[Illustration: Hester at her piano. ]

WEIGHED AND WANTING

BY GEORGE MACDONALD

CONTENTS. 

 I. Bad Weather

 II. Father, Mother and Son

 III. The Magic Lantern

 IV. Hester alone

 V. Truly the Light is sweet

 VI. The Aquarium

 VII. Amy Amber

 VIII. Cornelius and Vavasor

 IX. Songs and Singers

 X. Hester and Amy

 XI. At Home

 XII. A Beginning

 XIII. A private Exhibition

 XIV. Vavasor and Hester

 XV. A small Failure

 XVI. The Concert Room

 XVII. An uninvited Guest

 XVIII. Catastrophe

 XIX. Light and Shade

 XX. The Journey

 XXI. Mother and Daughter

 XXII. Gladness

 XXIII. Down the Hill

 XXIV. Out of the Frying pan

 XXV. Was it into the Fire?

 XXVI. Waiting a Purpose

 XXVII. Major H. G. Marvel

 XXVIII. The Major and Vavasor

 XXIX. A brave Act

 XXX. In another Light

 XXXI. The Major and Cousin Helen's Boys

 XXXII. A distinguished Guest

 XXXIII. Courtship in earnest

 XXXIV. Calamity

 XXXV. In London

 XXXVI. A Talk with the Major

 XXXVII. Rencontres

XXXVIII. In the House

 XXXIX. The Major and the Small-pox

 XL. Down and down

 XLI. Difference

 XLII. Deep calleth unto Deep

 XLIII. Deliverance

 XLIV. On the Way up

 XLV. More yet

 XLVI. Amy and Corney

 XLVII. Miss Vavasor

 XLVIII. Mr. Christopher

 XLIX. An Arrangement

 L. Things at Home

 LI. The Return

 LII. A heavenly Vision

 LIII. A sad Beginning

 LIV. Mother and Son

 LV. Miss Dasomma and Amy

 LVI. The sick Room

 LVII. Vengeance is Mine

 LVIII. Father and Daughter-in-law

 LIX. The Message

 LX. A birthday Gift

CHAPTER I. 

BAD WEATHER. 

It was a gray, windy noon in the beginning of autumn. The sky and thesea were almost of the same color, and that not a beautiful one. Theedge of the horizon where they met was an edge no more, but a bar thickand blurred, across which from the unseen came troops of waves thatbroke into white crests, the flying manes of speed, as they rushed at, rather than ran towards the shore: in their eagerness came out once morethe old enmity between moist and dry. The trees and the smoke weregreatly troubled, the former because they would fain stand still, thelatter because it would fain ascend, while the wind kept tossing theformer and beating down the latter. Not one of the hundreds of fishingboats belonging to the coast was to be seen; not a sail even wasvisible; not the smoke of a solitary steamer ploughing its own miserablepath through the rain-fog to London or Aberdeen. It was sad weather anddepressing to not a few of the thousands come to Burcliff to enjoy aholiday which, whether of days or of weeks, had looked short to thelabor weary when first they came, and was growing shorter and shorter, while the days that composed it grew longer and longer by the frightfulvitality of dreariness. Especially to those of them who hated work, aday like this, wrapping them in a blanket of fog, whence the water wasevery now and then squeezed down upon them in the wettest of all rains, seemed a huge bite snatched by that vague enemy against whom thegrumbling of the world is continually directed out of the cake that byevery right and reason belonged to them. For were they not born to behappy, and how was human being to fulfill his destiny in suchcircumstances?

There are men and women who can be happy in any--even in suchcircumstances and worse, but they are rare, and not a little betterworth knowing than the common class of mortals--alas that they_will_ be common! _content_ to be common they are not and cannotbe. Among these exceptional mortals I do not count such as, havingsecured the corner of a couch within the radius of a good fire, forget the world around them by help of the magic lantern of a novelthat interests them: such may not be in the least worth knowing fortheir disposition or moral attainment--not even although the noise ofthe waves on the sands, or the storm in the chimney, or the rain on thewindows but serves to deepen the calm of their spirits. Take the novelaway, give the fire a black heart; let the smells born in alodging-house kitchen invade the sitting-room, and the person, man orwoman, who can then, on such a day, be patient with a patience pleasantto other people, is, I repeat, one worth knowing--and such there are, though not many. Mrs. Raymount, half the head and more than half theheart of a certain family in a certain lodging house in the forefront ofBurcliff, was one of such. 

It was not a large family, yet contained perhaps as many varieties ofcharacter and temper as some larger ones, with as many several ways offronting such a misfortune--for that is what poor creatures, the slavesof the elements, count it--as rainy weather in a season concerning whichall men agree that it ought to be fine, and that something is out oforder, giving ground of complaint, if it be not fine. The father met itwith tolerably good humor; but he was so busy writing a paper for one ofthe monthly reviews, that he would have kept the house had the day beenas fine as both the church going visitors, and the mammon-worshippingresidents with income depending on the reputation of their weather, would have made it if they could, nor once said _by your leave_;therefore he had no credit, and his temper must pass as not proven. Butif you had taken from the mother her piece of work--she was busyembroidering a lady's pinafore in a design for which she had takencolors and arrangement from a peacock's feather, but was disposing themin the form of a sun which with its rays covered the stomacher, thedeeper tints making the shadow between the golden arrows--had you takenfrom her this piece of work, I say, and given her nothing to do instead, she would yet have looked and been as peaceful as she now looked, forshe was not like Doctor Doddridge's dog that did not know who made him. 

A longish lad stood in the bow window, leaning his head on the shutter, in a mood of smouldering rebellion against the order of things. He wassuch a mere creature of moods, that individual judgments of hischaracter might well have proved irreconcilable. He had not yet begun bythe use of his will--constantly indeed mistaking impulse for will--toblend the conflicting elements of his nature into one. He was thereforea man much as the mass of flour and raisins, etc. , when first put intothe bag, is a plum-pudding; and had to pass through something analogousto boiling to give him a chance of becoming worthy of the name he wouldhave arrogated. But in his own estimate of himself he claimed always thevirtues of whose presence he was conscious in his good moods letting thebad ones slide, nor taking any account of what was in them. Hesubstituted forgetfulness for repudiation, a return of good humor forrepentance, and at best a joke for apology. 

Mark, a pale, handsome boy of ten, and Josephine, a rosy girl of seven, sat on the opposite side of the fire, amusing themselves with a puzzle. The gusts of wind, and the great splashes of rain on the glass, onlymade them feel the cosier and more satisfied. 

"Beastly weather!" remarked Cornelius, as with an effort half wriggle, half spring, he raised himself perpendicular, and turned towards theroom rather than the persons in it. 

"I'm sorry you don't like it, Cornie, " said his elder sister, who satbeside her mother trimming what promised to be a pretty bonnet. Aconcentrated effort to draw her needle through an accumulation of silkenfolds seemed to take something off the bloom of the smile with which shespoke. 

"Oh, it's all very well for girls!" returned Cornelius. "You don't doanything worth doing; and besides you've got so many things you likedoing, and so much time to do them in, that it's all one to you whetheryou go out or stay at home. But when a fellow has but a miserable threeweeks and then back to a rot of work he cares no more for than a felonfor the treadmill, then it is rather hard to have such a hole made init! Day after day, as sure as the sun rises--if he does rise--of weatheras abominable as rain and wind can make it!"

"My dear boy!" said his mother without looking up. 

"Oh, yes, mother! I know! You're so good you would have had Job himselftake it coolly. But I'm not like you. Only you needn't think me sovery--what you call it! It's only a breach in the laws of nature I'mgrumbling at. I don't mean anything to offend you. "

"Perhaps you mean more than you think, " answered his mother with adeep-drawn breath, which, if not a sigh, was very nearly one. "I shouldbe far more miserable than any weather could make me, not to be able tojoin in the song of the three holy children. "

"I've heard you say that before, mother, " said the youth, in a tone thatroused his sister's anger; for much that the mother let pass was by thedaughter for her sake resented. "But you see, " he went on, "the threeholy children, as you call them, hadn't much weather of any sort wherethey sung their song. Precious tired one gets of it before the choir'sthrough with it!"

"They would have been glad enough of some of the weather you callbeastly, " said Hester, again pulling through a stiff needle, this timewithout any smile, for sometimes that brother was more than she couldbear. 

"Oh, I dare say! But then, you see, they knew, when they got out, theywouldn't have to go back to a beastly bank, where notes and gold all daywent flying about like bats--nothing but the sight and the figures of itcoming their way!"

The mother's face grew very sad as it bent over her work. The youth sawher trouble. 

"Mother, don't be vexed with a fellow, " he said more gently. "I wasn'tmade good like you. "

"I think you were right about the holy children, " she said quietly. 

"What!" exclaimed Cornelius. "Mother, I never once before heard you sayI was right about any mortal thing! Come, this is pleasant! I begin tothink strong ale of myself! I don't understand it, though. "

"Shall I tell you? Would you care to know what I mean?"

"Oh, yes, mother! if you want to tell me. "

"I think you were right when you implied it was the furnace that madethem sing about the world outside of it: one can fancy the idea of thefrost and the snow and the ice being particularly pleasant to them. AndI am afraid, Cornelius, my dear son, you need the furnace to teach youthat the will of God, even in weather, is a thing for rejoicing in, notfor abusing. But I dread the fire for your sake, my boy!"

"I should have thought this weather and the bank behind it furnaceenough, mother!" he answered, trying to laugh off her words. 

"It does not seem to be, " she said, with some displeasure. "But then, "she added with a sigh, "you have not the same companion that the threeholy children had. "

"Who was that?" rejoined Cornelius, for he had partly forgotten thestory he knew well enough in childhood. 

"We will not talk about him now, " answered his mother. "He has beenknocking at your chamber-door for some time: when he comes to thefurnace-door, perhaps you will open that to him. "

Cornelius returned no answer; he felt his mother's seriousness awkward, and said to himself she was unkind; why couldn't she make some allowancefor a fellow? He meant no harm!

He was still less patient with his mother's not very frequentadmonitions, since going into the bank, for, much as he disliked it, heconsidered himself quite a man of the world in consequence. But he wasalmost as little capable of slipping like a pebble among other pebbles, the peculiar faculty of the man of the world, as he was of perceivingthe kind of thing his mother cared about--and that not from moral lackalone, but from dullness and want of imagination as well. He was likethe child so sure he can run alone that he snatches his hand from hismother's and sets off through dirt and puddles, so to act the part ofthe great personage he would consider himself. 

With all her peace of soul, the heart of the mother was very anxiousabout her son, but she said no more to him now: she knew that the showerbath is not the readiest mode of making a child friendly with coldwater. 

Just then broke out the sun. The wind had at last blown a hole in theclouds, and through that at once, as is his wont, and the wont of agreater light than the sun, he shone. 

"Come! there's something almost like sunshine!" said Cornelius, havingfor a few moments watched the light on the sands. "Before it goes inagain, as it's sure to do in five minutes at the farthest, get on yourbonnet, Hester, and let's have an attempt at a walk. "

Before Hester could answer came a sudden spatter of rain on the window. 

"There! I told you so! That's always the way! Just my luck! For me toset my heart on a thing is all one with being disappointed of it. "

"But if the thing was not worth setting your heart on?" said Hester, speaking with forced gentleness. 

"What does that signify? The thing is that your heart is set on it. Whatyou think nothing other people may yet be bold enough to take forsomething. "

"Well, at least, if I had to be disappointed, I should like it to be insomething that would be worth having. "

"Would you now?" returned Cornelius spitefully. "I hope you may havewhat you want. For my part I don't desire to be better than my neighbor. I think it downright selfish. "

"Do you want to be as good as your neighbor, Cornie?" said his mother, looking up through a film of tears. "But there is a more importantquestion than that, " she went on, having waited a moment in vain for ananswer, "and that is, whether you are content with being as good asyourself, or want to be better. "

"To tell you the truth, mother, I don't trouble my head about suchthings. Philosophers are agreed that self consciousness is the bane ofthe present age: I mean to avoid it. If you had let me go into the army, I might have had some leisure for what you call thought, but thathorrible bank takes everything out of a fellow. The only thing it leavesis a burning desire to forget it at any cost till the time comes whenyou must endure it again. If I hadn't some amusement in between, Ishould cut my throat, or take to opium or brandy. I wonder how thegovernor would like to be in my place!"

Hester rose and left the room, indignant with him for speaking so of hisfather. 

"If your father were in your place, Cornelius, " said his mother withdignity, "he would perform the duties of it without grumbling, howeverirksome they might be. "

"How do you know that, mother? He was never tried. "

"I know it because I know him, " she answered. 

Cornelius gave a grunt. 

"If you think it hard, " his mother resumed, "that you have to follow away of life not of your own choosing, you must remember that you nevercould be got to express a preference for one way over another, and thatyour father had to strain every nerve to send you to college--to thedisadvantage, for a time at least, of others of the family. I am sorryto have to remind you also that you did not make it any easier for himby your mode of living while there. "

"I didn't run up a single bill!" cried Cornelius with indignation; "andmy father knows it!"

"He does; but he knows also that your cousin Robert did not spend abovetwo-thirds of what you did, and made more of his time too. "

"He was in _rather_ a different set, " sneered the youth. 

"And you know, " his mother went on, "that his main design in placing youin your uncle's bank was that you might gain such a knowledge ofbusiness as will be necessary to the proper management of the money hewill leave behind him. When you have gained that knowledge, there willbe time to look farther, for you are young yet. "

Now his father's money was the continuous occasion of annoyance toCornelius, for it was no secret from his family how he meant to disposeof it. He intended, namely, to leave it under trustees, of whom hewished his son to be one until he married, when it was to be dividedequally among his children. 

This arrangement was not agreeable to Cornelius, who could not see, hesaid, what advantage in that case he had from being the eldest of thefamily. 

He broke out in a tone of expostulation, ready to swell into indignantcomplaint. 

"Now, mother, " he said "do you think it fair that I should have to lookafter the whole family as if they were my own?"

This was by no means his real cause of complaint, but he chose to use itas his grievance for the present. 

"You will have the other trustees to advise with, " said his mother. "Itneed not weigh on you very heavily. "

"Well, of course, I could do better with it than anybody out of thefamily. "

"If you have your father's love of fair play, Cornelius, you will. Whatyou can do to that end now is to make yourself thoroughly acquaintedwith business. "

"A bank's not the place to get the knowledge of business necessary forthat sort of thing. "

"Your father has reasons for preferring a general to any specialknowledge. The fitness resulting will depend upon yourself. And when youmarry you will, as you know, be rid of the responsibility. So far yourfather and you are of one mind; he does not think it fair that a marriedman should be burdened with any family but his own. "

"What if I should marry before my father's death?"

"I hope, indeed, you will, Cornelius. The arrangements your father hasmade is one of provision against the unlikely. When you are married, Idon't doubt he will make another, to meet the new circumstances. "

"Now, " said Cornelius to himself, "I do believe if I was to marrymoney--as why shouldn't I?--my father would divide my share amongst therest, and not give me a farthing!"

Full of the injury of the idea, he rose and left the room. His mother, poor woman, wept as he vanished. She dared not allow herself to ask whyshe wept--dared not allow to herself that her first-born was not alovely thought to her--dared not ask where he could have got such a meannature--so mean that he did not know he was mean. 

Although the ill-humor in which he had been ever since he came was byhimself attributed to the weather, and had been expended on the cooking, on the couches, on the beds, and twenty different things that displeasedhim, he had nevertheless brought it with him; and her experience gaveher the sad doubt that the cause of it might lie in his own conduct--forthe consciousness may be rendered uneasy without much rousing of theconscience proper. 

He had always been fitful and wayward, but had never before behaved sounpleasantly. Certainly his world had not improved him for his home. Yetamongst his companions he bore the character of the best-natured fellowin the world. To them he never showed any of the peevishness arisingfrom mental discomfort, but kept it for those who loved him a thousandtimes better, and would have cheerfully parted with their own happinessfor his. He was but one of a large herd of youths, possessing no will oftheir own, yet enjoying the reputation of a strong one; for moved byliking or any foolish notion, his pettiness made a principle of, hewould be obstinate; and the common philosophy always takes obstinacy forstrength of will, even when it springs from utter inability to willagainst liking. 

Mr. Raymount knew little of the real nature of his son. The youth wasafraid of his father--none the less that he spoke of him with so littlerespect. Before him he dared not show his true nature. He knew anddreaded the scorn which the least disclosure of his feeling about theintended division of his father's money would rouse in him. He knew alsothat his mother would not betray him--he would have counted itbetrayal--to his father; nor would any one who had ever heard Mr. Raymount give vent to his judgment of any conduct he despised, havewondered at the reticence of either of them. 

Whether in his youth he would have done as well in a position like hisson's as his worshipping wife believed, may be doubtful; but that hewould have done better than his son must seem more than probable. 

CHAPTER II. 

FATHER, MOTHER, AND SON. 

Gerald Raymount was a man of an unusual combination of qualities. Therewere such contradictions in his character as to give ground for thesuspicion, in which he certainly himself indulged, that there must be inhim at least one strain not far removed from the savage, while on theother hand there were mental conditions apparently presupposing ages ofculture. At the university he had indulged in large reading outside thehedge of his required studies, and gained thus an acquaintance with anddeveloped a faculty in literature destined to stand him in good stead. 

Inheriting earthly life and a history--nothing more--from a long line ofancestors, and a few thousand pounds--less than twenty--from his father, who was a country attorney, a gentle, quarrelsome man, who yet never, except upon absolute necessity, carried a case into court, he had found, as his family increased, that his income was not sufficient for theirmaintenance in accustomed ease. With not one expensive personal tastebetween them, they had neither of them the faculty for savingmoney--often but another phrase for doing mean things. Neither husbandnor wife was capable of _screwing_. Had the latter been, certainlythe free-handedness of the former would have driven her to it; but whileMrs. Raymount would go without a new bonnet till an outcry arose in thefamily that its respectability was in danger, she could not offer twoshillings a day to a sempstress who thought herself worth half-a-crown;she could not allow a dish to be set on her table which was not aslikely to encourage hunger as allay it; neither because some richerneighbors gave so little, would she take to herself the spiritual fareprovided in church without making a liberal acknowledgment in carnalthings. The result of this way of life was the deplorable one that Mr. Raymount was compelled to rouse himself, and, from the chair of asomewhat self-indulgent reader of many books, betake himself to hisstudy-table, to prove whether it were not possible for him to become thewriter of such as might add to an income showing scantier every quarter. Here we may see the natural punishment of liberal habits; for this manindulging in them, and, instead of checking them in his wife, loving herthe more that she indulged in them also, was for this reason condemnedto labor--the worst evil of life in the judgment of both the man aboutMayfair and the tramp of the casual ward. But there are others who darenot count that labor an evil which helps to bring out the best elementsof human nature, not even when the necessity for it outlasts any impulsetowards it, and who remember the words of the Lord: "My Father workethhitherto, and I work. "

For Gerald Raymount, it made a man of him--which he is not who is of noservice to his generation. Doubtless he was driven thereto by necessity;but the question is not whether a man works upon more or lesscompulsion, but whether the work he is thus taught to do he makes goodhonest work for which the world is so much the better. In this matter ofwork there are many first that shall be last. The work of a baker forinstance must stand higher in the judgment of the universe than that ofa brewer, let his ale be ever so good. Because the one trade brings moremoney than the other the judgment of this world counts it morehonorable, but there is the other judgment at hand. 

In the exercise of his calling Raymount was compelled to think morecarefully than before, and thus not only his mind took a fresh start, but his moral and spiritual nature as well. He slid more and more intowriting out the necessities and experiences of his own heart andhistory, and so by degrees gained power of the only true kind--that, namely, of rousing the will, not merely the passions, or even theaspirations of men. The poetry in which he had disported himself atcollege now came to the service of his prose, and the deeper poeticnature, which is the prophetic in every man, awoke in him. Till afterthey had lived together a good many years the wife did not know theworth of the man she had married, nor indeed was he half the worth whenshe married him that he had now grown to be. The longer they lived theprouder she grew of him and of his work; nor was she the less thepractical wisdom of the house that she looked upon her husband as agreat man. He was not a great man--only a growing man; yet was shenothing the worse for thinking so highly of him; the object of it wasnot such that her admiration caused her to deteriorate. 

The daughter of a London barrister, of what is called a good family, shehad opportunity of knowing something of what is called life before shemarried, and from mere dissatisfaction had early begun to withdraw fromthe show and self-assertion of social life, and seek within herself thedoor of that quiet chamber whose existence is unknown to most. For atime she found thus a measure of quiet--not worthy of the name of rest;she had not heeded a certain low knocking as of one who would enter andshare it with her; but now for a long time he who thus knocked had beenher companion in the chamber whose walls are the infinite. Why is itthat men and women will welcome any tale of love, devotion, andsacrifice from one to another of themselves, but turn from the leasthint at the existence of a perfect love at the root of it all? With sucha message to them, a man is a maundering prophet. Is it not that theirnatures are yet so far from the ideal, the natural, the true, that thewords of the prophet rouse in them no vision, no poorest perception ofspiritual fact?

