when a very little child, fearful of being struck by the 
 lightning, and her governess telling us thunder was 
 ' the voice of God speaking to us, and that we need 
 not fear, he could guard us just as safely as when the 
 sun was shining ! ' That thought returns to me to- 
 night with all its pristine power. I cannot divest my- 
 self of the idea that this furiously-raging storm is not 
 the effect of chance. Of course, in a natural manner, 
 I know what produces this combination of light and 
 sound ; but there seems a something else that speaks 
 to my heart, and makes an unaccountable impression 
 upon me, and recalls the effect of Byron's words : — 
 
 * Sky, mountains, rivers, "winds, lake, lightnings ! ye 
 With light, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul 
 To make these felt and feeling, well may be 
 Things that have made me watchful ; the far roll 
 Of your departing voices is the knoll 
 Of what in me is sleepless. If I rest — 
 But where of ye, oh ! tempests, is the goal ? 
 Are ye like those within the human breast ? 
 
 Or do ye find at length, like eagles, some high nest?' 
 
 Childe Harold, canto iii. stan. 96. 
 
 VOL. I. F F 
 
434 ETHEL ; OR, 
 
 " To me, the feeling of being able to raise the soul 
 to a Supreme Being (even if it be a delusion), seems a 
 glorious thought. The belief that it is the voice of 
 the Creator speaking in such wondrous tones as these, 
 must bring an overwhelming sense of his majesty and 
 greatness, and a confidence also, that he who can hold 
 the lightning in his hand, and wield it as he will, 
 restraining its violence, and lulling the roaring tem- 
 pest to sleep, however furiously it may have raged, 
 has also power to preserve his people from injury, 
 and keep them safe amid the storm in the cleft of the 
 rock of his love. Alas, that I cannot believe it ! " 
 
 Raymond had spoken aloud, without thought, and 
 a derisive laugh from Morton fell discordantly on 
 his ear. 
 
 " A speech worthy of a divine, truly ! Quite sub- 
 lime in its similes ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Not one, though, 
 which might have been expected from the lips of an 
 infidel." 
 
 " Perhaps not. I shall take care you shall not be 
 troubled with another," replied Raymond, haughtily, 
 turning once more to the window. He was now 
 thoroughly disgusted by his impious companion, and 
 the word " infidel," applied to him by Morton, grated 
 harshly on his ear. He hated the name. He shrunk 
 from such an epithet belonging to him. 
 
 He had spoken truly when he said he felt the 
 voice of God. Quick as the lightning he was watch- 
 ing, a gleam of brightness for the moment had entered 
 his heart, and the first positive doubt as to the doc- 
 trines he held, which he had really allowed him- 
 self to entertain, pierced his soul. And though the 
 light did not remain, a mark was left, slight in 
 itself, yet like the lightning's impress, small to the 
 outward eye, but sufficient to blast the giant oak. 
 
woman's ministky. 435 
 
 The impression of that night never faded from his 
 recollection. 
 
 The storm being over, Herbert left the room, and 
 gave orders to his servant to make immediate pre- 
 paration for leaving next morning. He then returned 
 to Morton, who had recovered his spirits now that 
 the danger was over. Raymond, without noticing 
 him, took up a book and commenced reading. He was 
 angry with himself for having spoken inadvertently 
 before one who was so little capable of appreciating 
 any feeling of a serious nature, and angry with Mor- 
 ton for his impious ridicule, and determined to have 
 nothing to do with him further than was absolutely 
 necessary. 
 
 " Come, old boy, how dull you are ! Will you 
 have a cigar now that this infernal storm is over ? " 
 
 " No, I do not feel inclined," replied Raymond, 
 coldly. 
 