Helen Raymount was now a little woman of fifty, clothed in a sweetdignity, from which the contrast she disliked between her plentiful grayhair, and her great, clear, dark eyes, took nothing; it was anopposition without discord. She had but the two daughters and two sonsalready introduced, of whom Hester was the eldest. 

Wise as was the mother, and far-seeing as was the father, they had madethe mistake common to all but the wisest parents, of putting off to aperiod more or less too late the moment of beginning to teach theirchildren obedience. If this be not commenced at the first possiblemoment, there is no better reason why it should be begun at any other, except that it will be the harder every hour it is postponed. Thespiritual loss and injury caused to the child by their waiting till theyfancy him fit to reason with, is immense; yet there is nothing in whichparents are more stupid and cowardly, if not stiff-necked, than this. Ido not speak of those mere animal parents, whose lasting influence overtheir progeny is not a thing to be greatly desired, but of those who, having a conscience, yet avoid this part of their duty in a manner ofwhich a good motherly cat would be ashamed. To one who has learned ofall things to desire deliverance from himself, a nursery in which thechildren are humored and scolded and punished instead of being taughtobedience, looks like a moral slaughter-house. 

The dawn of reason will doubtless help to develop obedience; butobedience is yet more necessary to the development of reason. To requireof a child only what he can understand the reason of, is simply to helphim to make himself his own God--that is a devil. That some seem solittle injured by their bad training is no argument in presence of themany in whom one can read as in a book the consequences of theirparents' foolishness. 

Cornelius was a youth of good abilities, and with a few good qualities. Naturally kind-hearted, yet full of self and its poor importance, he hadan admiration of certain easy and showy virtues. He was himself notincapable of an unthinking generosity; felt pity for picturesquesuffering; was tempted to kindness by the prospect of a responsivedevotion. Unable to bear the sight of suffering, he was yet careless ofcausing it where he would not see it; incapable of thwarting himself, hewas full of weak indignation at being thwarted; supremely conceited, hehad yet a regard for the habits and judgments of men of a certain stampwhich towards a great man would have been veneration, and would haveelevated his being. But the sole essentials of life as yet discovered byCornelius were a good carriage, good manners, self-confidence, andseeming carelessness in spending. That the spender was greedy after themoney he yet scorned to work for, made no important difference inCornelius's estimate of him. In a word, he fashioned a finegentleman-god in his foolish brain, and then fell down and worshippedhim with what worship was possible between them. To all home-excellencehe was so far blind that he looked down upon it; the opinion of fatheror mother, though they had reared such a son as himself, was not to becompared in authority with that of Reginald Vavasor, who, though so pooras to be one of his fellow-clerks, was heir apparent to an earldom. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE MAGIC LANTERN. 

Cornelius, leaving his mother, took refuge with his anger in his ownroom. Although he had occupied it but a fortnight the top of its chestof drawers was covered with yellow novels--the sole kind of literaturefor which Cornelius cared. Of this he read largely, if indeed his modeof swallowing could be called reading; his father would have got morepleasure out of the poorest of them than Cornelius could from a dozen. And now in this day's dreariness, he had not one left unread, and wastoo lazy or effeminate or prudent to encounter the wind and rain thatbeset the path betwixt him and the nearest bookshop. None of hisfather's books had any attraction for him. Neither science, philosophy, history, nor poetry held for him any interest. A drearier soul in adrearier setting could hardly be imagined than the soul of this youth inthat day's weather at Burcliff. 

Does a reader remark, "Well, wherein was the poor fellow to blame? Noman can make himself like this or like that! The thing that is a passionto one is a bore to another! Some with both ear and voice have no lovefor music. Most exquisite of sonatas would not to them make up for agame of billiards! They cannot help it: they are made so"?--I answer, Itis true no one can by an effort of the will care for this or that; butwhere a man cares for nothing that is worth caring for, the fault mustlie, not in the nature God made, but in the character the man himselfhas made and is making. There is a moral reason why he does not andcannot care. If Cornelius had begun at any time, without othercompulsion than the urging within him, to do something he knew he oughtto do, he would not now have been the poor slave of circumstances hewas--at the call and beck of the weather--such, in fact, as the weatherwilled. When men face a duty, not merely will that duty become at onceless unpleasant to them, but life itself will _immediately_ beginto gather interest; for in duty, and in duty only, does the individualbegin to come into real contact with life; therein only can he see whatlife is, and grow fit for it. 

He threw himself on his bed--for he dared not smoke where his fatherwas--and dozed away the hours till lunch, then returned and dozed again, with more success, till tea time. This was his only resource against theunpleasantness of the day. The others were nowise particularly weigheddown by it, and the less that Cornelius was so little in the room, haunting the window with his hands in his pockets. 

When tea was over, he rose and sauntered once more to the window, theonly outlook he ever frequented. 

"Hullo!" he cried, turning from it quickly. "I say, Hester! here's alark! the sun's shining as if his grandmother had but just taught himhow! The rain's over, I declare--at least for a quarter of an hour!Come, let's have a walk. We'll go and hear the band in thecastle-gardens. I don't think there's any thing going on at the theatre, else I would take you there. "

The sight of the sun revives both men and midges. 

"I would rather walk, " said Hester. "It is seldom one sees good actingin the provinces. At best there is but one star. I prefer a jewel to agem, and a decent play to a fine part. "

"Hester, " said Cornelius with reproof, "I believe you think it a finething to be hard to please! I know a fellow that calls it a kind ofsuicide. To allow a spot to spoil your pleasure in a beauty is to be toofond of perfection. "

"No, Corney, " answered his sister, "that is hardly my position. What Iwould say is rather, that one point of excellence is not enough to makea whole beautiful--a face, or a play--or a character. "

Hester had a rather severe mode of speaking, especially to this brother, which, if it had an end, failed of it. She was the only person in thehouse who could ever have done any thing with him, and she lost heradvantage--let me use a figure--by shouting to him from a distance, instead of coming close up to him and speaking in a whisper. But forthat she did not love him enough, neither was she yet calm enough inherself to be able for it. I doubt much, however, if he would have beenin any degree permanently the better for the best she could have donefor him. He was too self-satisfied for any redemption. He was afraid ofhis father, resented the interference of his mother, was as cross as hepleased with his sister, and cared little whether she was vexed with himor not. And he regarded the opinion of any girl, just because she was agirl, too little to imagine any reflection on himself in the remark shehad just made. 

While they talked he had been watching the clouds. 

"Do go, Hester, " he said. "I give you my word it will be a fineevening. "

She went to put on her hat and cloak, and presently they were in thestreet. 

It was one of those misty clearings in which sometimes the day seems togather up his careless skirts, that have been sweeping the patient, half-drowned world, as he draws nigh the threshold of the waiting night. There was a great lump of orange color half melted up in the wateryclouds of the west, but all was dreary and scarce consolable, up to theclear spaces above, stung with the steely stars that began to peep outof the blue hope of heaven. Thither Hester kept casting up her eyes asthey walked, or rather somehow her eyes kept travelling thitherward ofthemselves, as if indeed they had to do with things up there. And thechild that cries for the moon is wiser than the man who looks upon theheavens as a mere accident of the earth, with which none but_unpractical_ men concern themselves. 

But as she walked gazing at "an azure disc, shield of tranquility, " overher head, she set her foot down unevenly, and gave her ankle a wrench. She could not help uttering a little cry. 

"There now, Hester!" said Cornelius, pulling her up like a horse thatstumbled, "that's what you get by your star-gazing! You are alwayscoming to grief by looking higher than your head!"

"Oh, please, stop a minute, Corney, " returned Hester, for the fellowwould have walked on as if nothing had happened. "My ankle hurts so!"

"I didn't know it was so bad as that!" he answered stopping. "There!take my arm. "

"Now I can go on again, " she said, after a few moments of silentendurance. "How stupid of me!--on a plain asphalt pavement!"

He might have excused her with the remark that just on such was anaccidental inequality the more dangerous. 

"What bright, particular star were you worshipping now?" he askedscoffingly. 

"What do you mean by that?" she rejoined in a tone affected by hersuffering, which thence, from his lack of sympathy, he took for one ofcrossness. 

"You know quite well, " he answered roughly, "that you are alwaysworshipping some paragon or other--for a while, till you get tired ofher, and then throw her away for another!"

Hester was hurt and made no answer. 

There was some apparent ground for the accusation. She was ready tothink extravagantly of any new acquaintances that pleased her. Frank andtrue and generous, it was but natural she should read others by herself;just as those in whom is meanness or guile cannot help attributing thesame to the simplest. Nor was the result unnatural either, namely, that, when a brief intercourse had sufficed to reveal a nature on the commonlevel, it sufficed also to chill the feeling that had rushed to thesurface to welcome a friend, and send the new-found floating far away onthe swift ebb of disappointment. Any whom she treats thus, called her, of course, fitful and changeable, whereas it was in truth theunchangeableness of her ideal and her faithfulness to it that exposedher to blame. She was so true, so much in earnest, and, although gentle, had so little softness to drape the sterner outlines of her characterthat she was looked upon with dislike by not a few of her acquaintance. 

"That again comes of looking too high, and judging with precipitation, "resumed Cornelius, urged from within to be unpleasant--and the ratherthat she did not reply. 

He was always ready to criticise, and it was so much the easier for himthat he had not the least bent towards self-criticism. For the lattersupposes some degree of truth in the inward parts, and that isobstructive to the indulgence of the former tendency. As to himself, hewould be hand and glove at a moment's notice with any man who looked agentleman, and made himself agreeable; nor whatever he might find him tobe, was he, so long as the man was not looked down upon by others, theleast inclined to avoid his company because of moral shadiness. "A mancan take care of himself!" he would say. 

Hester stopped again. 

"Corney, " she said, "my ankle feels so weak! I am walking in terror oftwisting it again. You must let me stand a bit. I shall be all right ina minute. "

"I'm very sorry, " rejoined her brother disagreeably. "We must take thefirst fly we meet, and go home again. It's just my luck! I thought wewere going to have some fun!"

They stood silent, she looking nowhere, and he staring now in thisdirection, now in that. "Hullo! what's this?" he cried, his gaze fixingon a large building opposite. "The Pilgrim's Progress! The Rake'sProgress! Ha! ha! As edifying as amusing, no doubt! I suppose thePilgrim and the Rake are contrasted with each other. But how, I wonder!Is it a lecture or a magic lantern? Both, I dare say! Let's go in andsee! I can't read any more of the bill. We may at least sit there tillyour ankle is better. 'Admission--front seats sixpence. ' Come along. Wemay get a good laugh, who knows?--a thing cheap at any price--for oursixpence!"

"I don't mind, " said Hester, and they crossed the road. 

It was a large, dingy, dirty, water-stained and somewhat dilapidatedhall to which the stone stair, ascending immediately from the door, ledthem; and it would have looked considerably worse but for the obscuritybelonging to the nature of the entertainment, through which it took somepains to discover the twenty-five or thirty people that formed thecompany present. It was indeed a dim, but not therefore, a veryreligious light that pervaded rather than overcame the gloom, issuingchiefly from the crude and discordant colors of a luminous picture on agreat screen at the farther end of the hall. There an ill-proportionedfigure, presenting, although his burden was of course gone some time, astill very humpy Christian, was shown extended on the ground, with hissword a yard beyond his reach, and Apollyon straddling across the wholebreadth of the way, and taking him in the stride. But that huge stridewas the fiend's sole expression of vigor; for, although he held aflaming dart ready to strike the poor man dead, his own dragoncountenance was so feebly demoniacal that it seemed unlikely he wouldhave the heart to drive it home. The lantern from which proceeded thepicture, was managed by a hidden operator, evidently from his voice, occasionally overheard, a mere boy; and an old man, like a broken-downclergyman, whose dirty white neckcloth seemed adjusted on a secretunderstanding of moral obliquity, its knot suggesting a gradual approachto the last position a knot on the neck can assume, kept walking up anddown the parti-colored gloom, flaunting a pretense of lecture on thescenes presented. Whether he was a little drunk or greatly in hisdotage, it was impossible to determine without a nearer acquaintance. IfI venture to give a specimen of his mode of lecturing, it will be seenthat a few lingering rags of scholastic acquirement, yet fluttered aboutthe poor fellow. 

"Here you behold the terrible battle between Christian--or was itFaithful?--I used to know, but trouble has played old Hookey with mymemory. It's all here, you know"--and he tapped the bald table-land ofhis head--"but somehow it ain't handy as it used! In the morning itflourisheth and groweth up: in the evening it is cut down and withereth. Man that is in honor and abideth not, is like the beast thatperisheth--but there's Christian and Apollyon, right afore you, andbetter him than me. When I was a young one, and that wasn't yesterday, Iused to think, but that was before I could read, that Apollyon was oneand the same with Bonaparty--Nappoleon, you know. And I wasn't just sofar wrong neither, as I shall readily prove to those of my distinguishedaudience who have been to college like myself, and learned to read Greeklike their mother tongue. For what is the very name Apollyon, but anoccult prophecy concerning the great conqueror of Europe! nothing can beplainer! Of course the first letter, N, stands for nothing--a mere veilto cover the prophecy till the time of revealing. In all languages it isthe sign of negation--_no_, and _none_, and _never_, and _nothing_;therefore cast it away as the nothing it is. Then what have you left but_apoleon_! Throw away another letter, and what have you but _poleon_!Throw away letter after letter, and what do you get but words--_Napoleon, apoleon, poleon, oleon, leon, eon_, or, if you like, _on_! Now theseare all Greek words--and what, pray, do they mean? I will give you aliteral translation, and I challenge any Greek scholar who may be herepresent to set me right, that is, to show me wrong: Napoleon the destroyerof cities, being a destroying lion! Now I should like to know a moresure word of prophecy than that! Would any one in the company obligeme? I take that now for an incontrovertible"--he stammered over thisword--"proof of the truth of the Bible. But I am wandering from mysubject, which error, I pray you, ladies and gentlemen, to excuse, forI am no longer what I was in the prime of youth's rosy morn--come, Imust get on! Change the slide, boy; I'm sick of it. I'm sick of it all. I want to get home and go to bed. "

He maundered on in this way, uttering even worse nonsense than I haveset down, and mingling with it soiled and dusty commonplaces ofreligion, every now and then dwelling for a moment or two upon his ownmental and physical declension from the admirable being he once was. Hereached the height of his absurdity in describing the resistance of thetwo pilgrims to the manifold temptations of Vanity Fair, which he so setforth as to take from Christian and Faithful the smallest possibleappearance of merit in turning their backs upon them. 

Cornelius was in fits of laughter, which he scarcely tried to choke. When the dreary old soul drew near where he sat, smelling abominably ofstrong drink, the only thing that kept his merriment within bounds wasthe dread that the man might address him personally, and so draw uponhim the attention of the audience. 

Very different was the mood of Hester. To the astonishment of Cornelius, when at last they rose to go, there were tears in her eyes. The miseryof the whole thing was too dreadful to her! The lantern itself must, shethought, have been made when the invention was in its infancy, and itspictured slides seemed the remnants of various outworn series. Those ofthe Rake's Progress were something too hideous and lamentable to bedwelt upon. And the ruinous, wretched old man did not merely seem tohave taken to this as a last effort, but to have in his dotage turnedback upon his life course, and resumed a half-forgotten trade--orperhaps only an accomplishment of which he had made use for the benefitof his people when he was a clergyman--to find that the faculty for ithe once had, and on which he had reckoned to carry him through, hadabandoned him. Worst of all to the heart of Hester was the fact that sofew people were present, many of them children at half-price, some ofwhom seemed far from satisfied with the amusement offered them. When thehall and the gas--but that would not be much--and the advertising werepaid for, what would the poor old scrag-end of humanity, with hisyellow-white neckcloth knotted hard under his left ear, have over forhis supper? Was there any woman to look after him? and would she givehim anything fit to eat? Hester was all but crying to think she could donothing for him--that he was so far from her and beyond her help, whenshe remembered the fat woman with curls hanging down her cheeks, who hadtaken their money at the door. Apparently she was his wife--and seemedto thrive upon it! But alas for the misery of the whole thing!

When they came out and breathed again the blue, clean, rain-washed airinstead of the musty smells of the hall, involuntarily Hester's eyesrose to the vault whose only keystone is the will of the Father, whoseendless space alone is large enough to picture the heart of God: how wasthat old man to get up into the high regions and grow clean and wise?For all the look, he must belong there as well as she! And were therenot thousands equally and more miserable in the world--people wrapped inno tenderness, to whom none ministered, left if not driven--so it seemedat the moment to Hester--to fold themselves in their own selfishness?And was there nothing she, a favored one of the family, could do tohelp, to comfort, to lift up one such of her own flesh and blood?--torescue a heart from the misery of hopelessness?--to make this one orthat feel there was a heart of love and refuge at the centre of things?Hester had a large, though not hitherto entirely active aspiration inher; and now, the moment she began to flutter her weak wings, she foundthe whole human family hanging upon her, and that she could not riseexcept in raising them along with her. For the necessities of ourdeepest nature are such as not to admit of a mere private individualsatisfaction. I well remember feeling as a child that I did not care forGod to love me if he did not love everybody: the kind of love I neededwas love essential to my nature--the love of me, a man, not of me aperson--the love therefore that all men needed, the love that belongedto their nature as the children of the Father, a love he could not giveme except he gave it to all men. 

But this was not the beginning of Hester's enthusiasm for her kind--onlya crystallizing shock it received. 

Nor was it likely to be the less powerful in the end that now at the ageof three and twenty she had but little to show for it. She was one ofthe strong ones that grow slowly; and she had now for some years beencherishing an idea, and working for its realization, which every sightand sound of misery tended to quicken and strengthen. 

"There you are again, " said Cornelius--"star-gazing as usual! You'll bespraining your other ankle presently!"

"I had forgotten all about my ankle, Corney dear, " returned Hester, softened by her sorrowful sympathy; "but I will be careful. "

"You had better. Well, I think between us we had the worth of ourshilling! Did you ever see such a ridiculous old bloke!"

"I wish you would not use that word, Corney, " said Hester, letting herdispleasure fall on the word, where she knew the feeling was entrenchedbeyond assault. 

"What's the matter with the word? It is the most respectable oldAnglo-Saxon. "

Hester said no more, but heaved an inward sigh. Of what consequence werethe words her brother used, so long as he recognized no dignity in life, never set himself _to be!_ Why should any one be taught to behavelike a gentleman, so long as he is no gentleman?

Cornelius burst out laughing. 

"To think of those muffs going through the river--sliding along thebottom, and spreading out their feelers above the water, like tworearing lobsters! And the angels waiting for them on the bank likelaundresses with their clean shirts! Ha! ha! ha!"

"They seemed to me, " answered Hester, "very much like the men, andangels too, in that old edition of the Pilgrim papa thinks so much of. Icouldn't for my part, absurd as they were, help feeling a certain pathosin the figures and faces. "

"That came of the fine interpretation the old--hm!--codger gave of theiractions and movements!"

"It may have come of the pitiful feeling the whole affair gave me--Icannot tell, " said Hester. "That old man made me very sad. "

"Now you do strand me, Hester!" replied her brother. "How you could seeanything pathetic, or pitiful as you call it, in that disreputable oldhumbug, I can't even imagine. A more ludicrous specimen of tumble-downhumanity it would be impossible to find! A drunken old thief--I'll layyou any thing! Catch me leaving a sov where he could spy the shine ofit!"

"And don't you count that pitiful, Cornelius? Can you see one of yourown kind, with heart and head and hands like your own, soself-abandoned, so low, so hopeless, and feel no pity for him? Didn'tyou hear him say to himself as he passed you, 'Come, let's get on! I'msick of it. I don't know what I'm talking about. ' He seemed actually todespise himself!"

"What better or more just could he do? But never you mind: _he's_all right! Don't you trouble your head about _him_. You should seehim when he gets home! He'll have his hot supper and his hot tumbler, don't you fear! Swear he will too, and fluently, if it's not waitinghim!"

"Now that seems to me the most pitiful of all, " returned Hester, and wason the point of adding, "That is just the kind of pity I feel for you, Corney, " but checked herself. "Is it not most pitiful to see a humanbeing, made in the image of God, sunk so low?" she said. 

"It's his own doing, " returned Cornelius. 

"And is not that yet the lowest and worst of it all? If he could nothelp it, and therefore was not to blame, it would be sad enough; but tobe such, and be to blame for being such, seems to me misery upon miseryunbearable. "

"There I don't agree with you--not at all! So long as a fellow has fairplay, and nothing happens to him but what he brings upon himself, Idon't see what he has to complain of. "

"But that is not the question, " interrupted Hester. "It is not whetherhe has anything to complain of, but whether he has anything to be pitiedfor. I don't know what I wouldn't do to make that old man clean andcomfortable!"

Cornelius again burst into a great laugh. No man was anything to himmerely because he was a man. 

"A highly interesting protege you would have!" he said; "and no doubtyour friends would congratulate you when you presented him! But for mypart I don't see the least occasion to trouble your head about suchriffraff. Every manufacture has its waste, and he's human waste. There'smisery enough in the world without looking out for it, and taking otherpeople's upon our shoulders. You remember what one of the fellows in themagic lantern said: 'Every tub must stand on its own bottom'!"

Hester held her peace. That her own brother's one mode of relieving thesuffering in the world should be to avoid as much as possible adding tohis own, was to her sisterly heart humiliating. 

CHAPTER IV. 

HESTER ALONE. 

When the family separated for the night and Hester reached her room, shesat down and fell a thinking, not more earnestly but more continuously. 

She was one of those women--not few in number, I have good reason tothink, though doubtless few comparatively, who from the first dawn ofconsciousness have all their lives endeavored, with varying success, with frequent failure of strength, and occasional brief collapse ofeffort, to do the right thing. Therein she had but followed in thefootsteps of her mother, who, though not so cultivated as she, walked noless steady in the true path of humanity. But the very earnestness ofHester's endeavor along with the small reason she found for consideringit successful; the frequent irritation with herself because of failure;and the impossibility of satisfying the hard master Self, who, while heflatters some, requires of others more than they can give--all tended tomake her less evenly sympathetic with those about her than her heart'stheory demanded. Willing to lay down her life for them, a matchlessnurse in sickness, and in trouble revealing a tenderness perfectlylovely, she was yet not the one to whom first either of the children wasready to flee with hurt or sorrow: she was not yet all human, becauseshe was not yet at home with the divine. 

Thousands that are capable of great sacrifices are yet not capable ofthe little ones which are all that are required of them. God seems totake pleasure in working by degrees; the progress of the truth is as thepermeation of leaven, or the growth of a seed: a multitude of successivesmall sacrifices may work more good in the world than many a large one. What would even our Lord's death on the cross have been, except as thecrown of a life in which he died daily, giving himself, soul, body andspirit, to his men and women? It is the _Being_ that is theprecious thing. Being is the mother to all little Doings as well as thegrown-up Deeds and the mighty heroic Sacrifice; and these little Doings, like the good children of the house, make the bliss of it. Hester hadnot had time, neither had she prayed enough to _be_ quite yet, though she was growing well towards it. She was a good way up the hill, and the Lord was coming down to meet her, but they had not quite metyet, so as to go up the rest of the way together. 

In religious politics, Hester was what is called a good churchwoman, which in truth means a good deal of a sectarian. She not merely recoiledfrom such as venerated the more primitive modes of church-governmentrather than those of later expediency, and preferred far inferiorextempore prayers to the best possible prayers in print, going thereforeto some chapel instead of the church, but she looked down upon them asfrom a superior social standing--that is, with the judgment of thisworld, and not that of Christ the carpenter's son. In short, she had arepugnance to the whole race of dissenters, and would not have soiledher dress with the dust of one of their school-rooms even. She regardedher own conscience as her Lord, but had not therefore any respect forthat of another man where it differed from her in the direction of whatshe counted vulgarity. So she was scarcely in the kingdom of heaven yet, any more than thousands who regard themselves as choice Christians. I donot say these feelings were very active in her, for little occurred tocall them out; but she did not love her dissenting neighbor, and feltgood and condescending when, brought into contact with one, she behavedkindly to him. 

I well know that some of my readers will heartily approve of her in thisvery thing, and that not a few _good dissenters_ on the other hand, who are equally and in precisely the same way sectarians, that is badChristians, will scorn her for it; but for my part I would rather cutoff my right hand than be so cased and stayed in a narrow garment ofpride and satisfaction, condemned to keep company with myself instead ofthe Master as he goes everywhere--into the poorest companies of themthat love each other, and so invite his presence. 

The Lord of truth and beauty has died for us: shall we who, by hauntingwhat we call his courts, have had our sense of beauty, our joy in gracetenfold exalted, gather around us, in the presence of those we countless refined than ourselves, skirts trimmed with the phylacteries of theworld's law, turning up the Pharisaical nose, and forgetting both whatpainful facts self-criticism has revealed to ourselves, and the eyesupon us of the yet more delicate refinement and the yet gentle breedingof the high countries? May these not see in us some malgrace which itneeds the gentleness of Christ to get over and forget, some savagery ofwhich we are not aware, some _gaucherie_ that repels though itcannot estrange them? Casting from us our own faults first, let us castfrom us and from him our neighbor's also. O gentle man, the common manis yet thy brother, and thy gentleness should make him great, infectinghim with thy humility, not rousing in him the echo of a vile unheavenlyscorn. Wilt thou, with thy lofty condescension, more intrinsicallyvulgar than even his ugly self-assertion, give him cause too good tohate thy refinement? It is not thy refinement makes thee despise him; itis thy own vulgarity; and if we dare not search ourselves close enoughto discover the low breeding, the bad blood in us, it will one day comeout plain as the smitten brand of the _forcat_. 

That Hester had a tendency to high church had little or nothing to dowith the matter. Such exclusiveness is simply a form of that pride, justify or explain it as you will, which found its fullest embodiment inthe Jewish Pharisee--the evil thing that Christ came to burn up with hislovely fire, and which yet so many of us who call ourselves by his namekeep hugging to our bosoms--I mean the pride that says, "I am betterthan thou. " If these or those be in any true sense below us, it is ofSatan to despise--of Christ to stoop and lay hold of and lift the sistersoul up nearer to the heart of the divine tenderness. 

But this tenderness, which has its roots in every human heart, hadlarger roots in the heart of Hester than in most. Whatever her failings, whatever ugly weeds grew in the neglected corners of her nature, themoment she came in contact with any of her kind in whatever condition ofsadness or need, the pent-up love of God--I mean the love that came ofGod and was divine in her--would burst its barriers and rush forth, sometimes almost overwhelming herself in its torrent. She would then beready to die, nothing less, to help the poor and miserable. She was notyet far enough advanced to pity vulgarity in itself--perhaps none butChrist is able to do that--but she could and did pity greatly itsassociated want and misery, nor was repelled from them by theiraccompanying degradation. 

The tide of action, in these later years flowing more swiftly in thehearts of women--whence has resulted so much that is noble, so much thatis paltry, according to the nature of the heart in which it swells--hadbeen rising in that of Hester also. She must not waste her life! Shemust _do_ something! What should it be? Her deep sense of themisery around her had of course suggested that it must be something inthe way of help. But what form was the help to take? "I have no money!"she said to herself--for this the last and feeblest of means for thedoing of good is always the first to suggest itself to one who has notperceived the mind of God in the matter. To me it seems that the firstthing in regard to money is to prevent it from doing harm. The man whosets out to do good with his fortune is like one who would drive a teamof tigers through the streets of a city, or hunt the fox with cheetahs. I would think of money as Christ thought of it, not otherwise; for noother way is true, however it may recommend itself to good men; andneither Christ nor his apostles did anything by means of money; nay, hewho would join them in their labors had to abandon his _fortune_. 

This evening, then, the thought of the vulgar, miserable, ruinous oldman, with his wretched magic lantern, kept haunting Hester, and made hervery pitiful; and naturally, starting from him, her thoughts wentwandering abroad over the universe of misery. For was not the world fullof men and women who groaned, not merely under poverty and cruelty, weakness and sickness, but under dullness and stupidity, hugged in theparalyzing arms of that devil-fish, The Commonplace, or held fast to therocks by the crab Custom, while the tide of moral indifference was fastrising to choke them? Was there no prophet, no redemption, no mediatorfor such as these? Were there not thousands of women, born with atrembling impulse towards the true and lovely, in whom it was witheringfor lack of nurture, and they themselves continuously massing intocommon clay, a summer-fall of human flowers off the branches of hope andaspiration? How many young wives, especially linked to the husbands oftheir choice, and by this very means disenchanted, as they themselveswould call it, were doomed to look no more upon life as the antechamberof the infinite, but as the counting-house of the king of thenursery-ballad, where you may, if you can, eat bread and honey, butwhere you _must_ count your money! At the windows of the husband-houseno more looks out the lover but the man of business, who takes his lifeto consist in the abundance of the things he possesses! He must make moneyfor his children!--and would make money if he had nor chick nor child. Could she do nothing for such wives at least? The man who by honest meansmade people laugh, sent a fire-headed arrow into the ranks of thebeleaguering enemy of his race; he who beguiled from another a genuinetear, made heavenly wind visit his heart with a cool odor of paradise!What was there for her to do?

But possibly Hester might neither have begun nor gone on thinking thus, had it not been for a sense of power within her springing from, or atleast associated with, a certain special gift which she had all herlife, under the faithful care of her mother, been cultivating. Endowedwith a passion for music--what is a true passion but a heavenlyhunger?--which she indulged; relieved, strengthened, nor ever sated, bya continuous study of both theoretical and practical music, sheapproached both piano and organ with eager yet withholding foot, each asa great and effectual door ready to open into regions of delight. Butshe was gifted also with a fine contralto voice, of exceptional scopeand flexibility, whose capacity of being educated into an organ ofexpression was not thrown away upon one who had a world inside her toexpress--doubtless as yet not a little chaotic, but in process ofassuming form that might demand utterance; and this angelic instrumenthad for some years been under careful training. And now this night cameto Hester, if not for the first time, yet more clearly than ever before, the thought whether she might not in some way make use of this her onegift for the service she desired--for the comfort, that was, and theuplifting of humanity, especially such humanity as had sunk below evenits individual level. Thus instinctively she sought relief fromsympathetic pain in the alleviation and removal of its cause. 

But pity and instinctive recoil from pain were by no means all theelements of the impulse moving Hester in this direction. An honest andactive mind such as hers could not have carried her so often to churchand for so long a time, whatever might be the nature of the directteaching she there received, without gaining some glimpses of themightiest truth of our being, that we belong to God in actual fact ofspiritual property and profoundest relationship. She had much to learnin this direction yet--as who has not who is ages in advance oflife?--but this night came back to her, as it had often alreadyreturned, the memory of a sermon she had heard some twelve months beforeon the text, "Glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which areGod's. " It was a dull enough sermon, yet not so dull but it enabled herto supply in some degree its own lack; and when she went out of the darkchurch into the sunshine, --and heard the birds singing as if they knewwithout any St. Francis to tell them that their bodies and their spiritswere God's, a sense awoke in her such as she had not had before, thatthe grand voice lying like an unborn angel in the chest and throat ofher, belonged not to herself but to God, and must be used in some wayfor the working of his will in the world which as well as the voice hehad made. She had no real notion yet of what is meant by the glory ofGod. She had not quite learned that simplest of high truths that theglory of God is the beauty of Christ's face. She had a lingering idea--ahideously frightful one, though its vagueness kept it in great measurefrom injuring her--that the One only good, the One only unselfishthought a great deal of himself, and looked strictly after his rights inthe way of homage. Hence she thought first of devoting the splendor andrichness of her voice to swell the song of some church-choir. With hernotion of God and of her relation to him, how could she yet have escapedthe poor pagan fancy--good for a pagan, but beggarly for a Christian, that church and its goings-on are a serving of God? She had not begun toask how these were to do God any good--or if my reader objects to thephrase, I will use a common one saying the same thing--how these were todo anything for God. She had not begun to see that God is the one greatservant of all, and that the only way to serve him is to be afellow-servant with him--to be, say, a nurse in his nursery, and tendthis or that lonely, this or that rickety child of his. She had not yetcome to see that it is as absurd to call song and prayer a serving ofGod, as it would be to say the thief on the cross did something forChrist in consenting to go with him to paradise. But now some dimperception of this truth began to wake in her. Vaguely she began to feelthat perhaps God had given her this voice and this marriage of delightand power in music and song for some reason like that for which he hadmade the birds the poets of the animal world: what if her part alsoshould be to drive dull care away? what if she too were intended to be adoor-keeper in the house of God, and open or keep open windows in heaventhat the air of the high places might reach the low swampy ground? Ifwhile she sang, her soul mounted on the wings of her song till itfluttered against the latticed doors of heaven as a bird fluttersagainst the wires of its cage; if also God has made of one blood allnations of men--why, then, surely her song was capable of more thancarrying merely herself up into the regions of delight! Nay more, mightthere not from her throat go forth a trumpet-cry of truth among such ascould hear and respond to the cry? Then, when the humblest servantshould receive the reward of his well-doing, she would not be leftoutside, but enter into the joy of her Lord. How specially such workmight be done by her she did not yet see, but the truth had drawn nighher that, to serve God in any true sense, we must serve him where heneeds service--among his children lying in the heart of lack, in sin andpain and sorrow; and she saw that, if she was to serve at all, it mustbe with her best, with her special equipment. 

I need not follow the gradations, unmarked of herself, by which she atlength came to a sort of conclusion: the immediate practical result was, that she gave herself more than ever to the cultivation of her gift, seeing in the distance the possibility of her becoming, in one mode oranother, or in all modes perhaps together, a songstress to hergeneration. 

CHAPTER V. 

TRULY THE LIGHT IS SWEET. 

The cry of the human heart in all ages and in every moment is, "Where isGod and how shall I find him?"--No, friend, I will not accept yourtestimony to the contrary--not though you may be as well fitted as everone of eight hundred millions to come forward with it. You take it forgranted that you know your own heart because you call it yours, but Isay that your heart is a far deeper thing than you know or are capableof knowing. Its very nature is hid from you. I use but a poor figurewhen I say that the roots of your heart go down beyond yourknowledge--whole eternities beyond it--into the heart of God. If youhave never yet made one discovery in your heart, your testimonyconcerning it is not worth a tuft of flue; and if you have madediscoveries in it, does not the fact reveal that it is but little knownto you, and that there must be discoveries innumerable yet to be made init? To him who has been making discoveries in it for fifty years, thedepths of his heart are yet a mystery--a mystery, however, peopled withloveliest hopes. I repeat whether the man knows it or not, his heart inits depths is ever crying out for God. 

Where the man does not know it, it is because the unfaithful Self, awould-be monarch, has usurped the consciousness; the demon-man isuppermost, not Christ-man; he is down in the crying heart, and thedemon-man--that is the self that worships itself--is trampling on theheart and smothering it up in the rubbish of ambitions, lusts, andcares. If ever its cry reaches that Self, it calls it childish folly, and tramples the harder. It does not know that a child crying on God ismightier than a warrior dwelling in steel. 

If we had none but fine weather, the demon-Self would be too much forthe divine-Self, and would always keep it down; but bad weather, misfortune, ill-luck, adversity, or whatever name but punishment or thelove of God men may call it, sides with the Christ-self down below, andhelps to make its voice heard. On the other hand if we had nothing butbad weather, the hope of those in whom the divine Self is slowly risingwould grow too faint; while those in whom the bad weather had not yetbegun to work good would settle down into weak, hopeless rebellion. Without hope can any man repent?

To the people at Burcliff came at length a lovely morning, with sky andair like the face of a repentant child--a child who has repented sothoroughly that the sin has passed from him, and he is no longer evenashamed. The water seemed dancing in the joy of a new birth, and thewind, coming and going in gentle conscious organ-like swells, was at itwith them, while the sun kept looking merrily down on the glad commotionhis presence caused. 

"Ah, " thought the mother, as she looked from her windows ere she beganto dress for this new live day, "how would it be if the Light at theheart of the sun were shining thus on the worlds made in his image!"

She was thinking of her boy, whom perhaps, in all the world, she onlywas able to love heartily--there was so little in the personal being ofthe lad, that is, in the thing he was to himself, and was making ofhimself, to help anyone to love him! But in the absolute mere existenceis reason for love, and upon that God does love--so love, that he willsuffer and cause suffering for the development of that existence into athing in its own full nature lovable, namely, an existence in its ownwill one with the perfect love whence it issued; and the mother's heartmore than any other God has made is like him in power of loving. Alasthat she is so seldom like him in wisdom--so often thwarting the work ofGod, and rendering more severe his measures with her child by herattempts to shield him from His law, and save him from saving sorrow. How often from his very infancy--if she does not, like the very nurseshe employs, actively teach him to be selfish--does she get between himand the right consequences of his conduct, as if with her one feebleloving hand, she would stay the fly-wheel of the holy universe. It isthe law that the man who does evil shall suffer; it is the only hope forhim, and a hope for the neighbor he wrongs. When he forsakes his evil, one by one the dogs of suffering will halt and drop away from his track;and he will find at last they have but hounded him into the land of hisnativity, into the home of his Father in heaven. 

As soon as breakfast was over, the whole family set out for a walk. Mr. Raymount seldom left the house till after lunch, but even he, who caredcomparatively little for the open air, had grown eager after it. Streets, hills and sands were swarming with human beings, all drawn outby the sun. 

"I sometimes wonder, " he said, "that so many people require so little tomake them happy. Let but the sun break through the clouds, and he setsthem all going like ants in an ant-hill!"

"Yes, " returned his wife, "but then see how little on the other hand isrequired to make them miserable! Let the sun hide his head for a day, and they grumble!"

Making the remark, the good woman never thought of her son Cornelius, the one of her family whose conduct illustrated it. At the moment shesaw him cheerful, and her love looked upon him as good. She was one ofthe best of women herself: whatever hour she was called, her lamp wassure to have oil in it; and yet all the time since first he lay in herarms, I doubt if she had ever done anything to help the youth to conquerhimself. Now it was too late, even had she known what could be done. Butthe others had so far turned out well: why should not this one also? Themoment his bad humors were over, she looked on him as reformed; and whenhe uttered worldliness, she persuaded herself he was but jesting. Butalas! she had no adequate notion--not a shadow of one--of theselfishness of the man-child she had given to the world. This matter ofthe black sheep in the white flock is one of the most mysterious of thefacts of spiritual generation. 

Sometimes, indeed, the sheep is by no means so black as to the whiterones he seems; perhaps neither are they so much whiter as their friendsand they themselves think; for to be altogether respectable is not to beclean; and the black sheep may be all the better than some of the restthat he looks what he is, and does not dye his wool. But on the otherhand he may be a great deal worse than some of his own family think him. 

"Then, " said Hester, after a longish pause, "those that need more tomake them happy, are less easily made unhappy?"

To this question rather than remark, she received no reply. Her fatherand mother both felt it not altogether an easy one to answer: itsuggested points requiring consideration. To Cornelius, it was a meregirl's speech, not worth heeding where the girl was his sister. Heturned up at it a mental nose, the merest of snubs; and well he might, for he had not the least notion of what it meant or involved. 

As little notion had his father that his son Cornelius was a blacksheep. He was not what the world would have called a black sheep, buthis father, could he have seen into him, would have counted him a veryblack sheep indeed--and none the whiter that he recognized in theblackness certain shades that were of paternal origin. It was, however, only to the rest of the family that Cornelius showed his blackness: ofhis father he was afraid; and that father, being proud of his children, would have found it hard to believe anything bad of them: like hisfaults they were his own! His faith in his children was in no smallmeasure conceit of that which was his, and blinded him to their faultsas it blinded him to some of his own. The discovery of any serious faultin one of them would be a sore wound to his vanity, a destruction of hisself-content. 

The co-existence of good and evil in the same person is perhaps the mostpuzzling of all facts. What a shock it gives one to hear a woman wholoves God, and spends both time and money on the betterment of her kind, call a pauper child a _brat_, and see her turn with disgust fromthe idea of treating any strange child, more especially one of lowbirth, as her own. "O Christ!" cries the heart, "is this one of thewomen that follows thee?" And she _is_ one of the women that followhim--only she needs such a lesson as he gave his disciples through theSyrophenician woman. 

Mr. Raymount had such an opinion of himself, that while he neverobtruded his opinions upon others, he never imagined them disregarded inhis own family. It never entered his mind that any member of it might inthis or that think differently from himself. But both his wife andHester were able to think, and did think for themselves, as they werebound in the truth of things to do; and there were considerabledivergements of the paths in which they walked from that he had trodden. He had indeed always taken too much for granted, and ought to have usedmore pains to have his notions understood by them, if he laid so much ontheir intellectual sympathy. He supposed all the three read what hewrote; and his wife and daughter did read the most of it; but what wouldhe think when he came to know that his son not only read next to nothingof it, but read that little with a contempt not altogetherunconscious--for no other reason than that it was his father who wroteit? Nor was the youth quite without justification--for was he nothimself a production of his father? But then he looked upon the latteras one of altogether superior quality! It is indeed strange how vulgarminds despise the things they have looked upon and their hands havehandled, just because they have looked upon them and their hands havehandled them; is there not in the fact a humiliating lesson, which yetthey are unable to read, of the degrading power of their own presenceupon themselves and their judgments? Whether a man is a hero to hisvalet or the opposite, depends as much on the valet as on the man: Thebond, then, between the father and the son, was by no means so strong asthe father thought it. Indeed the selfishness of Cornelius made himalmost look upon his father as his enemy, because of his intentions withregard to the division of his property. And selfishness rarely fails ofgood arguments. Nor can anything destroy it but such a turning of thingsupside down as only he that made them can work. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE AQUARIUM. 

"Let's go and see the people at the aquarium, " said Cornelius. 

"Do you mean the fishes?" asked his father. 

"No, I don't care about them; I said the people, " answered Corneliusstupidly. 

"The people of an aquarium must surely be fishes, eh, Saffy?" said thefather to the bright child, walking hand in hand with him. It wasJosephine. Her eyes were so blue that but for the association he wouldhave called her Sapphira. Between the two he contented himself with thepet name of _Saffy_. 

"Ah but, papa, " said Hester, "Corney didn't say the people _of_ theaquarium, but the people _at_ the aquarium!"

"Two of you are too many for me!" returned the father playfully. "Well, then, Saffy, let us go and see the people _of_ and the people_at_ the aquarium. --Which do you want to see, Hester?"