 " 'Down in the mouth,' eh?" inquired Morton ; 
 then, prefaced by an oath, he began to ridicule Ray- 
 mond's doubts and conjectures. Raymond heard him 
 without speaking, and then as he rose said, with firm- 
 ness : — 
 
 " If I am not to be allowed to hold what views I 
 please, Morton, the sooner you and I cease to be 
 travelling companions the better. My sentiments are 
 my own, and will never be influenced or altered by 
 your ridicule or profanity. I am only sorry I spoke 
 as I did to-night ; I was a fool not to know how 
 little you could understand such feelings,' said Ray- 
 mond, ironically. Morton made no reply, and Ray- 
 mond continued : — " My servant has orders to pre- 
 pare for leaving here to-morrow morning. This 
 does not the least necessitate your going also; you 
 can remain or not, as you like ; we are perfectly in- 
 
436 ETHEL; OR, 
 
 dependent of one another," said Raymond, empha- 
 tically. 
 
 Morton was indignant with Raymond's firmness, 
 and in perceiving of how little importance he deemed 
 his opinions ; but still he could not refuse to accom- 
 pany him, for he had now completely exhausted his 
 resources, and to remain longer in Baden-Baden would 
 be useless. He therefore assumed a look of indifference, 
 as he replied : 
 
 " I suppose I must go. You are a strange, unac- 
 countable fellow, here to-day and gone to-morrow ! " 
 
 " I hope you do not feel bound to follow me ; re- 
 member, you are a perfectly free agent." 
 
 " I know that, and if I choose to go I can do so, 
 I suppose. Pray, where is our next destination ? " 
 
 " I think of Switzerland and Italy, both ; but first 
 to Strasbourg." 
 
 Morton shrugged his shoulders but did not reply, 
 and Raymond left him. 
 
 Early the next morning, the travellers were on 
 their journey to Strasbourg; but the cities of the Rhine 
 seemed now to have lost their charm for Raymond, 
 while thinking of the superior beauty of the Swiss and 
 Italian lakes, whose grandeur far exceeds the boasted 
 scenery of the Rhine. Their snow-capped moun- 
 tains, contrasted with the exquisite blue and green 
 of their waters, give a charm, which is unsurpassed, 
 and ever varied. Alpine scenery, too, presents a 
 continual field for exploits to the enterprising tra- 
 veller : there are ever new views to be seen ; moun- 
 tains to climb, and excursions to be made, which form 
 an unwearying occupation, which the sameness and 
 monotony of the Rhine does not. For Switzerland 
 Raymond pined, vainly imagining the bracing air and 
 hardy exercise would invigorate and strengthen both. 
 
WOMAN'S MINISTRr. 437 
 
 mind and body, and that by employing himself in feats 
 of hardihood and daring he might gain that happiness 
 for which he sighed. But as the summer was drawing 
 near they agreed to leave Switzerland for a month or 
 so, and visit some places in Italy, which Raymond was 
 desirous to see ; they therefore bent their steps to 
 Venice. Here Herbert employed himself with great 
 energy in viewing the ruins of the past ; fond of dis- 
 covering antiquities, Venice possessed many charms 
 for him — the silent gliding of the sombre - looking 
 gondola along the dark waters of the canals, view- 
 ing as he passed the remains of departed splendour, 
 was delightful. He dived into hidden places ; visited 
 many churches and palaces, where he could gain ad- 
 mittance, examined with pleasure the works of painters; 
 often taking sketches from them, and copying in- 
 scriptions, with a perseverance which would have de- 
 lighted Mr. Ruskin, had he been his companion, and 
 yet his wretchedness recommenced when he returned 
 to the hotel in the evening. Morton's society was in- 
 tolerable, his coarse jests and gross ribaldry had always 
 annoyed, more than pleased Raymond, and now they 
 were unbearable, and he steadily refused to join him in 
 his ridicule of those holy things which once he had 
 shared in abusing. Not that Raymond professed to 
 believe still in an invisible Being, to whom he was ac- 
 countable ; but he had now an undefined fear connected 
 with his unbelief, which impelled him to desist from 
 gross acts of impious daring. They had not been very 
 long in Venice, and not a third of its objects of interest 
 had been visited, when letters of importance arrived 
 for Morton, requiring his immediate presence in Eng- 
 land, to take possession of some property likely to be 
 disputed, unless he were there to establish his claim. 
 Raymond agreed to accompany him into Switzerland, 
 
438 Ethel; or, 
 
 where he proposed to spend the summer. Morton's ex- 
 treme impatience to reach England obliged them to 
 hurry their journey, and travel day and night, until 
 
 they reached the foot of the Pass. Here they were 
 
 compelled to remain during the night ; next morning 
 the landlord of the wretched little inn assured them 
 they ought not to attempt ascending the Pass for some 
 days to come, the recent heavy rains having so loosened 
 the ridges of the mountains as to render them unsafe ; 
 a landslip might take place at any moment. 
 