"Oh, the fishes of course, papa!"

"Why of course?"

"Because they're so much more interesting than the people, " said Hesterrebuked in herself as she said it--before she knew why. 

"Fishes more interesting than people!" exclaimed her father. 

"They're so like people, papa!"

"Oh, then surely the people must be the more interesting after all, ifit is the likeness of the fishes to people that makes them interesting!Which of all the people you love do you see likest a fish now?"

"Oh, papa!"

"What! is it only people you hate that you see like fishes?"

"I don't hate anybody, papa. "

"There's a way of not caring about people, though--looking down on themand seeing them like fishes, that's precious like hating them, " saidCornelius, who enjoyed a crowd, and putting his sister in the wrongstill better: to that end he could easily say a sensible thing. 

"If you mean me, Corney, I think you do me injustice, " said Hester. "Theworst I do is to look at them the wrong way of the telescope. "

"But why do you never see anyone you love like a fish?" persisted herfather. 

"Perhaps because I could not love anybody that was like a fish. "

"Certainly there is something not beautiful about them!" said Mr. Raymount. 

"They're beastly ugly, " said Cornelius. 

"Let us look into it a little, " continued his father. "What is it aboutthem that is ugly? Their colors are sometimes very beautiful--and theirshapes, too. "

"Their heads and faces, " said Hester, "are the only parts of them inwhich they can be like human beings, and those are very ugly. "

"I'm not sure that you are right, Hester, " said the mother, who had notspoken till now. "There must surely be something human in their bodiesas well, for now and then I see their ways and motions so like those ofmen and women, that I felt for a moment almost as if I understood howthey were feeling, and were just going to know what they were thinking. "

"I suspect, " said Mr. Raymount, "your mother's too much of a poet to betrusted alone in an aquarium. It would have driven Shelley crazy--tojudge from his Sensitive Plant. "

They had now reached the middle of the descent to the mysteries of theplace, when Cornelius, who, with an interest Hester could not understandin him, and which was partly owing to a mere love of transition, hadbeen staring at the ascending faces, uttered a cry of recognition, anddarted down to the next landing. With a degree of respect he seldommanifested they saw him there accost a gentleman leaning over thebalustrade, and shake hands with him. He was several years older thanCornelius, not a few inches taller, and much better-looking--one indeedwho could hardly fail to attract notice even in a crowd. Corney'sweakest point, next to his heart, was his legs, which perhaps accountedfor his worship of Mr. Vavasor's calves, in themselves nothingremarkable. He was already glancing stolen looks at these objects of hisjealous admiration when the rest reached the landing, and Mr. Raymount, willing to know his son's friend, desired Corney to introduce him. 

Cornelius had been now eighteen months in the bank, and had never evenmentioned the name of a fellow clerk. He was one of those youths whotake the only possible way for emptiness to make itself ofconsequence--that of concealment and affected mystery. Not even now butfor his father's request, would he have presented his bank friend to himor any of the family. 

The manners and approach of Mr. Vavasor were such as at once torecommend him to the friendly reception of all, from Mr. Raymount tolittle Saffy, who had the rare charm of being shy without being rude. Ifnot genial, his manners were yet friendly, and his carriage if notgraceful was easy; both were apt to be abrupt where he was familiar. Itwas a kind of company bearing he had, but dashed with indifference, except where he desired to commend himself. He shook hands with littleSaffy as respectfully as with her mother, but with neither altogetherrespectfully; and immediately the pale-faced, cold, loving boy, Mark, unwillingly, therefore almost unconsciously, disliked him. He was beyondquestion handsome, with a Grecian nose nearly perfect, which had itslarge part in the aristocratic look he bore. This was favored also bythe simplicity of his dress. He turned with them, and re-descended thestairs. 

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming, Mr. Vavasor? I could have metyou, " said Cornelius, with just a little stretch of the degree offamiliarity in use between them. 

"I didn't know myself till the last minute, " answered Vavasor. "It was asudden resolve of my aunt's. Neither had I the remotest idea you werehere. "

"Have you been seeing the fishes?" asked Hester, at whose side their newacquaintance was walking now they had reached the subterranean level. 

"I have just passed along their cages, " he answered. "They are not wellkept; the glass is dirty, and the water, too. I fancied they lookedunhappy, and came away. I can't bear to see creatures pining. It wouldbe a good deed to poison them all. "

"Wouldn't it be better to give them some fresh water?" said littleSaffy, "that would make them glad. "

To this wisdom there was no response. 

When they came to the door of the concert-room, Cornelius turned intoit, leaving his "friend" with his "people" to go and look at the fishes. Mr. Vavasor kept his place by the side of Hester. 

"We were just talking, when we had the pleasure of meeting you, aboutpeople and fishes--comparing them in a way, " said Hester. "I can't makeit clear to myself why I like seeing the fishes better than the people. "

"I fancy it must be because you call them fishes and not fish, " repliedVavasor. "If the fishes were a shoal of herrings or mackerel, I doubt ifyou would--at least for many times. If, on the other hand, the men andwomen in the concert-room were as oddly distinguished one from anotheras these different fishes, you would prefer going with your brother. "

"I'm sure I shouldn't" said Saffy to Mark. 

"Phizzes is best on fishes, " answered Mark sententiously. "I like facesbest; only you don't _always_ want to look at what you likebest!--I wonder why. "

"And yet I suspect, " said Mrs. Raymount to Vavasor, "many of the peopleare as much distinguished from each other in character as the fishes arein form. "

"Possibly, " interjected her husband, "they are as different in theirfaces also, only we are too much of their kind to be able to read thedifferences so clearly. "

"Surely you do not mean, " said Vavasor respectfully, "that any twopersons in the concert-room can be as much unlike each other as thatflounder shuddering along the sandy bottom, and that yard of eel slidingthrough the water like an embodied wickedness?"

Hester was greatly struck with the poetic tone of the remark. 

"I think you may find people as different, " replied her father, "if youtake into the account the more delicate as well as the more strikingdifferences--the deeper as well as the surface diversities. Now you makeme think of it, I begin to doubt whether all these live grotesques maynot have been made to the pattern of different developments ofhumanity. "

"Look at that dog-fish, " said Vavasor, pointing to the largest in thetank. "What a brute! Don't you hate him, Miss Raymount?"

"I am not willing to hate any live thing, " answered Hester with a smile, "--from selfish motives, perhaps; I feel as if it would be to my ownloss, causing me some kind of irreparable hurt. "

"But you would kill such a creature as that--would you not?" herejoined. 

"In possible circumstances, " she answered; "but killing and hating havenothing necessarily to do with each other. He that hates his brother isalways a murderer, not always he that kills him. "

"This is another sort of girl from any I've met yet!" said Vavasor tohimself. "I wonder what she's really like!"

He did not know that what she was really like was just what he, with allhis fancied knowledge of women both in life and literature, wasincapable of seeing--so different was she in kind from poor-gentlemanVavasor. 

"But just look at the head, eyes and mouth of the fiend!" he persisted. 

Hester, forcing herself a little, did regard the animal for two or threeminutes. Then a slight shudder passed through her, and she turned awayher eyes. 

"I see you've caught the look of him!" said Vavasor. "Is he not ahorror?"

"He is. But that was not what made me turn away: I found if I looked amoment longer I should hate him in spite of myself. "

"And why shouldn't you hate him? You would be doing the wretch no wrong. Even if he knew it, it would be only what he deserved. "

"That you cannot tell except you knew all about his nature, and everypoint of his history from the beginning of the creation till now. I darenot judge even a dog-fish. And whatever his deserts, I don't choose tohate him, because I don't choose to hate. "

She turned away, and Vavasor saw she wanted no more of the dog-fish. 

"Oh!" cried Saffy, with a face of terror, "look, look, mamma! It'sstaring at me!"

The child hid her face in her mother's gown, yet turned immediately tolook again. 

Mr. Raymount looked also, following her gaze, and was fascinated by thesight that met his eyes. Through the glass, high above his head, and notfar from the surface, he saw a huge thornback, bending toward them andseeming to look down on them, as it flew slowly through the water--theaction of the two sides of its body fringed with fins, and itsconsequent motion, were much more like the act of flying than that ofswimming. Behind him floated his long tail, making him yet more resemblethe hideously imagined kite which he at once suggested. But the terriblething about him was the death's-head look of the upper part of him. Hiswhite belly was of course toward them, and his eyes were on the otherside, but there were nostrils that looked exactly like the empty socketsof eyes, and below them was a hideous mouth. These made the face thatseemed to Saffy to be hovering over and watching them. 

"Like an infernal angel of death!" thought Mr. Raymount, but would notrouse yet more the imagination of the little one by saying it. Hestergazed with steadfast mien at the floating spectre. 

"You seem in no danger from that one, " said Vavasor. 

"I don't think I understand you, " said Hester. "What danger can there befrom any of them?"

"I mean of hating him. "

"You are right; I do not feel the smallest inclination to hate him. "

"Yet the ray is even uglier than the dog-fish. "

"That may be--I think not--but who hates for ugliness? I never should. Ugliness only moves my pity. "

"Then what do you hate for?" asked Vavasor. "--But I beg your pardon:you never hate! Let me ask then, what is it that makes you feel as ifyou might hate?"

"If you will look again at the dog-fish, and tell me the expression ofits mouth, I may be able to answer you, " she returned. 

"I will, " said Vavasor; and, betaking himself to a farther portion ofthe tank, he stood there watching a little shoal of those sharks of thenorthern seas. While he was gone Cornelius rejoined them. 

"I wish I knew why God made such ugly creatures, " said Saffy to Mark. 

The boy gave a curious half-sad smile, without turning his eyes from thethornback, and said nothing. 

"Do you know why God made any creatures, pet?" said Hester. 

"No, I don't. Why did he, Hessy?"

"I am almost afraid to guess. But if you don't know why he made any, whyshould you wonder that he made those?"

"Because they are so ugly. --Do tell me why he made them?" she addedcoaxingly. 

"You had better ask mamma. "

"But, Hessy, I don't like to ask mamma. "

"Why don't you like to ask mamma, you little goose?"

"Because, " said Saffy, who was all the time holding her mother's hand, and knew she was hearing her, "mamma mightn't know what to say. "

Hester thought with herself, "I am sometimes afraid to pray lest Ishould have no answer!"

The mother's face turned down toward her little one. 

"And what if I shouldn't know what to say, darling?" she asked. 

"I feel so awkward when Miss Merton asks me a question I can't answer, "said the child. 

"And you are afraid of making mamma feel awkward? You pet!" said Hester. 

Cornelius burst into a great laugh, and Saffy into silent tears, for shethought she had made a fool of herself. She was not a priggish child, and did not deserve the mockery with which her barbarian brother invadedher little temple. She was such a true child that her mother was herneighbor, and present to all her being--not her eyes only or her brain, but her heart and spirit as well. 

The mother led her aside to a seat, saying, "Come, darling; we must look into this, and try to understand it. Let mesee--what is it we have got to understand? I think it is this--why youshould be ashamed when you cannot answer the questions of one who knowsso much more than you, and I should not be ashamed when I cannot answerthe questions of my own little girl who knows so much less that I do. Isthat it?"

"I don't know, " sobbed Saffy. 

"You shouldn't laugh at her, Corney: it hurts her!" said Hester. 

"The little fool! How could that hurt her? It's nothing but temper!"said Cornelius with vexation. He was not vexed that he had made her cry, but vexed that she cried. 

"You should have a little more sympathy with childhood, Cornelius, " saidhis father. "You used to be angry enough when you were laughed at. "

"I was a fool then myself!" answered Cornelius sulkily. 

He said no more, and his father put the best interpretation upon hisspeech. 

"Do you remember, Hester, " he said, "how you were always ready to crywhen I told you I did not know something you had asked me?"

"Quite well, papa, " replied Hester; "and I think I could explain it now. I did not know then why I cried. I think now it was because it seemed tobring you down nearer to my level. My heaven of wisdom sank and grewless. "

"I hope that is not what Saffy is feeling now; your mother must betelling her she doesn't know why God made the animals. But no! She islooking up in her face with hers radiant!"

And yet her mother had told her she did not know why God made theanimals! She had at the same time, however, made her own confessedignorance a step on which to set the child nearer to the knowledge ofGod; for she told her it did not matter that she did not know, so longas God knew. The child could see that her mother's ignorance did nottrouble her; and also that she who confessed ignorance was yet in closecommunication with him who knew all about everything, and delighted inmaking his children understand. 

And now came Vavasor from his study of the dog-fish. His nature was apoetic one, though much choked with the weeds of the conventional andcommonplace, and he had seen and felt something of what Hester intended. But he was not alive enough to understand hate. He was able to hate andlaugh. He could not feel the danger of hate as Hester, for hate isdeath, and it needs life to know death. 

"He is cruel, and the very incarnation of selfishness, " he said. "Ishould like to set my heel on him. "

"If I were to allow myself to hate him, " returned Hester, "I should hatehim too much to kill him. I should let him live on in his ugliness, andhold back my hate lest it should wither him in the cool water. To lethim live would be my revenge, the worst I should know. I must not lookat him, for it makes me feel as wicked as he looks. "

She glanced at Vavasor. His eyes were fixed on her. She turned awayuncomfortable: could it be that he was like the dog-fish?

"I declare. " said Cornelius, coming between them, "there's no knowingyou girls! Would you believe it, Mr. Vavasor--that young woman wascrying her eyes out last night over the meanest humbug of a Chadband Iever set mine on! There ain't one of those fishes comes within sight ofhim for ugliness. And she would have it he was to be pitied--sorrowedover--loved, I suppose!"

The last words of his speech he whined out in a lackadaisical tone. 

Hester flushed, but said nothing. She was not going to defend herselfbefore a stranger. She would rather remain misrepresented--even bemisunderstood. But Vavasor had no such opinion of the brother as to takeany notion of the sister from his mirror. When she turned from Corneliusnext, in which movement lay all the expression she chose to give to herindignation, he passed behind him to the other side of Hester, and therestood apparently absorbed in the contemplation of a huge crustacean. HadCornelius been sensitive, he must have felt he was omitted. 

"Why, can it be?" she said--to herself, but audibly--after a moment ofsilence, during which she also had been apparently absorbed in thecontemplation of some inhabitant of the watery cage. But she had intruth been thinking of nothing immediately before her eyes, though theyhad rested first upon a huge crayfish, balancing himself on stiltsinnumerable, then turned to one descending a rocky incline--just as aSwiss horse descends a stair in a mountain-path. 

"Yes, the fellow bristles with _whys_, " said Vavasor, whose gazewas still fixed on one of them. "Every leg seems to ask 'Why am I aleg?'"

"I should have thought it was asking rather, 'What am I? Am I a leg or afailure?'" rejoined Hester. "But I was not thinking of the crayfish. Heis odd, but there is no harm in him. He looks, indeed, highlyrespectable. See with what a dignity he fans himself!"

"And for the same reason, " remarked her father, who had come up andstood behind them, "as the finest lady at the ball: he wants more air. Iwonder whether the poor fellow knows he is in a cage?"

"I think he does, " said Saffy, "else he would run away from us. "

"Are you thinking of the dog-fish still?" asked Vavasor. 

The strangeness, as it seemed to him, of the handsome girl's absorption, for such it veritably appeared, in questions of no interest inthemselves--so he judged them--attracted him even more than her beauty, for he did not like to feel himself unpossessed of the entree to such ahouse. Also he was a writer of society verses--not so good as they mighthave been, but in their way not altogether despicable--and had alreadybegun to turn it over in his mind whether something might not be madeof--what shall I call it?--the situation?

"I _was_ thinking of him, " Hester answered, but only as a type ofthe great difficulty--why there should be evil or ugliness in the world. There must be an answer to it! Is it possible it should be one we wouldnot like?"

"I don't believe there is any answer, " said Vavasor. "The ugly thingsare ugly just because they are ugly. It is a child's answer, but nottherefore unphilosophical. We must take things as we find them. We areourselves just what we are, and cannot help it. We do this or thatbecause it is in us. We are made so. "

"You do not believe in free will, then, Mr. Vavasor?" said Hestercoldly. 

"I see no ground for believing in it. We are but forces--bottled upforces--charged Leyden jars. Every one does just what is in him--acts ashe is capable. "

He was not given to metaphysics, and, indeed, had few or no opinions inthat department of inquiry; but the odd girl interested him, and he wasready to meet her on any ground. He had uttered his own practicalunbelief, however, with considerable accuracy. Hester's eyes flashedangrily. 

"I say _no_. Every one is capable of acting better than he does, "she replied; and her face flushed. 

"Why does he not then?" asked Vavasor. 

"Ah, why?" she responded. 

"How can he be made for it if he does not do it?" insisted Vavasor. 

"How indeed? That is the puzzle, " she answered. "If he were not capablethere would be none. "

"I should do better, I am sure, if I could, " said Vavasor. Had he knownhimself, he ought to have added, "without trouble. "

"Then you think we are all just like the dog-fish--except that destinyhas made none of us quite so ugly, " rejoined Hester. 

"Or so selfish, " implemented Vavasor. 

"That I can't see, " returned Hester. "If we are merely borne helplesshither and thither on the tide of impulse, we can be neither more norless selfish than the dog-fish. We are, in fact, neither selfish norunselfish. We are pure nothings, concerning which speculation is notworth the trouble. But the very word _selfish_ implies a contraryjudgment on the part of humanity itself. "

"Then you believe we can make ourselves different from what we aremade?"

"Yes; we are made with the power to change. We are meant to take a sharein our own making. We are made so and so, it is true, but not made soand so only; we are made with a power in ourselves beside--a power thatcan lay hold on the original power that made us. We are not made toremain as we are. We are bound to grow. "

She spoke rapidly, with glowing eyes, the fire of her utteranceconsuming every shadow of the didactic. 

"You are too much of a philosopher for me, Miss Raymount, " said Vavasorwith a smile. "But just answer me one question. What if a man is tooweak to change?"

"He must change, " said Hester. 

Then first Vavasor began to feel the conversation getting quite tooserious. 

"Ah, well!" he said. "But don't you think this israther--ah--rather--don't you know?--for an aquarium?"

Hester did not reply. Nothing was too serious for her in any place. Shewas indeed a peculiar girl--the more the pity for the many that made herso!

"Let us go and see the octopus, " said Vavasor. 

They went, and Mr. Raymount slowly followed them. He had not heard thelast turn of their conversation. 

"You two have set me thinking, " he said, when he joined them; "andbrought to my mind an observation I had made--how seldom you find artsucceed in representing the hatefully ugly! The painter can accumulateugliness, but I do not remember a demon worth the name. The picture Ican best recall with demons in it is one of Raphael's--a St. Michaelslaying the dragon--from the Purgatorio, I think, but I am not sure; notone of the demons in that picture is half so ugly as yourdog-fish. --What if it be necessary that we should have lessons inugliness?"

"But why?" said Hester. "Is not the ugly better let alone? You havealways taught that ugliness is the natural embodiment of evil!"

"Because we have chosen what is bad, and do not know how ugly itis--that is why, " answered her father. 

"Isn't that rather hard on the fish, though?" said Vavasor. "How caninnocent creatures be an embodiment of evil?"

"But what do you mean by _innocent_?" returned Mr. Raymount. "Thenature of an animal may be low and even hateful, and its lookscorrespondent, while no conscience accuses it of evil. I have known halfa dozen cows, in a shed large enough for a score, and abundantlyprovisioned, unite to keep the rest of the herd out of it. Many a man isa far lower and worse creature in his nature that his conscience tellshim. It is the conscience educated by strife and failure and successthat is severe upon the man, demanding of him the all but unattainable. "

Talk worse and worse for an aquarium! But happily they had now reachedthe tank of the octopods. 

Alas, there had been some mismanagement of the pipes, and the poordevil-fishes had been boiled, or at least heated to death! One small, wretched, skinny thing, hardly distinguishable from a discolored clout, was all that was left of a dozen. Cornelius laughed heartily wheninformed of the mischance. 

"It's a pity it wasn't the devil himself instead of his fish!" he said. "Wouldn't it be a jolly lark, Mr. Vavasor, if some of the rascals downbelow were to heat that furnace too hot, and rid us of the whole potfulat one fell swoop!"

"What is that you are saying, Corney?" said his mother, who had but justrejoined them. 

"I was only uttering the pious wish that the devil was dead, " answeredCornelius; "--boiled like an octopus! ha! ha! ha!"

"What good would that do?" said his father. "The human devils would beno better, and the place would soon be re-occupied. The population ofthe pit must be kept up by immigration. There may be babies born inheaven, for any thing I know, but certain I am there can be none in theother place. This world of ours is the nursery of devils as well as ofsaints. "

"And what becomes of those that are neither?" asked Vavasor. 

"It were hard to say, " replied Mr. Raymount with some seriousness. 

"A confoundedly peculiar family!" said Vavasor to himself. "There's abee in every bonnet of them! An odd, irreverent way the old fellow haswith him--for an old fellow pretending to believe what he says!"

Vavasor was not one of the _advanced_ of the age; he did not denythere was a God: he thought that the worse form that it was common inthe bank; the fellows he associated with never took the trouble to denyhim; they took their own way, and asked no questions. When a man has notthe slightest intention that the answer shall influence his conduct, whyshould he inquire whether there be a God or not? Vavasor cared moreabout the top of his cane than the God whose being he did not take thetrouble to deny. He believed a little less than the maiden aunt withwhom he lived; she believed less than her mother, and her mother hadbelieved less than hers; so that for generations the faith, so called, of the family had been dying down, simply because all that time it hadsent out no fresh root of obedience. It had in truth been no faith atall, only assent. Miss Vavasor went to church because it was the rightthing to do: God was one of the heads of society, and his drawing-roomshad to be attended. Certain objections not altogether unreasonable mightbe urged against doing so: several fictions were more or lesscountenanced in them--such as equality, love of your neighbor, andforgiveness of your enemy, but then nobody really heeded them: religionhad worked its way up to a respectable position, and no longer requiredthe support of the unwashed--that is, those outside the circle whosecenter is May-fair. As to her personal religion, why, God had heard herprayers, and might again: he did show favor occasionally. That sheshould come out of it all as well as other people when this life offamily and incomes and match-making was over, she saw no reason todoubt. Ranters and canters might talk as they pleased, but God knewbetter than make the existence of thoroughly respectable people quiteunendurable! She was kind-hearted, and treated her maid like an equal upto the moment of offense--then like a dog of the east up to that ofatonement. She had the power of keeping her temper even in familydifferences, and hence was regarded as a very model of wisdom, prudenceand _tact_, the last far the first in the consideration of herjudges. The young of her acquaintance fled to her for help in need, andshe gave them no hard words, but generally more counsel thancomfort--always, however, the best she had, which was of Polonius' kind, an essence of wise selfishness, so far as selfishness can be wise, witha strong dash of self-respect, nowise the more sparing that it wasindependent of desert. The good man would find it rather difficult torespect himself were he to try; his gaze is upward to the one good; buthad it been possible for such a distinction to enter Miss Vavasor'shouse, it would have been only to be straightway dismissed. She wasdevoted to her nephew, as she counted devotion, but would see that hemade a correspondent return. 

When Vavasor reached their encampment in the Imperial Hotel, he went tohis own room, got out his Russia-leather despatch-box, half-filled withsongs and occasional verses, which he never travelled without, and sethimself to see what he could do with the dog-fish--in what kind ofpoetic jelly, that is, he could enclose his shark-like mouth and evillook. But prejudiced as he always was in favor of whatever issued fromhis own brain--as yet nothing had come from his heart--he was anythingbut satisfied with the result of his endeavor. It was, in fact, an utterfailure so far as the dog-fish was concerned, for he was there unnamed, a mere indistinguishable presence among many monsters. Butnotwithstanding the gravity of this defect, and the distance between hisidea and its outcome, he yet concluded the homage to Hester which itembodied of a value to justify the presentation of the verses. And pooras they were they were nearly as good as anything he had done hitherto. Here they are:

 To H. R. 

 Lo, Beauty climbs the watery steep, Sets foot on many a slimy stair; Treads on the monsters of the deep, And rising seeks the earth and air. 

 On every form she sets her foot, She lifts it straight and passes on; With flowers and trees she takes no root, This, that caresses, and is gone. 

 Imperfect, poorly lovely things On all sides round she sighing sees; She flies, nor for her flying wings Finds any refuge, rest, or ease!

 At last, at last, on Burcliff's shore, She spies a thoughtful wanderer; She speeds--she lights for evermore, Incorporated, one with her!

CHAPTER VII. 

AMY AMBER. 

Some gentle crisis must have arrived in the history of Hester, for inthese days her heart was more sensitive and more sympathetic than everbefore. The circumvolant troubles of humanity caught upon it as it ithad been a thorn-bush, and hung there. It was not greatly troubled, neither was its air murky, but its very repose was like a mother's sleepwhich is no obstacle between the cries of her children and hersheltering soul: it was ready to wake at every moan of the human seaaround her. Unlike most women, she had not needed marriage andmotherhood to open the great gate of her heart to her kind: I do notmean there are not many like her in this. Why the tide of humanaffection should have begun to rise so rapidly in her just at this time, there is no need for conjecturing: much of every history must for thelong present remain inexplicable. No man creates his history any morethan he creates himself; he only modifies it--sometimes awfully; gathersto him swift help, or makes intervention necessary. But the tide ofwhich I speak flowed yet more swiftly from the night of the magiclantern. That experience had been as a mirror in which she saw themisery of the low of her kind, including, alas! her brother Cornelius. He had never before so plainly revealed to her his heartlessness, andthe painful consequence of the revelation was, that now, with all herswelling love for human beings, she felt her heart shrink from him as ifhe were of another nature. She could never indeed have loved him as shedid but that, being several years his elder, she had had a good deal todo with him as baby and child: the infant motherhood of her heart hadgathered about him, and not an eternity of difference could after thatdestroy the relation between them. But as he grew up, the boy hadundermined and weakened her affection, though hardly her devotion; andnow the youth had given it a rude shock. So far was she, however, fromyielding to this decay of feeling that it did not merely cause her muchpain but gave rise in her to much useless endeavor; while every day shegrew more anxious and careful to carry herself toward him as a sisterought. 

The Raymounts could not afford one of the best lodgings in Burcliff, andwere well contented with a floor in an old house in an unfashionablepart of the town, looking across the red roofs of the port, and out overthe flocks of Neptune's white sheep on the blue-gray German ocean. Itwas kept by two old maids whose hearts had got flattened under thepressure of poverty--no, I am wrong, it was not poverty, but_care_; pure poverty never flattened any heart; it is the carewhich poverty is supposed to justify that does the mischief; it getsinside it and burrows, as well as lies on the top of it; of mere outsidepoverty a heart can bear a mountainous weight without the smallestinjury, yea with inestimable result of the only riches. Our Lord nevermentions poverty as one of the obstructions to his kingdom, neither hasit ever proved such; riches, cares and desires he does mention. Thesisters Witherspin had never yet suffered from the lack of a singlenecessary; not the less they frayed their mornings, wore out theirafternoons, scorched their evenings, and consumed their nights, inscraping together provision for an old age they were destined never tosee. They were a small meager pair, with hardly a smile between them. One waited and the other cooked. The one that waited had generally herchin tied up with a silk handkerchief, as if she had come to life again, but not quite, and could not do without the handkerchief. The other wasrarely seen, but her existence was all day testified by the odors thatascended from the Tartarus of her ever-recurrent labors. It was a marvelhow from a region of such fumes could ascend the good dinners sheprovided. The poor things of course had their weight on the mind ofHester, for, had they tried, they could not have hidden the fact thatthey lived to save: every movement almost, and certainly every tonebetrayed it. And yet, unlike so many lodging-house keepers, resemblingmore the lion-ant than any other of the symbolic world of insects, theywere strictly honest. Had they not been, I doubt if Hester would havebeen able, though they would then have needed more, to give them so muchpity as she did, for she had a great scorn of dishonesty. Her heart, which was full of compassion for the yielding, the weak, the erring, wasnot yet able to spend much on the actively vicious--the dishonest andlying and traitorous. The honor she paid the honesty of these womenhelped her much to pity the sunlessness of their existence, and the poorend for which they lived. It looked as if God had forgottenthem--toiling for so little all day long, while the fact was they forgotGod, and were thus miserable and oppressed because they would not havehim interfere as he would so gladly have done. Instead of seeking thekingdom of heaven, and trusting him for old age while they did theirwork with their might, they exhausted their spiritual resources insending out armies of ravens with hardly a dove among them, to find andsecure a future still submerged in the waves of a friendly deluge. Norwas Hester's own faith in God so vital yet as to propagate itself bydivision in the minds she came in contact with. She could only be sorryfor them and kind to them. 

The morning after the visit to the aquarium, woeful Miss Witherspin, asMark had epitheted her, entered to remove the ruins of breakfast with amore sad and injured expression of countenance than usual. It was aglorious day, and she was like a live shadow in the sunshine. Most ofthe Raymounts were already in the open air, and Hester was the only onein the room. The small, round-shouldered, cadaverous creature wentmoving about the table with a motion that suggested bed as fitter thanlabor, though she was strong enough to get through her work without morethan occasional suffering: if she could only have left pitying herselfand let God love her she would have got on well enough. Hester, who hadher own share of the same kind of fault, was rather moodily trimming hermother's bonnet with a new ribbon, glancing up from which she at onceperceived that something in particular must have exceeded in wrongnessthe general wrongness of things in the poor little gnome's world. Herappearance was usually that of one with a headache; her expression thismorning suggested a mild indeed but all-pervading toothache. 

"Is anything the matter, Miss Witherspin?" asked Hester. 

"Indeed, miss, there never come nothing to sister and me but it'smatter, and now it's a sore matter. But it's the Lord's will and wecan't help it; and what are we here for but to have patience? That'swhat I keep saying to my sister, but it don't seem to do her much good. "

She ended with a great sigh; and Hester thought if the unseen sisterrequired the comfort of the one before her, whose evangel just utteredwas as gloomy as herself, how very unhappy she must be. 

"No doubt we are here to learn patience, " said Hester; "but I can hardlythink patience is what we are made for. Is there any fresh trouble--ifyou will excuse me?"

"Well, I don't know, miss, as trouble can anyhow be calledfresh--leastways to us it's stale enough; we're that sick of it! Ideclare to you, miss, I'm clean worn out with havin' patience! An' nowthere's my sister gone after her husband an' left her girl, brought upin her own way an' every other luxury, an' there she's come on ourhands, an' us to take the charge of her! It's a responsibility will bethe death of me. "

"Is there no provision for her?"

"Oh, yes, there's provision! Her mother kep a shop for fancy goods atKeswick--after John's death, that is--an' scraped together a good bit o'money, they do say; but that's under trustees--not a penny to be touchedtill the girl come of age!"

"But the trustees must make you a proper allowance for bringing her up!And anyhow you can refuse the charge. "

"No, miss, that we can't. It was always John's wish when he lay a dyin', that if anything was to happen to Sarah, the child should come to us. It's the trouble of the young thing, the responsibility--havin' to keepyour eyes upon her every blessed moment for fear she do the thing sheought not to--that's what weighs upon me. Oh, yes, they'll pay so much aquarter for her! it's not that. But to be always at the heels of ayoung, sly puss after mischief--it's more'n I'm equal to, I do assureyou, Miss Raymount. "

"When did you see her last?" inquired Hester. 

"Not once have I set eyes on her since she was three years old!"answered Miss Witherspin, and her tone seemed to imply in the fact yetadditional wrong. 

"Then perhaps she may be wiser by this time, " Hester suggested. "How oldis she now?"

"Sixteen out. It's awful to think of!"

"But how do you know she will be so troublesome? She mayn't want thelooking after you dread. You haven't seen her for thirteen years!"

"I'm sure of it. I know the breed, miss! She's took after her mother, you may take your mortal oath! The sly way she got round our John!--an'all to take him right away from his own family as bore and bred him! Youwouldn't believe it, miss!"

"Girls are not always like their mothers, " said Hester. "I'm not half asgood as my mother. "

"Bless you, miss! if she ain't half as bad as hers--the Lord have mercyupon us! How I'm to attend to my lodgers and look after her, it's morethan I know how to think of it with patience. "

"When is she coming?"

"She'll be here this blessed day as I'm speakin' to you, miss!"

"Perhaps, your house being full, you may find her a help instead of atrouble. It won't be as if she had nothing to employ her!"

"There's no good to mortal creature i' the bones or blood of her!"sighed Miss Witherspin, as she put the tablecloth on the top of thebreakfast-things. 

That blessed day the girl did arrive--sprang into the house like arather loud sunbeam--loud for a sunbeam, not for a young woman ofsixteen. She was small, and bright, and gay, with large black eyes whichsparkled like little ones as well as gleamed like great ones, and aminiature Greek face, containing a neat nose and a mouth the mostchangeable ever seen--now a mere negation in red, and now long enoughfor sorrow to couch on at her ease--only there was no sorrow near it, nor in its motions and changes much of any other expression than merelife. Her hair was a dead brown, mistakable for black, with a burntquality in it, and so curly, in parts so obstinately crinkly, as tosuggest wool--and negro blood from some far fount of tropic ardor. Herfigure was, if not essentially graceful yet thoroughly symmetrical, andher head, hands and feet were small and well-shaped. Almost brought upin her mother's shop, one much haunted by holiday-makers in the town, she had as little shyness as forwardness, being at once fearless andmodest, gentle and merry, noiseless and swift--a pleasure to eyes, nerves and mind. The sudden apparition of her in a rose-bud print, towait upon the Raymounts the next morning at breakfast, startled them allwith a sweet surprise. Every time she left the room the talk about herbroke out afresh, and Hester's information concerning her was a welcomesop to the Cerberus of their astonishment. A more striking contrast thanthat between her and her two aunts could hardly have been found in thewhole island. She was like a star between two gray clouds of twilight. But she had not so much share in her own cheerfulness as her poor auntshad in their misery. She so lived because she was so made. She was a joyto others as well as to herself, but as yet she had no merit in her ownpeace or its rippling gladness. So strong was the life in her that, although she cried every night over the loss of her mother, she wasfresh as a daisy in the morning, opening like that to the sun of life, and ready not merely to give smile for smile, but to give smile forfrown. In a word she was one of those lovely natures that need but torecognize the eternal to fly to it straight; but on the other hand suchnatures are in general very hard to wake to a recognition of the unseen. They assent to every thing good, but for a long time seem unaware of theneed of a perfect Father. To have their minds opened to the truth, theymust suffer like other mortals less amiable. Suffering alone can developin such any spiritual insight, or cause them to care that there shouldbe a live God caring about them. 

She was soon a favorite with every one of the family. Mrs. Raymountoften talked to her. And on her side Amy Amber, which name, beingneither crisp nor sparkling, but soft and mellow, did not seem quite tosuit her, was so much drawn to Hester that she never lost an opportunityof waiting on her, and never once missed going to her room, to see ifshe wanted anything, last of all before she went to bed. The only one ofthe family that professed not to "think much of her, " was thecontemptuous Cornelius. Even Vavasor, who soon became a frequent caller, if he chanced to utter some admiring word concerning the pretty deftcreature that had just flitted from the room like a dark butterfly, would not in reply draw from him more than a grunt and a half sneer. Yetnow and then he might have been caught glowering at her, and wouldsometimes, seemingly in spite of himself, smile on her suddenappearance. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

CORNELIUS AND VAVASOR. 

From what I have written of him it may well seem as if such a cub werehardly worth writing about; but if my reader had chanced to meet himfirst in other company than that of his own family, on every one of whomhe looked down with a contempt which although slight was not altogethermild, he would have taken him for at least an agreeable young man. Hewould then have perceived little or nothing of the look of doggednessand opposition he wore at home; that would have been, all unconsciously, masked in a just unblown smile of general complaisance, ready to burstinto full blossom for anyone who should address him; while the rubbishhe would then talk to ladies had a certain grace about it--such asabsolutely astonished Hester once she happened to overhear some of it, and set her wondering how the phenomenon was to be accounted for of thehome-cactus blossoming into such a sweet company-flower--wondering alsowhich was the real Cornelius, he of the seamy side turned always to hisown people, or he of the silken flowers and arabesques presented tostrangers. Analysis of anything he said would have certified little ornothing in it; but that little or nothing was pleasantly uttered, andserved perhaps as well as something cleverer to pass a faint electricflash between common mind and mind. The slouch, the hands-in-pocketmood, the toe-and-heel oscillation upon the hearth-rug--those flyingsignals that self was at home to nobody but himself, had for the timevanished; desire to please had tied up the black dog in his kennel, andlet the white one out. By keeping close in the protective shadow of thefashion, he always managed to be well-dressed. Ever since he went to thesame tailor as Vavasor his coats had been irreproachable; and why shouldnot any youth pay just twice as much for his coats as his father doesfor his? His shirt-studs were simplicity itself--single pearls; and hewas very particular about both the quantity and the quality of the linenshowing beyond his coat-cuffs. Altogether he was nicely got up andpleasant to look upon. Stupid as the conventional European dress is, itstrimness and clear contrast of white and black tends to level up all tothe appearance of gentlemen, and I suspect this may be the real cause ofits popularity. 

But I beg my reader to reflect before he sets Cornelius down as anexceptionally disagreeable young man because of the difference betweenhis behavior at home and abroad. I admit that his was a bad case, but inhow many a family, the members of which are far from despising eachother, does it not seem judged unnecessary to cultivate courtesy! Surelythis could not be if a tender conscience of the persons and spiritualrights of others were not wanting. If there be any real significance inpoliteness, if it be not a mere empty and therefore altogetherhypocritical congeries of customs, it ought to have its birth, cultivation and chief exercise at home. Of course there are the mannerssuitable to strangers and those suitable to intimates, but politeness isthe one essential of both. I would not let the smallest child stroke hisfather's beard roughly. Watch a child and when he begins to grow roughyou will see an evil spirit looking out of his eyes. It is a mean andbad thing to be ungentle with our own. Politeness is either a true faceor a mask. If worn at one place and not at another, which of them is it?And there were no mask if there ought not to be a face. Neither ispoliteness at all inconsistent with thorough familiarity. I will gofarther and say, that no true, or certainly no profound familiarity isattainable without it. The soul will not come forth to be roughly used. And where truth reigns familiarity only makes the manners strike deeperroot in the being, and take a larger share in its regeneration. 

Amongst the other small gifts over which Cornelius was too tender toexhibit them at home, was a certain very small one of song. How he haddeveloped it would have been to the home-circle a mystery, but they didnot even know that he possessed it, and the thought that they did notwas a pleasant one to him. For all his life he had loved vulgarmystery--mystery, that is, without any mystery in it except whatappearance of it may come of barren concealment. He never came out withanything at home as to where he had been or what he was going to do orhad done. And he gloried specially in the thought that he could and didthis or that of which neither the governor, the mater, nor Hester knewhis capability. He felt large and powerful and wise in consequence! andif he was only the more of a fool, what did it matter so long as he didnot know it? Rather let me ask what better was he, either for theaccomplishment or the concealment of it, so long as it did nothing touncover to him the one important fact, that its possessor was neithermore nor less than a fool?

He had been now some eighteen months in the bank, and from the first Mr. Vavasor, himself not the profoundest of men, had been taken with theeasy manners of the youth combined with his evident worship of himself, and having no small proclivity towards patronage, had allowed theaspirant to his favor to enter by degrees its charmed circle. Gatheringa certain liking for him, he began to make him an occasional companionfor the evening, and at length would sometimes take him home with him. There Cornelius at once laid himself out to please Miss Vavasor, andflattery went a long way with that lady, because she had begun tosuspect herself no longer young or beautiful. Her house was a dingylittle hut in Mayfair, full of worthless pictures and fine old-fashionedfurniture. Any piece of this she would for a long time gladly haveexchanged for a new one in the fashion, but as soon as she found suchthings themselves the fashion, her appreciation of them rose to suchfervor that she professed an unchangeable preference for them overthings of any modern style whatever. Cornelius soon learned what he mustadmire and what despise if he would be in tune with Miss Vavasor, to thefalse importance of being one of whose courtiers he was so much alivethat he counted it one of the most precious of his secrets; none of hisfamily had heard of Mr. Vavasor even, before the encounter at theaquarium. 

From Miss Vavasor's Cornelius had been invited to several other houses, and the consequence was that he looked from an ever growing height uponhis own people, judging not one of them fit for the grand company towhich his merits, unappreciated at home, had introduced him. He began totake private lessons in dancing and singing, and as he possessed acertain natural grace, invisible when he was out of humor, but alwaysappearing when he wanted to please, and a certain facility of imitationas well, he was soon able to dance excellently, and sing with more orless dullness a few songs of the sort fashionable at the time. But hetook so little delight in music or singing for its own sake that in anyallusion to his sister's practicing he would call it _an infernalrow_. 

He was not a little astonished, was perhaps a little annoyed at theimpression made by his family in general, and Hester in particular, uponone in whose judgment he had placed unquestioning confidence. Nor did heconceal from Vavasor his dissent from his opinion of them, for he feltthat his friend's admiration gave him an advantage--not as member ofsuch a family, but as the pooh-pooher of what his friend admired. Fordid not his superiority to the admiration to which his friend yielded, stamp him in that one thing at least the superior of him who was hissuperior in so many other things? To be able to look down where helooked up--what was it but superiority?

"My mother's the best of the lot, " he said: "--she's the best woman inthe world, I do believe; but she's nobody except at home--don't youknow? Look at her and your aunt together! Pooh! Because she's my mother, that's no reason why I should think royalty of her!"

"What a cub it is!" said Vavasor to himself, almost using a worseepithet of the same number of letters, and straightway read him alecture, well meant and shallow, on what was good form in a woman. According to him, not the cub's mother only, but Hester also possessedthe qualities that went to the composition of this strange virtue ineminent degrees. Cornelius continued his opposition, but modified it, for he could not help feeling flattered, and began to think a littlemore of his mother and of Hester too. 