 " Nonsense ! All humbug !" replied Morton ; and 
 then addressing the man in Italian, he told him it was 
 only his traffic to persuade travellers for his own 
 interest, and ordered their travelling carriage in- 
 stantly. 
 
 " Pray, Raymond, are you gulled ? you look quite 
 cowardly," said Morton, angrily turning to Herbert. 
 
 " I think there is much truth in what the man 
 says. I know by experience he only testifies to facts. 
 But you can do as you please ; I am at your service," 
 replied Raymond. 
 
 " If I might be excused the liberty, sir, it is a 
 plain tempting of Providence," said Raymond's servant, 
 a grave, quiet man, whose voice was seldom heard, 
 except when absolutely necessary. 
 
 " You're a fool ! Providence ! Have done with 
 your cant!" replied Morton, furiously. "I am re- 
 solved no power shall prevent me ascending ; " and 
 then, in an oath of the most fearful words, he defied 
 the power of God or man to prevent his doing as he 
 pleased. 
 
 Raymond turned from him, with the feeling of the 
 most intense disgust and abhorrence at his awful 
 language. 
 
 The carriage was ordered, and the travellers once 
 
woman's ministry. 439 
 
 more started on their journey. It was a dreadful 
 morning ; thunder rolled for minutes at a time through 
 the mountains, which re-echoed the sound again and 
 again ; while occasional flashes of lightning added to 
 the terrific grandeur of the scenes of wild magni- 
 ficence through which they passed. The water soon 
 began to pour in through the badly -built carriage 
 (all they could obtain), and their whole attention 
 was directed to devising means for making it water- 
 proof. By and by the rain suddenly changed to snow, 
 which fell in large flakes around them, while occa- 
 sional peals of thunder still rumbled, at lengthened 
 intervals, through the mountains. 
 
 " It really is a dreadful day ! I cannot help 
 thinking, Morton, you would have done better to 
 
 remain at , wretched as the place was," said 
 
 Raymond. 
 
 " All very well for you tell me so. You, who 
 roll in wealth, and have no interest in travelling 
 quickly; a few thousands lost to me make all the 
 difference," replied Morton, bitterly. 
 
 " Well ! I only hope we may reach our destination 
 in safety, that's all," returned Raymond. 
 
 But he had hardly spoken before the carriage 
 stopped, and the driver appeared at the window. 
 
 " What do you want now, man?" said Morton, 
 opening the window. 
 
 The man informed them, in a mixture of bad 
 Italian and French, that there was an obstruction on 
 the road ; and that, unless all assisted in clearing the 
 stones away that had fallen into it, he could not pro- 
 ceed. Reluctantly the gentlemen alighted, and began 
 to assist in making a passage for the carriage. 
 
 In a moment there was a terrific sound, as of the 
 loudest thunder-clap. Then came a crash ! a stunning 
 
440 ETHEL J OR, 
 
 roar ! Water, rocks, and trees were swept down in 
 overwhelming force. There was no time for even an 
 exclamation, the avalanche was upon them. Stunned 
 by the overwhelming violence of the shock, Raymond 
 fell to the ground. In a few moments the feeling of 
 giddiness had passed, and he was enabled to compre- 
 hend his situation to some extent. He had fallen near 
 the edge of the road; beneath him yawned a frightful 
 precipice, into which had been hurled large pieces of 
 stone, and water was dashing wildly almost close to 
 him. Above him a huge fragment of rock had fallen, 
 only within a few inches of where he lay. What a 
 fearful scene was presented to his view when, after 
 extricating himself from the mass of mud around him, 
 he regained his feet ! The vengeance of an offended 
 Creator, whose power had been blasphemously defied, 
 had made it known that " He is God." Raymond 
 stood in agonised silence for a few moments, too 
 much overwhelmed in the wreck and ruin around 
 him to think clearly. The road was smashed to 
 pieces. Large masses of stone lay here and there, 
 and again he saw the one beneath which he had 
 been sheltered, — preserved as it were by a miracle. 
 This was the hand of God — Raymond owned it. 
 He believed now in his Maker, never more to doubt. 
 But his companions ? the carriage ? horses ? Not a 
 trace of them appeared; they were buried beneath 
 the heap of earth which had fallen over them. Fear- 
 ful thought ! Herbert raised his eyes, as if asking 
 the mountain where they were. But the mountain 
 answered not. It looked down in cold majesty on 
 the desolation it had made, without showing a trace 
 of the masses which had fallen from its summit. All 
 looked calm, cold, and drear above, while the snow 
 still fell in small flakes, at times almost blinding him. 
 