"She's a very good girl--of her sort--is Hester, " he said; "I don'trequire to be taught that, Mr. Vavasor. But she's too awfully serious. She's in such earnest about everything--you haven't an idea! Onehalf-hour of her in one of her moods is enough to destroy a poorbeggar's peace of mind for ever. And there's no saying when the fit maytake her. "

Vavasor laughed. But he said to himself "there was stuff in her: whata woman might be made of her!" To him she seemed fit--with a littledeveloping aid--to grace the best society in the world. It was notpolish she needed but experience and insight, thought Vavasor, who wouldhave her learn to look on the world and its affairs as they saw them whoby long practice had disqualified themselves for seeing them in anyother than the artificial light of fashion. Thus early did Vavasorconceive the ambition of having a hand in the worldly education of thisyoung woman, such a hand that by his means she should come to shine asshe deserved in the only circle in which he thought shining worth anyone's while; his reward should be to see her so shine. Through his aunthe could gain her entrance where he pleased. In relation to her and herpeople he seemed to himself a man of power and influence. 

I wonder how Jesus Christ would carry himself in Mayfair. Perhaps hewould not enter it. Perhaps he would only call to his own to come out ofit, and turn away to go down among the money-lenders and sinners of theeast end. I am only wondering. 

Hester took to Vavasor from the first, in an external, meet-and-partsort of fashion. His bearing was so dignified yet his manner sopleasing, that she, whose instinct was a little repellent, showed himnothing of that phase of her nature. He roused none of that inclinationto oppose which poor foolish Corney always roused in her. He could talkwell about music and pictures and novels and plays, and she not only lethim talk freely, but was inclined to put a favorable interpretation uponthings he said which she did not altogether like, trying to see onlyhumor where another might have found heartlessness or cynicism. ForVavasor, being in his own eyes the model of an honorable andwell-behaved gentleman, had of course only the world's way of regardingand judging things. Had he been a man of fortune he would have given tocharities with some freedom; but, his salary being very moderate, andhis aunt just a little stingy as he thought, he would not have deniedhimself the smallest luxury his means could compass, for the highestbetterment of a human soul. He would give a half-worn pair of gloves toa poor woman in the street, but not the price of the new pair he was onhis way to buy to get her a pair of shoes. 

It would have enlightened Hester a little about him to watch him forhalf an hour where he stood behind the counter of the bank: there he wasthe least courteous of proverbially discourteous bank-clerks, whosemanners are about of the same breed with those of hotel-clerks inAmerica. It ought to be mentioned, however, that he treated those of hisown social position in precisely the same way as less distinguishedcallers. But he never forgot to take up his manners with his umbrella ashe left the bank, and his airy, cheerful way of talking, which was morenatural to him than his rudeness, coming from the same source thatafforded the rimes he delighted in, sparkling pleasantly against themore somber texture of Hester's consciousness. She suspected he was noprofound, but that was no reason why she should not be pleasant to him, and allow him to be pleasant to her. So by the time Vavasor had spentthree evenings with the Raymounts, Hester and he were on a standing ofexternal intimacy, if there be such a relation. 

CHAPTER IX. 

SONGS AND SINGERS. 

The evening before the return of Cornelius to London and the durancevile of the bank, Vavasor presented himself at the hour of family-tea. Mr. Raymount's work admitting of no late dinner, the evening of the restof the family was the freer. They occupied a tolerably largedrawing-room, and as they had hired for the time a tolerably good piano, to it, when tea was over, Hester generally betook herself. But this timeCornelius, walking up to it with his hands in his pockets, dropped onthe piano-stool as if he had taken a fancy to it for a seat, and beganto let his hands run over the keys as if to give the idea he could playif he would. Amy Amber was taking away the tea-things and the rest werehere and there about the room, Mr. Raymount and Vavasor talking on thehearth-rug--for a moment ere the former withdrew to his study. 

"What a rose-diamond you have to wait on you, Mr. Raymount!" saidVavasor. "If I were a painter I would have her sit to me. "

"And ruin the poor thing for any life-sitting!" remarked Mr. Raymountrather gruffly, for he found that the easier way of speaking the truth. He had thus gained a character for uncompromising severity, whereas itwas but that a certain sort of cowardice made him creep into spikyarmor. He was a good man, who saw some truths clearly, and used themblunderingly. 

"I don't see why that should follow, " said Vavasor, in a softly drawlingtone, the very reverse of his host's. Its calmness gave the impressionof a wisdom behind it that had no existence. "If the girl is handsome, why shouldn't she derive some advantage from it--and the rest of theworld as well?"

"Because, I say, she at least would derive only ruin. She wouldimmediately assume to herself the credit of what was offered only to herbeauty. It takes a lifetime, Mr. Vavasor, to learn where to pay ourtaxes. If the penny with the image and superscription of Caesar has tobe paid to Caesar, where has a face and figure like that of Amy Amber tobe paid?"

Vavasor did not reply: Mr. Raymount's utterance may perhaps seem obscureto a better thinker. He concluded merely that his host was talking fortalk's sake, so talking rubbish. The girl came in again, and theconversation dropped. Mr. Raymount went to his writing, Vavasor towardthe piano. Willing to please Cornelius, whom he almost regarded with alittle respect now that he had turned out brother to such a sister. 

"Sing the song you gave us the other night at our house, " he saidcarelessly. 

Hester could hardly credit her hearing. Still more astonished was shewhen Cornelius actually struck a few chords and began to sing. The songwas one of those common drawing-room ones more like the remnants of atrifle the day after a party than any other dish for human use. Butthere was one mercy in it: the words and the music went together in aperfect concord of weak worthlessness; and Hester had not to listen, with the miserable feeling that rude hands were pulling at the modestgarments of her soul, to a true poem set to the music of a scrannel pipeof wretched straw, whose every tone and phrase choked the divine birdcaged in the verse. 

Cornelius sang like a would-be singer, a song written by a would-bepoet, and set by a would-be musician. Verve was there none in the wholeephemeral embodiment. When it died a natural death, if that be possiblewhere never had been any life, Vavasor said, "Thank you, Raymount. " ButHester, who had been standing with her teeth clenched under the fieryrain of discords, wrong notes, and dislocated rhythm, rushed to the pianowith glowing cheeks and tear-filled eyes, and pushed Cornelius off thestool. The poor weak fellow thought she was acting the sentimental overthe sudden outburst of his unsuspected talent, and recovering himselfstood smiling at her with affected protest. 

"Corney!" she cried--and the faces of the two were a contrast worthseeing--"you disgrace yourself! any one who can sing at all should beashamed to sing no better than that!"

Then feeling that she ought not to be thus carried away, or quench withsuch a fierce lack of sympathy the smoking flax of any endowment, shethrew her arms round his neck and kissed him. He received her embracelike the bear he was; the sole recognition he showed was a comicallyappealing look to Vavasor intended to say, "You see how the women useme! They trouble me, but I submit!"

"You naughty boy!" Hester went on, much excited, and speaking with greatrapidity, "you never let me suspect you could sing any more than afrog--toad, I mean, for a frog does sing after his own rather monotonousfashion, and you don't sing much better! Listen to me, and I will showyou how the song ought to have been sung. It's not worth a straw, andit's a shame to sing it, but if it be sung at all, it might as well besung as well as it might!"

So saying she seated herself at the piano. 

This convulsion was in Hester's being a phenomenon altogether new, fornever before had she been beside herself in the presence of another. 

She gazed for a moment at the song on the rest before her, then summonedas with a command the chords which Corney had seemed to pick up fromamong his feet, and began. The affect of her singing upon the song wasas if the few poor shivering plants in the garden of March had every oneblossomed at once. The words and music both were in truth as worthlessas she had said; but they were words, and it was music, and words havealways some meaning, and tones have always some sweetness; all themeaning and all the sweetness in the song Hester laid hold of, drew out, made the best of; while all the feeble element of the dramatic in it sheforced, giving it an expression far beyond what could have been in themind of the writer capable of such inadequate utterance--with the resultthat it was a different song altogether from that which Cornelius hadsung. She gave the song such a second birth, indeed, that a tolerablejudge might have taken it, so hearing it for the first time, for what itwas not--a song with some existence of its own, some distinction from athousand other wax flowers dipped in sugar-water for the humming-birdsof society. The moment she ended, she rose ashamed, and going to thewindow looked out over the darkening sea. 

Vavasor had not heard her sing before. He did not even know she caredfor music; for Hester, who did not regard her faculty as anaccomplishment but as a gift, treated it as a treasure to be hidden forthe day of the Lord rather than a flag to be flaunted in a civicprocession--was jealously shy over it, as a thing it would beprofanation to show to any but loving eyes. To utter herself in song toany but the right persons, except indeed it was for some further andhigher end justifying the sacrifice, appeared to her a kind ofimmodesty, a taking of her heart from its case, and holding it out atarm's length. He was astonished and yet more delighted. He was in thepresence of a power! But all he knew of power was in society-relations. It was not a spirit of might he recognized, for the opening of minds andthe strengthening of hearts, but an influence of pleasing forself-aggrandizement. Feeling it upon himself, he thought of it in itsoperation upon others, and was filled with a respect rising almost tothe height of what reverence he was capable of. He followed her swiftlyto the window, and through the gathering shadows of the evening she sawhis eyes shine as he addressed her. 

"I hardly know what I am about, Miss Raymount, " he said, "except that Ihear my own voice daring to address the finest non-professional singer Ihave ever yet heard. "

Hester, to her own disgust and annoyance, felt her head give itself atoss she had never intended; but it was a true toss nevertheless, forshe neither liked having attracted his admiration by such a song, northe stress he laid on the word _non-professional_: did it not implythat she was not songstress enough for the profession of song?

"Excuse me, Mr. Vavasor, but how do you know I am not a professionalsinger?" she said with some haughtiness. 

"Had you been, " answered Vavasor with concealed caution, "I should havelearned the fact from your brother. "

"Have you learned from him that I could sing at all?"

"To confess the strange truth, he never told me you were musical. "

"Very well?"

"I beg your pardon. "

"I mean, how then do you know I am not a professional singer?"

"All London would have known it. "

This second reply, better conceived, soothed Hester's vanity--of whichshe had more than was good for her, seeing the least speck of it in thenoblest is a fly in the cream. 

"What would you say, " she rejoined, "if Corney were to tell to you thatthe reason of his silence was that, while I was in training, we judgedit more prudent, with possible failure ahead, to be silent?"

"I should say you cherished a grand ambition, and one in which you couldnot fail of success, " replied Vavasor, who began to think she wasleading him gently to the truth. 

But Hester was in a wayward mood, and inclined to _prospect_. 

"Suppose such was not really Corney's reason, " she resumed, "but that hethought it degraded him to be the brother of an intendedprofessional--what would you say to that?"

"I should tell him he was a fool. He cannot know his Burke, " he addedlaughingly, "to be ignorant of the not inconsiderable proportion ofprofessional blood mixed with the blue in our country. "

It was not in Vavasor's usual taste: he had forgotten his best manners. But in truth he never had any best manners: comparatively few haveanything but second-best, as the court of the universe will one dayreveal. Hester did not like the remark, and he fancied from her look shehad misunderstood him. 

"Many a singer and actress too has married a duke or a marquis, " hesupplemented in explanation. 

"What sort of a duke or marquis?" asked Hester, in a studiedly woodenway. "It was the more shame to them, " she added. 

"Pardon me. I cannot allow that it would be any shame to the best of ournobility--"

"I beg your pardon--I meant to the professionals, " interrupted Hester. 

Vavasor was posed. To her other eccentricities it seemed Miss Raymountadded radicalism--and that not of the palest pink! But happily for him, Cornelius, who had been all the time making noises on the piano, at thispoint appeared at the window. 

"Come, Hetty, " he said, "sing that again. I shall sing it ever so muchbetter after! Come, I will play the accompaniment. "

"It's not worth singing. It would choke me--poor, vapid, vulgar thing!"

"Hullo, sis!" cried Cornelius; "it's hardly civil to use such wordsabout any song a fellow cares to sing!"

Hester's sole answer was a smile, in which, and I am afraid it wasreally there, Vavasor read contempt, and liked her none the worse forit. Cornelius turned in offense, went back to the piano, and sang thesong again--not one hair better--in just the same nerveless, indifferentfashion as before; for how shall one who has no soul, put soul into asong?

Mrs. Raymount was sitting at the fireside with her embroidery. She hadnot spoken since tea, but now she called Hester, and said to herquietly--

"Don't provoke him, Hester. I am more than delighted to find he hasbegun to take an interest in music. It is a taste that will grow uponhim. Coax him to let you teach him--and bear with him if he should singout of tune. --It is nothing wicked!" she added with a mother-smile. 

Hester was silent. Her conscience rebuked her more than her heart. Shewent up to him and said--

"Corney, dear, let me find you a song worth singing. "

"A girl can't choose for a man. You're sure to fix on some sentimentalstuff or other not fit to sing!"

"My goodness, Corney!" cried Hester, "what do you call the song you'vejust been singing?"

 In the days when my heart was aching Like the shell of an overtuned lyre. 

"Ha! ha! ha!"

She laughed prettily, not scornfully, then striking an attitude of themock heroic, added, on the spur of the moment--

 "And the oven was burning, not baking, The tarts of my soul's desire!"

--for at the moment one of those fumes the kitchen was constantly firingat the drawing-room, came storming up as if a door had been suddenlyopened in yet lower regions. Cornelius was too much offended andself-occupied to be amused, but both Mrs. Raymount and Vavasor laughed, the latter recognizing in Hester's extemporization a vein similar to hisown. But Hester was already searching, and presently found a song to hermind--one, that was, fit for Cornelius. 

"Come now, Corney, " she said; "here is a song I should like you to beable to sing!"

With that she turned to the keys, and sang a spirited ballad, of whichthe following was the first stanza:

 This blow is for my brother: You lied away his life; This for his weeping mother, This for your own sweet wife; For you told that lie of another To pierce her heart with its knife. 

And now indeed the singer was manifest; genius was plainly the soul ofher art, and her art the obedient body to the informing genius. Vavasorwas utterly enchanted, but too world-eaten to recognize the soul shealmost waked in him for any other than the old one. Her mother thoughtshe had never heard her sing so splendidly before. 

The ballad was of a battle between two knights, a good and abad--something like Browning's _Count Gismond_: the last two linesof it were--

 So the lie went up in the face of heaven And melted in the sun. 

When Hester had sung these, she rose at once, her face white, her mouthset and her eyes gleaming. Vavasor felt _almost_ as if he were nolonger master of himself, _almost_ as if he would have fallen downto kiss the hem of her garment, had he but dared to go near her. But shewalked from the room vexed with the emotion she was unable to control, and did not again appear. 

The best thing in Vavasor was his love of music. He had cultivated not alittle what gift he had, but it was only a small power, not ofproduction, but of mere reproduction like that of Cornelius, though bothfiner and stronger in quality. He did not really believe in music--hedid not really believe in anything except himself. He professed to adoreit, and imagined he did, because his greatest pleasure lay in hearing hisown verses well sung by a pretty girl who would now and then steal, ortry to steal, a glance at the poet from under her eyelids as she sang. On his way home he brooded over the delight of having his best songs sungby such a singer as Hester; and from that night fancied he had receiveda new revelation of what music was and could do, confessing to himselfthat a similar experience within the next fortnight would send him overhead and ears in love with Hester--which must not be! Cornelius went halfway with him, and to his questions arising from what Miss Raymount hadsaid about the professional, assured him, 'pon honor, that that was allHester's nonsense!

"_She_ in training for a public singer!--But there's nothing shelikes better than taking a rise out of a fellow, " said Cornelius. "Shewould as soon think of singing in public as of taking a bar-maid's placein a public-house!"

"But why did you never tell me your sister was such an awful swell of asinger?" asked Vavasor. 

"Do you think so? She ought to feel very much flattered! Why I didn'ttell you?--Oh, I don't know! I never heard her sing like that before. Upon my word I never did. I suppose it was because you were there. Abrother's nobody, don't you know?"

This flattered Vavasor, as how should it not? and without the least ideaof whither the spirit in the feet of his spirit was leading him, he wentas often to the Raymounts' lodging as for very shame of intrusion hedared--that is, all but every night. But having, as he thought, discovered and learned thoroughly to understand her special vein, as hecalled it, he was careful not to bring any of his own slight windythings of leaf-blowing songs under Hester's notice--not, alas! that hethought them such, but that he judged it prudent to postpone thepleasure: she would require no small amount of training before she couldquite enter into the spirit and special merit of them!

In the meantime as he knew a good song sometimes when he saw it, alwayswhen he heard her sing it, never actually displeased her with any he didbring under her notice, had himself a very tolerable voice, and wascapable of managing it with taste and judgment, also of climbing uponthe note itself to its summit, and of setting right with facility anyfault explained to him, it came about by a scale of very naturaldegrees, that he found himself by and by, not a little to hissatisfaction, in the relation to her of a pupil to a teacher. Hester intruth gave herself a good deal of trouble with him, in the endeavor, byno means an unsuccessful one, to improve the quality of his singing--hisstyle, his expression, and even his way of modeling his tones. Therelation between them became therefore one which, had it then lasted, might have soon led to something like genuine intimacy--at least to sometruer notion on the part of each of the kind of being the other was. Butthe day of separation arrived first; and it was only on his way back toLondon that Vavasor began to discover what a hold the sister of hisfellow-clerk had taken of his thoughts and indeed of his heart--of theexistence of which organ he had never before had any very convincingproof. 

All the time he had not once brought his aunt and the Raymountstogether. 

CHAPTER X. 

HESTER AND AMY. 

Hester did not miss Vavasor quite so much as he hoped she might, or asperhaps he believed she did. She had been interested in him mainlybecause she found him both receptive and capable of development in thematter of music--ready to understand, that is, and willing to be taught. To have such a man listen with respect to every word she said, neverdenying, defending or justifying what she might point out as a fault, but setting himself at once to the correction of the same, and ingeneral with some measure of immediate success, could not fail to be notmerely pleasant but flattering to her. Brothers, I suspect, have a gooddeal to answer for in the estimation of men by their sisters; theirbehavior at home leads them to prize the civilities of other men morehighly than they deserve; brothers, I imagine, have therefore more to dothan they will like to learn, with the making of those inferior menacceptable to their sisters, whose very presence is to themselves anannoyance. Women so seldom see a noble style of behavior at home!--sofew are capable of distinguishing between ceremony and courtesy betweenfamiliarity and rudeness--of dismissing ceremony and retaining courtesy, of using familiarity and banishing rudeness! The nearer persons come toeach other, the greater is the room and the more are the occasions forcourtesy; but just in proportion to their approach the gentleness ofmost men diminishes. Some will make the poor defense that it is unmanlyto show one's feelings: it is unmanly, because conceited and cowardly tohide them, if, indeed, such persons have anything precious to hide. Other some will say, "Must I weigh my words with my familiar friend asif I had been but that moment presented to him?" I answer, It were smalllabor well spent to see that your coarse-grained evil self, doomed toperdition, shall not come between your friend and your true, noble, humble self, fore-ordained to eternal life. The Father cannot bearrudeness in his children any more than wrong:--my comparison is unfit, for rudeness is a great and profound wrong, and that to the noblest partof the human being, while a mere show of indifference is sometimesalmost as bad as the rudest words. And these are of those faults ofwhich the more guilty a man is, the less is he conscious of the same. 

Vavasor did not move the deepest in Hester. How should he? With thatdeepest he had no developed relation. There were worlds of thought andfeeling already in motion in Hester's universe, while the vaporous massin him had hardly yet begun to stir. To use another simile, he wasliving on the surface of his being, the more exposed to earthquake andvolcanic eruption that he had never yet suspected the existence of thedepths profound whence they rise, while she was already a discoverer inthe abysses of the nature gradually yet swiftly unfolding in her--everydiscovery attended with fresh light for the will, and a new sense ofpower in the consciousness. When Vavasor was gone she turned withgreater diligence to her musical studies. 

Amy Amber continued devoted to her, and when she was practicing wouldhover about her as often and as long as she could. Her singingespecially seemed to enchant and fascinate the girl. But a change hadalready begun to show itself in her. The shadow of an unseen cloud wasoccasionally visible on her forehead, and unmistakable pools were leftin her eyes by the ebb-tide of tears. In her service, notwithstanding, she was nowise less willing, scarcely less cheerful. The signs of herdiscomfort grew deeper, and showed themselves oftener as the days wenton. She moved about her work with less elasticity, and her smile did notcome so quickly. Both Hester and her mother saw the change, and markedeven an occasional frown. In the morning, when she was always the firstup, she was generally cheerful, but as the day passed the clouds came. Happily, however, her diligence did not relax. Sound in health, and bynature as active as cheerful, she took a positive delight in work. Doingwas to her as natural as singing to the birds. In a household with truthat the heart of it she would have been invaluable, and happy as the daywas long. As it was, she was growing daily less and less happy. 

One night she appeared in Hester's room as usual before going to bed. The small, neat face had lost for the time a great part of its beauty, and was dark as a little thunder-cloud. Its black, shadowy brows weredrawn together over its luminous black eyes; its red lips were large andpouting, and their likeness to a rosebud gone. 

Its cheeks were swollen, and its whole aspect revealed the spirit ofwrath roused at last, and the fire alight in the furnace of the bosom. She tried to smile, but what came was the smile of a wound rather than amouth. 

"My poor Amy! what is the matter?" cried Hester, sorry, but hardlysurprised; for plainly things had been going from bad to worse. 

The girl burst into a passionate fit of weeping. She threw herself inwild abandonment on the floor, and sobbed; then, as if to keep herselffrom screaming aloud, stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth, kickedwith her little feet, and beat her little hands on the floor. She waslike a child in a paroxysm of rage--only that with her its extravagancecame of the effort to overcome it. 

"Amy, dear, you mustn't be naughty!" said Hester, kneeling down besideher and taking hold of her arm. 

"I'm not naughty, miss--at least I am doing all I can to get over it, "she sobbed. 

Thereupon she ceased suddenly, and sitting up on the floor, her legsdoubled under her in eastern fashion, looked straight at Hester, andsaid thoughtfully, as if the question had just come, with force to makeher forget the suffering she was in--

"I _should_ like to know how you would do in my place--that Ishould, miss!"

The words spoken, her eyes fell, and she sat still as a statue, seemingsteadfastly to regard her own lap. 

"I am afraid, if I were in your place, I should do nothing so well asyou, Amy, " said Hester. "But come, tell me what is the matter. What putsyou in such a misery?"

"Oh, it's not one thing nor two things nor twenty things!" answered Amy, looking sullen with the feeling of heaped-up wrong. "What _would_my mother say to see me served so! _She_ used to trust meeverywhere and always! I don't understand how those two pryingsuspicious old maids _can_ be _my_ mother's sisters!"

She spoke slowly and sadly, without raising her eyes. 

"Don't they behave well to you, my poor child?" said Hester. 

"It's not, " returned Amy, "that they watch every bit I put in mymouth--I don't complain of that, for they're poor--at least they'realways saying so, and of course they want to make the most of me; butnot to be trusted one moment out of their sight except they know exactlywhere I am--to be always suspected, and followed and watched, and meworking my hardest--that's what drives me wild, Miss Raymount. I'mafraid they'll make me hate them out and out--and them my own flesh andblood, too, which can't but be wicked! I bore it very well for a while, for at first it only amused me. I said to myself, 'They'll soon know mebetter!' But when I found they only got worse, I got tired of italtogether; and when I got tired of it I got cross, and grew more andmore cross, till now I can't _bear_ it. I'm not used to be cross, and my own crossness is much harder to bear than theirs. If I could havekept the good temper people used to praise me for to my mother, Ishouldn't mind; but it _is_ hard to lose it this way! I don't knowhow to get on without it! If there don't come a change somehow soon, Ishall run away--I shall indeed, Miss Raymount. There are many would beglad enough to have me for the work I can get through. "

She jumped to her feet, gave a little laugh, merry-sad, and beforeHester could answer her, said--

"You're going away so soon, miss! Let me do your hair to-night. I wantto brush it every night till you go. "

"But you are tired, my poor child!" said Hester compassionately. 

"Not too tired for that: it will rest me, and bring back my good temper, It will come to me again through your hair, miss. "

"No, no, Amy, " said Hester, a little conscience-stricken, "you can'thave any of mine. I have none to spare. You will rather brush some intome, Amy. But do what you like with my hair. "

As Amy lovingly combed and brushed the long, wavy overflow of Hester'sbeauty, Hester tried to make her understand that she must not think ofgood-temper and crossness merely as things that could be put into herand taken out of her. She tried to make her see that nothing really ourown can ever be taken from us by any will or behavior of another; thatAmy had had a large supply of good-temper laid ready to her hand, butthat it was not hers until she had made it her own by choosing andwilling to be good-tempered when she was disinclined--holding it fastwith the hand of determination when the hand of wrong would snatch itfrom her. 

"Because I have a book on my shelves, " she said, "it is not thereforemine; when I have read and understood it, then it is a little mine; whenI love it and do what it tells me, then it is altogether mine: it islike that with a good temper: if you have it sometimes, and other timesnot, then it is not yours; it lies in you like that book on my table--athing priceless were it your own, but as it is, a thing you can't keepeven against your poor weak old aunts. "

As she said all this, Hester felt like a hypocrite, remembering her ownsins. Amy Amber listened quietly, brushing steadily all the time, butscarcely a shadow of Hester's meaning crossed her mind. If she was in agood temper, she was in a good temper; if she was in a bad temper, whythere she was, she and her temper! She had not a notion of thepossibility of having a hand in the making of her own temper--not anotion that she was in any manner or measure accountable in regard tothe temper she might find herself in. Could she have been persuaded toattempt to overcome it, the moment she failed, as of course every onewill many times, Amy would have concluded the thing required animpossibility. Yet the effort she made, and with success, to restrainthe show of her anger, was far from slight. But for this, there would, long ere now, have been rain and wind, thunder and lightning between herand her aunts. She was alive without the law, not knowing what mentalconflict was; the moment she recognized that she was bound to conquerherself, she would die in conscious helplessness, until strength andhope were given her from the well of the one pure will. 

Hester kissed her, and though she had not understood, she went to bed alittle comforted. When the Raymounts departed, two or three days after, they left her at the top of the cliff-stair, weeping bitterly. 

CHAPTER XI. 

AT HOME. 

When the Raymounts reached London, hardly taking time to unpack her box, Hester went to see her music-mistress, and make arrangement forre-commencing study with her. 

Miss Dasomma was one of God's angels; for if he makes his angels winds, and his ministers a flaming fire, much more are those live fountainswhich carry his gifts to their thirsting fellows his angels. Meeting notvery rarely with vulgar behavior in such as regarded her from theheights of rank or money, she was the more devoted to a pupil who lookedup to her as she deserved, recognizing in her a power of creation. OfItalian descent, of English birth, and of German training, she had livedin intimacy with some of the greatest composers of her day, but theenthusiasm for her art which possessed her was mainly the outcome of herown genius. Hence it was natural that she should exercise a forminginfluence on every pupil at all worthy of her, and without her Hestercould never have become what she was. For not merely had she opened hereyes to a vision of Music in something of her essential glory, but, herself capable of the hardest and truest work, had taught her theabsolute necessity of labor to one who would genuinely enjoy, not to saycause others to enjoy, what the masters in the art had brought out ofthe infinite. Hester had doubtless heard and accepted the commonplacesso common concerning the dignity and duty of labor--as if labor merewere anything irrespective of its character, its object and end! butwithout Miss Dasomma she would not have learned that Labor is grandofficer in the palace of Art; that at the root of all ease lies slow, and, for long, profitless-seeming labor, as at the root of all gracelies strength; that ease is the lovely result of forgotten toil, sunkinto the spirit, and making it strong and ready; that never worthyimprovisation flowed from brain of poet or musician unused to perfecthis work with honest labor; that the very disappearance of toil is bythe immolating hand of toil itself. He only who bears his own burden canbear the burden of another; he only who has labored shall dwell at ease, or help others from the mire to the rock. 

Miss Dasomma was ready to begin at once, and Hester gradually increasedher hours of practice, till her mother interfered lest she should injureher health. But there was in truth little danger, for Hester was forcingnothing--only indulging to the full her inclination, eager to perfecther own delight, and the more eager that she was preparing delight forothers. 

They had not been home more than a week, when one Sunday morning, thatis at four o'clock in the afternoon, Mr. Vavasor called--which was notquite agreeable to Mrs. Raymount, who liked their Sundays kept quiet. Hewas shown to Mr. Raymount's study. 

"I am sorry, " he said, "to call on a Sunday, but I am not so enviablysituated as you, Mr. Raymount; I have not my time at my command. Whenother people make their calls. I am a prisoner. "

He spoke as if his were an exceptional case, and the whole happy worldbeside reveled in morning calls. 

Mr. Raymount was pleased with him afresh, for he spoke modestly, withimplicit acknowledgment of the superior position of the elder man. Theyfell to talking of the prominent question of the day, and Mr. Raymountwas yet more pleased when he found the young aristocrat ready to receiveenlightenment upon it. But the fact was that Vavasor cared very littleabout the matter, and had a facility for following where he was led;and, always preferring to make himself agreeable where there was norestraining reason, why should he not gratify the writer of articles byfalling in with what he advanced? He had a light, easy way of touchingon things, as if all his concessions, conclusions, and concurrences weremerest matter of course; and thus making himself appear master of thesituation over which he merely skimmed on insect-wing. Mr. Raymount tookhim not merely for a man of thought but one of some originalityeven--capable at least of forming an opinion of his own, as is, he wasin the habit of averring, not one in ten thousand. 

In relation to the wider circle of the country, Mr. Vavasor was soentirely a nobody, that the acquaintance of a writer even so partiallyknown as Mr. Raymount was something to him. There is a tinselly haloabout the writer of books that affects many minds the most_practical_, so called; they take it to indicate power, which, withmost, means ability in the direction of one's own way, or his party's, and so his own in the end. Since his return he had instituted inquiriesconcerning Mr. Raymount, and finding both him and his family in goodrepute, complained of indeed as exclusive, he had told his aunt as muchconcerning them as he judged prudent, hinting it would give him pleasureif she should see fit to call upon Mrs. Raymount. Miss Vavasor being, however, naturally jealous of the judgment of young men, pledged herselfto nothing, and made inquiries for herself. Learning thereby at length, after much resultless questioning--for her world but just touched in itscourse the orbit of that of the Raymounts--that there was rather adistinguished-looking girl in the family, and having her own ideas forthe nephew whose interests she had, for the sake of the impending titlemade her own, she delayed and put off and talked the thing over, and atlast let it rest; while he went the oftener to see the people she thusdeclined calling upon. 

On this his first visit he stayed the evening, and was afresh installedas a friend of the family. Although it was Sunday, and her ideas also alittle strict as to religious proprieties, Hester received him cordiallywhere her mother received him but kindly; and falling into the old ways, he took his part in the hymns, anthems, and what other forms of sacredmusic followed the family-tea: and so the evening passed withoutirksomeness--nor the less enjoyably that Cornelius was spending it witha friend. 

The tone, expression, and power of Hester's voice astonished Vavasorafresh. He was convinced, and told her so, that even in the short timesince he heard it last, it had improved in all directions. And when, after they had had enough of singing, she sat down and extemporized in asacred strain, turning the piano almost into an organ with the sympathyof her touch, and weaving holy airs without end into the unrolling webof her own thought, Vavasor was so moved as to feel more kindly disposedtoward religion--by which he meant "going to church, and all that sortof thing, don't you know? "--than ever in his life before. He did notcall the next Sunday, but came on the Saturday; and the only one presentwho was not pleased with him was Miss Dasomma, who happened also tospend the evening there. 

I have already represented Hester's indebtedness to her teacher as suchthat therein she would be making discoveries all her life. Devout aswell as enthusiastic, human as well as artistic, she was not an angel ofmusic only, but had for many years been a power in the family forgood--as indeed in every family in which she counted herself doinganything worth doing. Much too generous and helpful to have saved money, she was now, in middle age, working as hard as she had ever worked inher youth. Not a little experienced in the ways of the world, andpossessing a high ideal in the memories of a precious friendship, against which to compare the ways of smaller mortals, she did not findher atmosphere gladdened by the presence of Mr. Vavasor's. With tactenough to take his cue from the family, he treated her with studiouspoliteness; but Miss Dasomma did not like Mr. Vavasor. She had to thinkbefore she could tell why, for there is a spiritual instinct also, whichoften takes the lead of the understanding, and has to search and analyzeitself for its own explanation. But the question once roused, sheprosecuted it, and in the shadow of a curtain, while Hester was playing, watched his countenance, trying to read it--to read, that is, what theowner of that face never meant to write, but could no more help writingthere than he could help having a face. What a man is lies as certainlyupon his countenance as in his heart, though none of his acquaintancemay be able to read it. Their very intercourse with him may haverendered it more difficult. 

Miss Dasomma's conclusion was, that Vavasor was a man of goodinstincts--as perhaps who is not?--but without moral development, pleased with himself, and not undesirous of pleasing others consistentlywith his idea of dignity--at present more than moderately desirous ofpleasing Hester Raymount, therefore showing to the best possibleadvantage. "But, " thought Miss Dasomma, "if this be his best, what maynot his worst be?" That he had no small capacity for music was plain, but if, as she judged, the faculty was unassociated in him with truth ofnature, that was so much to the other side of his account, inasmuch asit rendered him the more dangerous. For, at Hester's feet in the rareatmosphere and faint twilight of music, how could he fail to impress herwith an opinion of himself more favorable than just? To interfere, however, where was no solid ground, would be to waste the power thatmight be of use; but she was confident that if for a moment Hester sawhim as she did, she could no more look on him with favor. At the sametime she did not think he could be meaning more than the mere passing ofhis time agreeably; she knew well the character of his aunt, and therelation in which he stood to her. In any case she could for the presentonly keep a gentle watch over the mind of her pupil. But that pupil hada better protection in the sacred ambition stirring in her. Concerningthat she had not as yet held communication even with the one best ableto understand it. For Hester had already had sufficient experience toknow that it is a killing thing to talk about what you mean to do. It isto let the wind in upon a delicate plant, requiring a long childhoodunder glass, open to sun and air, closed to wind and frost. 

CHAPTER XII. 

A BEGINNING. 

The Raymounts lived in no fashionable or pseudo-fashionable part ofLondon, but in a somewhat peculiar house, though by no means suchoutwardly, in an old square in the dingy, smoky, convenient, healthydistrict of Bloomsbury. One of the advantages of this position to afamily with soul in it, that strange essence which _will_ go outafter its kind, was, that on two sides at least it was closely pressedby poor neighbors. Artisans, small tradespeople, out-door servants, pooractors and actresses lived in the narrow streets thickly branching awayin certain directions. Hence, most happily for her, Hester had grown upwith none of that uncomfortable feeling so many have when brought eveninto such mere contact with the poor as comes of passing through theirstreets on foot--a feeling often in part composed of fear, often in partof a false sense of natural superiority, engendered of being betterdressed, better housed, and better educated. It was in a measure owingto her having been from childhood used to the sight of such, that hersympathies were so soon and so thoroughly waked on the side of sufferinghumanity. With parents like hers she had never been in danger of havingher feelings or her insight blunted by the assumption of such a relationto the poor as that of spiritual police-agent, one who arrogates theright of walking into their houses without introduction, and with atbest but faint apology: to show respect if you have it, is the quickestway to teach reverence; if you do not show respect, do not at leastcomplain should the recoil of your own behavior be more powerful thanpleasant: if you will shout on the mountain side in spring, look out foravalanches. 

Those who would do good to the poor must attempt it in the way in whichbest they could do good to people of their own standing. They must maketheir acquaintance first. They must know something of the kind of theperson they would help, to learn if help be possible from their hands. Only man can help man; money without man can do little or nothing, mostlikely less than nothing. As our Lord redeemed the world by being a man, the true Son of the true Father, so the only way for a man to help menis to be a true man to this neighbor and that. But to seek acquaintancewith design is a perilous thing, nor unlikely to result indisappointment, and the widening of the gulf both between theindividuals, and the classes to which they belong. It seems to me that, in humble acceptance of common ways, we must follow the leadings ofprovidence, and make acquaintance in the so-called lower classes by thenatural working of the social laws that bring men together. What is thedivine intent in the many needs of humanity, and the consequentdependence of the rich on the poor, even greater than that of the pooron the rich, but to bring men together, that in far-off ways at firstthey may be compelled to know each other? The man who treats his fellowas a mere mean for the supply of his wants, and not as a human beingwith whom he has to do, is an obstructing clot in the human circulation. 

Does any one ask for rules of procedure? I answer, there are none to behad; such must be discovered by each for himself. The only way to learnthe rules of any thing practical is to begin to do the thing. We haveenough of knowledge in us--call it insight, call it instinct, call itinspiration, call it natural law, to begin any thing required of us. Thesole way to deal with the profoundest mystery that is yet not tooprofound to draw us, is to begin to do some duty revealed by the lightfrom the golden fringe of its cloudy vast. If it reveal nothing to bedone, there is nothing there for us. No man can turn his attention inthe mere direction of a thing, without already knowing enough of thatthing to carry him further in the knowledge of it by the performance ofwhat it involves of natural action. Let every simplest relation towardshuman being, if it be embodied but in the act of buying a reel of cottonor a knife, be recognized as a relation with, a meeting of that humansoul. In its poor degree let its outcome be in truth and friendliness. Allow nature her course, and next time let the relation go farther. Tofollow such a path is the way to find both the persons to help and thereal modes of helping them. In fact, to be true to a man in any way isto help him. He who goes out of common paths to look for opportunity, leaves his own door and misses that of his neighbor. It is by followingthe path we are in that we shall first reach somewhere. He who does as Isay will find his acquaintance widen and widen with growing rapidity;his heart will fill with the care of humanity, and his hands with itshelp. Such care will be death to one's own cares, such help balm toone's own wounds. In a word, he must cultivate, after a simple humanmanner, the acquaintance of his neighbors, who would be a neighbor wherea neighbor may be wanted. So shall he fulfil the part left behind of thework of the Master, which He desires to finish through him. 

Of course I do not imagine that Hester understood this. She had notheory of carriage towards the poor, neither confined her hope ofhelping to them. There are as many in every other class needing help asamong the poor, and the need, although it wear different dresses, isessentially the same in all. To make the light go up in the heart of arich man, if a more difficult task, is just as good a deed as to make itgo up in the heart of a poor man. But with her strong desire to carryhelp where it was needed, with her genuine feeling of the bloodrelationship of all human beings, with her instinctive sense that onecould never begin too soon to do that which had to be done, she was inthe right position to begin; and from such a one opportunity will not bewithheld. 

She went one morning into a small shop in Steevens's Road, to buy a fewsheets of music-paper. The woman who kept it had been an acquaintancealmost from the first day of their abode in the neighborhood. In thecourse of their talk Mrs. Baldwin mentioned that she was in some anxietyabout a woman in the house who was far from well, and in whom shethought Mrs. Raymount would be interested, "Mamma is always ready, " said Hester, "to help where she can. Tell meabout her. "

"Well, you see, miss, " replied Mrs. Baldwin, "we're not in the way ofhaving to do with such people, for my husband's rather particular aboutwho he lets the top rooms to; only let them we must to one or another, for times is hard an' children is many, an' it's all as we can do to payour way an' nothing over; only thank God we've done it up to thispresent; an' the man looked so decent, as well as the woman, an' thatpitiful-like--more than she did--that I couldn't have the heart to sendthem away such a night as it was, bein' a sort o' drizzly an' as cold ascharity, an' the poor woman plainly not in a state to go wanderin' aboutseekin' a place to lay her head; though to be sure there's plenty o'places for such like, only as the poor man said himself, they did wantto get into a decent place, which it wasn't easy to get e'er a one aswould take them in. They had three children with them, the smallest o'them pickaback on the biggest; an' it's strange, miss--I never couldcompass it, though I atten' chapel reg'lar--how it goes to yer heart Imean, to see one human bein' lookin' arter another! But my husban', aswas natural, he bein' a householder, an' so many of his own, was shy o'children; for children, you know, miss, 'cep' they be yer own, ain'tnice things about a house; an' them poor things wouldn't be a creditnowheres, for they're ragged enough--an' a good deal more than enough--only they were pretty clean, as poor children go, an' there wasnothing, as I said to him, in the top-rooms, as they could do much harmto. The man said theirs weren't like other children, for they had beenbrought up to do the thing as they were told, an' to remember thatthings that belonged to other people was to be handled as sich; an', said he, they were always too busy earnin' their bread to be up totricks, an' in fact were always too tired to have much spare powder tolet off; so the long an' short on it was, we took 'em in, an' they'veturned out as quiet an' well-behaved a family as you could desire; an'if they ain't got jest the most respectable way o' earnin' theirlivelihood, that may be as much their misfortin as their fault, as myhusband he said. An' I'm sure it's not lettin' lodgin's to sich I everthought I should come to--though, for the matter o' that, I never couldrightly understand what made one thing respectable an' another not. "

"What is their employment then?" asked Hester. 

"Something or other in the circus-way, as far as I can make out fromwhat they tell me. Anyway they didn't seem to have no engagement whenthey come to the door, but they paid the first week down afore theyentered. You see, miss, the poor woman she give me a kind of a look upinto the face that reminded me of my Susie, as I lost, you know, miss, ayear ago--it was that as made me feel to hate the thought of sending heraway. Oh, miss, ain't it a mercy everybody ain't so like your own! We'dhave to ruin ourselves for them--we couldn't help it!"

"It will come to that one day, though, " said Hester to herself, "andthen we sha'n't he ruined either. "

"So then!" Mrs. Baldwin went on, "the very next day as was, the doctorhad to be sent for, an' there was a babby! The doctor he come from the'ospital, as nice a gentleman as you'd wish to see, miss, an' waited onher as if she'd been the first duchess in the land. 'I'm sure, ' said mygood husban' to me, 'it's a lesson to all of us to see how he do lookafter her as'll never pay him a penny for the care as he's takin' ofher!' But my husban' he's that soft hearted, miss, where anything i' thebaby-line's a goin' on! an' now the poor thing's not at all strong, an'ain't a-gettin' back of her stren'th though we do what we can with her, an' send her up what we can spare. You see they pay for theirhouse-room, an' then ain't got much over!" added the good woman inexcuse of her goodness. "But I fancy it's more from anxiety as to what'sto come to them, than that anything's gone wrong with her. They're notout o' money yet quite, I'm glad to say, though he don't seem to ha' gotnothing to do yet, so far as I can make out; they're rather close like. That sort o' trade, ye see, miss, the demand's not steady in it. It'snot like skilled labor, as my husban' says; though to see what themyoung ones has to go through, it's labor enough an' to spare; an' if itain't just what they call skilled, it's what no one out o' the trade canmake a mark at. Would you mind goin' up an' havin' a look at her, miss?"