woman's ministry. 441 
 
 Herbert was roused. It was no time for thought. 
 Something must be done, — the sufferers might yet 
 live. No help was at hand, he alone must search 
 for them. The nearest village was the one they had 
 quitted, and it would take an hour to reach it. They 
 might be dead before then. He lost no time in taking 
 a careful survey of the whole extent of the damage 
 done ; and at some little distance from where he him- 
 self had fallen he happily discovered Brightson, his ser- 
 vant. He had been stunned, though but slightly hurt, 
 and was just extricating himself from the masses of 
 mud and stones around him. Herbert rendered him 
 prompt assistance. The man seemed bewildered on 
 rising; but quickly recovering, he grasped his master's 
 hand. 
 
 " Thank God you are safe, dear sir ! " he exclaimed, 
 while tears of gratitude gushed to his eyes. 
 
 " Ah, indeed we must ! To Him be all the praise! 
 But do not lose a moment ; help me to find the others. 
 Do you know where they were at the time of the fall?" 
 exclaimed Raymond. 
 
 "Not far from here, sir. Mr. Morton was close 
 by me, and the driver near him." 
 
 " Then assist me to clear away." 
 
 Fortunately the welcome tramp of some men was 
 heard just then, — persons who are appointed to be in 
 readiness when any landslip or avalanche is expected, 
 to repair the roads without delay. Their tools were 
 soon in requisition to discover the two unfortunate 
 men buried beneath. Morton was soon found, fright- 
 fully crushed in body, beyond all hope of his life being 
 spared ; but his face and head remained uninjured. 
 He was quite insensible, and they laid him gently 
 down on the turf, while Raymond supported his head 
 and wiped the cold dews from his brow, and tried to 
 
442 ETHEL ; OR, WOMAN'S MINISTRY. 
 
 force a little brandy down his throat. The driver 
 was for some time lost to their efforts, but at length 
 his mangled remains were discovered, perfectly dead. 
 A sharp stone had entered the head, touching the 
 brain and causing instant death. The four horses, 
 too, had all been killed. 
 
 A litter was quickly constructed of the largest 
 remaining part of the broken carriage, on which the 
 unfortunate Morton was laid, and followed by Raymond 
 and his servant, they descended to the hotel they had 
 but a short time before quitted. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by G. Barclay, Castle St. Leicester Sq. 
 
WotU 
 
 PUBLISHED BY HATCHARD AND CO. 
 
 Holy 
 
 Places, and other Poems. 
 
 By Mrs. Hey, Author of " The Moral of Flowers," &c. Fcap. cloth, 5s. • 
 
 "There is vigour and freshness about these poems, combined with much real ear- 
 nestness of purpose."— Bell's Messenger. 
 " Chaste, sweet, and musical."— Critic. 
 
 Poems. 
 
 By Thomas Edwards Hakkinsox, M. A., late of Corpus Christi College, 
 Cambridge, and Minister of St. Matthew's Chapel, Denmark Hill. 
 Edited by his Brothers. Fourth Edition. Fcap. cloth, 7*. 
 
 Proverbial Philosophy. 
 
 By Martin F. Tupper, D.C.L. &c. Post 8vo. cloth, with Portrait, 8*. 
 
 An Illustrated Edition of Proverbial Philosophy. 
 
 In 4to. bound in cloth, gilt edges, 11. lis. 6rf. ; morocco, 21. 8s.; mo- 
 rocco by Hayday, 11. 12*. 6d. 
 
 A Pocket Edition of the same. 
 
 l6mo. cloth, gilt leaves, bs. 
 
 By the same Author, 
 
 Probabilities : An Aid to Faith. 
 
 Third Edition. Fcap. cloth, 4*. 
 
 " It is difficult to convey, by extracts, the charm which is diffused over this little 
 book. There is, in the infinite variety of subject, a continuous line of thought, which 
 fixes the attention to its progress, and leaves the mind amused and edified with the 
 perusaL"— Christian Remembrancer. 
 
 The Twin Pupils ; 
 
 Or, Education at Home. A Tale addressed to the Young. By Ann 
 Thomson Gray. Fcap. cloth, 7s. 6rf. 
 " The story is well planned, well varied, and well written."— Spectator. 
 " More sound principles and useful practical remarks we have not lately met in any 
 work on the much-treated subject of education. The book is written with liveliness as 
 well as good sense."— Literary Gazette. 
 
 " A volume of excellent tendency, which may be put with safety and advantage into 
 the hands of well-educated young people."— Evangelical Magazine. 
 
Works published by Hatchard and Co. 
 Chillon; 
 
 Or, Protestants in the Sixteenth Century. An Historical Tale. By 
 Jane Louisa Will yams. 2 vols, post 8vo. cloth, 10s. 
 
 " We think highly of this pathetic story. A true spirit of cheerful piety pervades its 
 pages ; the characters are nicely discriminated, and many of the scenes are very vividly 
 portraved."— Britannia. 
 
 " The book before us furnishes proof of considerable ability." — British Quarterly 
 Review. 
 
 The Golden Garland of Inestimable Delights. 
 
 By Mrs. Sherwood. 12mo. cloth, 6s. 
 
 "It possesses greater reality, and even interest, than some more ambitious-looking 
 tales ; everything in ' the Golden Garland ' bears the stamp of truth."— Spectator. 
 " It serves as a vehicle to inculcate the soundest moral precepts," &c— Herald. 
 
 By the same Author. 
 
 The Mirror of Maidens in the Days of Good Queen 
 
 Bess. 12mo. cloth, 6*. 
 
 The History of John Marten. 
 
 A Sequel to " The Life of Henry Milner." 12mo. cloth, 7s. 6d. 
 
 The History of Henry Milner. 
 
 3 vols. 12mo. cloth, each 6s. 
 
 The History of the Fairchild Family ; 
 
 Or, the Child's Manual. Nineteenth Edition. 3 vols. 12mo. cloth, 
 each 5s. 
 
 Juliet ta di Lavenza. A Tale. 18 mo. cloth, 2s. 
 Victoria. 12 mo. boards, 4s. 
 The Little Momiere. 12mo. cloth, 2s. 
 More about Jesus : 
 
 A Sequel to " Peep of Day." By the same Author. With Illustra- 
 tions. Eleventh Thousand. 18mo. cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 The Floweret Gathered : 
 
 A Brief Memoir of a Departed Daughter. By the Rev. T. G. 
 
 Hatchard, A.M., Rector of St. Nicholas, Guildford. Third Thousand. 
 
 16mo. Is. 
 " This is an account of one of the lambs of Christ's fold, who exhibited the truest 
 simplicity and natural character of a child, united to unwavering trust in and love to 
 that Saviour, who took her early to himself. It is calculated both to interest, and, we 
 trust, greatly to profit our young friends, as a pattern of early piety."— Church or 
 England Sunday-school Monthly Magazine for Teachers. 
 
 Also, hy the same, 
 
 Food for my Flock : 
 
 Sermons delivered in the Parish Church of Havant. Fcap. cloth, 
 5s. Qd. post-free. 
 
 " A set of plain, spirited discourses, which are not unlikely to disturb the repose of 
 the drowsy, and to send home simple truths to the hearts that heed them. The sermons 
 are, besides, scriptural in their doctrinal views, charitable in temper, unpolemical, 
 rather asserting the truth than contending for it."— Christian Observer.