Hester begged Mrs. Baldwin to lead the way, and followed her up thestairs. 

The top-rooms were two poor enough garret ones, nowise too good, itseemed to Hester, for the poorest of human kind. In the largest, theceiling sloped to the floor till there was but just height enough leftfor the small chest of drawers of painted deal to stand back to thewall. A similar washstand and a low bed completed the furniture. Thelast was immediately behind the door, and there lay the woman, with abolster heightened by a thin petticoat and threadbare cloak under herhead. Hester saw a pale, patient, worn face, with eyes large, thoughtful, and troubled. 

"Here's a kind lady come to see you, Mrs. !" said her landlady. 

This speech annoyed Hester. She hated to be called kind, and perhapsspoke the more kindly to the poor woman that she was displeased withMrs. Baldwin's patronizing of her. 

"It's dreary for you to lie here alone, I'm afraid, " she said, andstroked the thin hand on the coverlid. "May I sit a few minutes besideyou? I was once in bed for a whole month, and found it very wearisome. Iwas at school then. I don't mind being ill when I have my mother. "

The woman gazed up at her with eyes that looked like the dry wells oftears. 

"It's very kind of you, miss!" she said. "It's a long stair to comeup. "

She lay and gazed, and said nothing more. Her life was of a negativesort just at present. Her child lay asleep on her arm, a poor littlewashed-out rag of humanity, but evidently dear from the way she now andthen tried to look at it, which was not easy to her. 

Hester sat down and tried to talk, but partly from the fear of tiringone too weak to answer more than a word now and then, she found it hardto get on. Religion she could not talk off-hand. Once in her life shehad, from a notion of duty, made the attempt, with the consequence offeeling like a hypocrite. For she found herself speaking so of thethings she fed on in her heart as to make them look to herself themerest commonplaces in the world! Could she believe in them, and speakof them, with such dull dogmatic stupidity? She came to the conclusionthat she had spoken without a message, and since then she had taken carenot to commit the offence again. 

A dead silence came. 

"What can be the good of a common creature like me going to visitpeople?" she said to herself. "I have nothing to say--feel nothing inme--but a dull love that would bless if it could! And what would wordsbe if I had them?"

For a few moments she sat thus silent, growing more and moreuncomfortable. But just ere the silent became unendurable, a thoughtappeared in the void. 

"What a fool I am!" she said again to herself. "I am like little Markwhen he cried because he had only a shilling and saw a boy spend a pennyon a lovely spotted horse! Here have I been all my life wanting to givemy fellow-creatures a large share of my big cake, and the first time Ihave an opportunity, I forget all about it! Here it lies locked in mychest, like a dead bird in its cage!"

A few more moments she sat silent but no longer embarrassed thinking howto begin. The baby woke and began to whimper. The mother, who rarely lethim off her arm, because then she was not able to take him till helpcame, drew him to her, and began to nurse him; and the heart of theyoung, strong woman was pierced to the quick at sight of how ill fittedwas the mother for what she had to do. "Can God be love?" she said toherself. "If I could help her! It will go on like this for weeks andmonths, I suppose!"

She had yet to learn that the love of God is so deep he can be satisfiedwith nothing less than getting as near as it is possible for the Fatherto draw nigh to his children--and that is into absolute contact of heartwith heart, love with love, being with being. And as that must bewrought out from the deepest inside, divine law working itself upthrough our nature into our consciousness and will, and claiming us asdivine, who can tell by what slow certainties of approach God is drawingnigh to the most suffering of his creatures? Only, if we so comfortourselves with such thoughts as to do nothing, we, when God and theymeet, shall find ourselves out in the cold--cold infinitely worse thanany trouble this world has to show. The baby made no complaint againstthe slow fountain of his life, but made the best he could of it, whilehis mother every now and then peered down on him as lovingly as everhappy mother on her first-born. The same God is at the heart of allmothers, and all sins against children are against the one Father ofchildren, against the Life itself. 

A few moments only, and Hester began to sing--low and soft. Having nosong sought out for the occasion, she took a common hymn, sung in allchurches and chapels, with little thought or feeling in it, the only oneshe could think of. I need not say she put into it as much of sweetnessand smoothing strength as she could make the sounds hold, and so perhapsmade up a little for its lack. It is a curious question why sacred songshould so often be dull and commonplace. With a trembling voice shesang, and with more anxiety and shyness than she remembered having everfelt. It was neither a well-instructed nor critically disposed audienceshe had, but the reason was that never before had she been so anxiousfor some measure of success. Not daring to look up, she sat like onerebuked, with the music flowing over her lips like the slow water fromthe urn of some naiad of stone fountain. She had her reward; for whenthe hymn was done, and she at length ventured to raise her eyes, she sawboth mother and babe fast asleep. Her heart ascended on a wave of thanksto the giver of song. She rose softly, crept from the house, andhastened home to tell her mother what she had heard and seen. The sameafternoon a basket of nice things arrived at the shop for the poorlodger in the top-room. 

The care of the Raymounts did not relax till she was fairly on her feetagain; neither till then did a day pass on which Hester did not see her, and scarcely one on which she did not sing to her and her baby. Severaltimes she dressed the child, singing to him all the time. It wasgenerally in the morning she went, because then she was almost sure tofind them alone. Of the father she had seen next to nothing. On the fewoccasions when he happened to be at home, the moment she entered hecrept out, with a shy, humble salutation, as if ashamed of himself. Allshe had ever had time to see was that he was a man of middle height, with a strong face and frame, dressed like a workman. The moment he roseto go, his three boys rose also, and following him from the room seemedto imitate his salutation as they passed her--all but the youngest, whomade her a profound bow accompanied by a wonderful smile. The eldest wasabout the age of twelve, the youngest about seven. They were rathersickly looking, but had intelligent faces and inoffensive expressions. 

Mrs. Baldwin continued to bear the family good witness. She confessedthey never seemed to have much to eat, but said they paid their lodgingsregularly, and she had nothing to complain of. The place had indeed beenuntidy, not to say dirty, at first, but as soon as the mother was aboutagain, it began to amend, and now, really, for people in their position, it was wonderfully well. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A PRIVATE EXHIBITION. 

Hester had not been near them for two or three days. It was gettingdusk, but she would just run across the square and down the street, andlook in upon them for a moment. She had not been brought up to fearputting her foot out of doors unaccompanied. It was but a few steps, andshe knew almost every house she had to pass. To-morrow was Sunday, andshe felt as if she could not go to church without having once more seenthe little flock committed in a measure to her humble charge. Not thatshe imagined anything sole in her relation towards them; for she hadalready begun to see that we have to take care of _parts_ of eachother, those parts, namely, which we can best help. From the ambitionboth of men and women to lord it over individuals have arisen worseevils perhaps than from a wider love of empery. When a man desirespersonal influence or power over any one, he is of the thieves androbbers who enter not in by the door. But the right and privilege ofministering belongs to every one who has the grace to claim it and be afellow-worker with God. 

Hester found Mrs. Baldwin busy in the shop, and with a nod passed her, and went up the stair. But when she opened the door, she stood for amoment hesitating whether to enter, or close it again with an apologyand return, for it seemed as if preparations for a party had been made. The bed was pushed to the back of the room, and the floor was empty, except for a cushion or two, like those of an easy chair, lying in themiddle of it. The father and the three boys were standing together nearthe fire, like gentlemen on the hearth-rug expecting visitors. Sheglanced round in search of the mother. Some one was bending over the bedin the farther corner; the place was lighted with but a single candle, and she thought it was she, stooping over her baby; but a moment's gazemade it plain that the back was that of a man: could it be the doctoragain? Was the poor woman worse? She entered and approached the father, who then first seeing who it was that had knocked and looked in, pulledoff the cap he invariably wore, and came forward with a bashful yeteager courtesy. 

"I hope your wife is not worse, " said Hester. 

"No', miss, I hope not. She's took a bit bad. We can't always avoid itin our profession, miss. "

"I don't understand you, " she answered, feeling a little uneasy. --Werethere horrors to be revealed of which she had surmised nothing?

"If you will do us the honor to take a seat, miss, we shall be only toohappy to show you as much as you may please to look upon with favor. "

Hester shuddered involuntarily, but mastered herself. The man saw herhesitate, and resumed. 

"You see, miss, this is how it was. Dr. Christopher--that's thegentleman there, a lookin' after mother--he's been that kind to her an'me an' all on us in our trouble, an' never a crown-piece to offerhim--which I'm sure no lady in the land could ha' been better attendedto than she've been--twixt him an' you, miss--so we thought as how we'ddo our best for him, an' try an' see whether amongst us we couldn't givehim a pleasant evenin' as it were, just to show as we was grateful. Sowe axed him to tea, an' he come, like the gen'leman he be, an' so weshoved the bed aside an' was showin' him a bit on our craft, just atrick or two, miss--me an' the boys here--stan' forward, Robert an' therest of you an' make your bows to the distinguished company as honorsyou with their presence to cast an eye on you an' see what you can showyourselves capable of. "

Here Mr. Christopher--Hester had not now heard his name for the firsttime, though she had never seen him before--turned, and approached them. 

"She'll be all right in a minute or two, Franks, " he said. 

"You told her, doctor, the boy ain't got the smallest hurt? It 'ud breakmy heart nigh as soon as hers to see the Sarpint come to grief. "

"She knows that well enough; only, you see, we can't always help lettingthe looks of things get a hold of us in spite of the facts. That's howso many people come to go out of their wits. But I think for the presentit will be better to drop it. "

Franks turned to Hester to explain. 

"One of the boys, miss--that's him--not much of him--the young Sarpintof the Prairie, we call him in the trade--he don't seem to ha' muchamiss with him, do he now, miss?--he had a bit of a fall--only on thempads--a few minutes ago, the more shame to the Sarpint, the rascal!"Here he pretended to hit the Sarpint, who never moved a coil inconsequence, only smiled. "But he ain't the worse, never a hair--or ascale I should rather say, to be kensistent. Bless you, we all knows howto fall equally as well's how to get up again! Only it's the mostremarkable thing, an' you would hardly believe it of any woman, miss, though she's been married fourteen years come next Candlemas, an' usethey say's a second natur', it's never proved no second nor no thirdnatur' with her, for she's got no more used to seein' the children, ifit's nothin' but standin' on their heads, than if it was the first timeshe'd ever heard o' sich a thing. An' for standin' on my head--I don'tmean me standin' on my own head, that she don't mind no more'n if it wasa pin standin' on its head, which it's less the natur' of a pin to do, as that's the way she first made acquaintance with me, seein' me for thefirst time in her life upside down, which I think sometimes it would bethe better way for women to choose their husbands in general, miss, forit's a bad lot we are! But as to seein' of her own flesh an' blood, that's them boys, all on 'em, miss, a standin' on my head, or it mightbe one on my head an' the other two on my shoulders, that she never cometo look at fair. She can't abide it, miss. By some strange okylardelusion she takes me somehow for somewheres about the height of St. Paul's, which if you was to fall off the ball, or even the dome of thesame, you _might_ break your neck an' a few bones besides, miss. But bless you, there ain't no danger, an' she knows too, there ain't, only, as the doctor says, she can't abide the look o' the thing. Yousee, miss, we're all too much taken wi' the appearance o' things--thedoctor's right there!--an' if it warn't for that, there's never ajuggler could get on with his tricks, for it's when you're so taken upwith what he wants you to see, that he does the thing he wants you notto see. But as the doctor thinks it better to drop it, it's drop it wewill, an' wait till a more convenient time--that is, when mother'll be abit stronger. For I hope neither you, miss, nor the doctor, won't giveus up quite, seem' as how we have a kind of a claim upon you--an' nooffense, miss, to you, or Mr. Christopher, sir!"

Hester, from whose presence the man had hitherto always hastened todisappear, was astonished at this outpouring; but Franks was emboldenedby the presence of the doctor. The moment, however, that his wife heardhim give up thus their little private exhibition in honor of the doctor, she raised herself on her elbow. 

"Now, you'll do no such a thing, John Franks!" she said with effort. "It's ill it would become me, for my whims, as I can't help, no more northe child there, to prewent you from showin' sich a small attention tothe gentleman as helped me through my trouble--God bless him, for itcan't be no pleasure! So I'm not agoin' to put on no airs as if I wasa fine lady. I've got to get used to't--that's the short an' the longof it!--Only I'm slow at it!" she added with a sigh, "Up you go, Moxy!"

Franks looked at the doctor. The doctor nodded his head as much as tosay, "You had better do as she wishes;" but Hester saw that the eyes ofthe young man were all the time more watchful of the woman than of theperformance. 

Immediately Franks, with a stage-bow, offered Hester a chair. Shehesitated a moment, for she felt shy of Mr. Christopher: but as she hadmore fear of not behaving as she ought to the people she was visiting, she sat down, and became for the first time in her life a spectator ofthe feats of a family of acrobats. 

There might have seemed little remarkable in the display to one in theoccasional habit of seeing such things, and no doubt to Mr. Christopherit had not much that was new; but to Hester what each and all of themwere capable of was astonishing--more astonishing than pleasant, for shewas haunted for some time after with a vague idea of prevailingdistortion and dislocation. It was satisfactory nevertheless to knowthat much labor of a very thorough and persevering sort must have beenexpended upon their training before they could have come within sight ofthe proficiency they had gained. She believed this proficiency borestrong witness to some kind of moral excellence in them, and that theirsmight well be a nobler way of life than many in which money is made morerapidly, and which are regarded as more respectable. There were but twothings in the performance she found really painful: one, that theyoungest seemed hardly equal to the physical effort required in thosetricks, especially which he had as yet mastered but imperfectly: and itwas very plain this was the chief source of trial to the nerves of themother. He was a sweet-looking boy, with a pale interesting face, benton learning his part, but finding it difficult. The other thing thatpained Hester, was, that the moment they began to perform, the manner ofthe father toward his children changed; his appearance also, and thevery quality of his voice changed, so that he seemed hardly the sameman. Just as some men alter their tone and speak roughly when theyaddress a horse, so the moment Franks assumed the teacher, he assumedthe tyrant, and spoke in a voice between the bark of a dog and the growlof a brown bear. But the roughness had in it nothing cruel, coming inpart of his having had to teach other boys than his own, whom he foundthis mode of utterance assist him in compelling to give heed to hiscommands; in part from his idea of the natural embodiment of authority. He ordered his boys about with sternness, sometimes even fiercely, sworeat them indeed occasionally, and made Hester feel very uncomfortable. 

"Come, come, Franks!" said Mr. Christopher, on one of these outbreaks. 

The man stood silent for a moment "like one forbid, " then turning toMiss Raymount first, and next to his wife, said, taking of his cap, "I humbly beg your pardon, ladies. I forgot what company I was in. Butbless you, I mean nothing by it! It's only my way. Ain't it now, mates--you as knows the old man?"

"Yes, father; 'tain't nothin' more'n a way you've got, " responded theboys all, the little one loudest. 

"You don't mind it, do you--knowin' as it's only to make you mind whatyou're about?"

"No, father, _we_ don't mind it. Go ahead, father, " said theeldest. 

"But, " said Franks, and here interjected an imprecation, vulgarly calledan oath, "if ever I hear one o' you a usin' of sich improper words, I'llbreak every bone in his carcase. "

"Yes, father, " answered the boys with one accord, "It's all very well for fathers, " he went on; "an' when you're fathersyourselves, an' able to thrash me--not as I think you'd want to, kids--Isha'nt ha' no call to meddle with you. So here goes!"

Casting a timid glance at Hester, in the assurance that he had sethimself thoroughly right with her, showing himself as regardful of hisboys' manners as could justly be expected of any parent, he proceededwith his lesson from the point where he had left off. 

As to breaking the boys' bones, there hardly seemed any bones in them tobreak; gelatine at best seemed to be what was inside their muscles, sowonderful were their feats, and their pranks so strange. But theirevident anxiety to please, their glances full of question as to theirsuccess in making their offering acceptable, their unconscious effortsto supply the lacking excitement of the public gaze, and, more than all, the occasional appearance amidst the marvels of their performance, inwhich their bodies seemed mere india-rubber in response to their wills, of a strangely mingled touch of pathos, prevailed chiefly to interestHester in their endeavor. This last would appear in the occasionalsuffering it caused Moxy, the youngest, to do as his father required, but oftener in the incongruity between the lovely expression of theboy's face, and the oddity of it when it became the field of certaincomicalities required of him--especially when, stuck through betweenhis feet, it had to grin like a demon carved on the folding seat of achoir-stall. Its sweet innocence, and the veil of suffering cast overits best grin, suggesting one of Raphael's cherubs attempting to playthe imp, Hester found almost discordantly pathetic. She could havecaught the child to her bosom, but alas! she had no right. She wasalready beginning to become aware of the difficulty of the question asto when or how much you may interfere with the outward conditions ofmen, or help them save through the channels of the circumstance in whichyou find them. The gentle suffering face seemed far from its own sphere, that of a stray boy-angel come to give her a lesson in the heavenlypatience. His mother, whose yellow hair and clear gray eyes were justlike his, covered her eyes with her hand, though she could not well seehim from where she lay, every time he had to do anything by himself. 

All at once the master of the ceremonies drew 'himself up, and wipinghis forehead, gave a deep sigh, as much as to say, "I have done my best, and if I have not pleased you, the more is my loss, for I have triedhard, " and the performance was over. 

The doctor rose, and in a manly voice, whose tones were more pleasing toHester than the look of the man, which she did not find attractive, proceeded to point out to Franks one or two precautions which hisknowledge of anatomy enabled him to suggest, with regard to the trainingespecially of the little Moxy. At the same time he expressed himselfgreatly pleased with what his host had been so kind as to show him, remarking that the power to do such things implied labor more continuousand severe than would have sufficed to the learning of two or threetrades. In reply, Franks, mistaking the drift of the remark, andsupposing it a gentle remonstrance with what the doctor counted a wasteof labor, said, in a tone that sounded sad in the ears of Hester, "What's a fellow to do, sir, when he 'ain't got no dinner? He must taketo the work as takes to him. There was no other trade handy for me. Myfather he was a poor laborer, an' died early, o' hard work an' manymouths. My mother lived but a year after him an' I had to do for thekids whatever came first to hand. There was two on 'em dead 'atwixt mean' the next alive, so I was a long way ahead o' the rest, an' Icouldn't ha' seen them goin' to the dogs for want o' bread while I waslearnin' a trade, even if I had had one in my mind more than another, which I never had. I always was a lively lad, an' for want of anythingbetter to do, for my father wouldn't have us go to work till we wasstrong enough, he said--an' for that matter it turned out well when thehard time came--I used to amuse myself an' the rest by standin' on myhead an' twistin' of my body into all sorts o' shapes--more'n it couldwell ha' been meant for to take. An' when the circus come round, I wouldmake friends wi' the men, helpin' of 'em to look after their horses, an'they would sometimes, jest to amuse theirselves, teach me tricks I wasglad enough to learn; an' they did say for a clod-hopper I got on verywell. But that, you see, sir, set my monkey up, an' I took a hoath tomyself I would do what none o' them could do afore I died--an' somethinks, sir, " he added modestly, "as how I've done it--but that'sneither here nor there. The p'int is, that, when my mother followed myfather, an' the rest come upon my hands, I was able at once, goin' aboutan' showin' off, to gather a few coppers for 'em. But I soon found itwas precious little I could get, no matter what I could do so long as myclothes warn't the right thing. So long as I didn't look my trade, theyregarded my best as nothing but a clumsy imitation of my betters, an'laughed at what circus Joe said he couldn't do no better hisself. So Iplucks up heart an' goes to Longstreet, as was the next market-town, an'into a draper's shop, an' tells 'em what I wanted, an' what it was for, promisin' to pay part out o' the first money I got, an' the rest as soonafter as I could. The chaps in the shop, all but one on em', larfed atme; there's always one, or two p'raps, leastways sech as has been myexpearence, sir an' miss, as is better'n most o' the rest, though it's agood thing everybody's not so soft-hearted as my wife there, or theworld would soon be turned topsy turvey, an' the rogues have all themoney out o' the good folk's pockets, an' them turned beggars in theirturn, an' then the rogues wouldn't give them nothink, an' so the goodones would die out, an' the world be full o' nothing but damnedrascals--I beg your pard'n, miss. But as I was sayin', though I fared nobetter at the next shop nor the next, there was one good woman I come toin a little shop in a back street, an' she was a resemblin' of yourself, miss, an' she took an' set me up in my trade, a givin' of me a fewremnants o' colored calico, God bless her! I set to with my needle, an'I dressed myself as like a proper clown as I could, an' painted my facebeautiful, an' from that time till they was able to do some'at fortheirselves, I managed to keep the kids in life. It wasn't much more, you see, but life's life though it bean't tip-top style. An' if they'renone o' them doin' jest so well as they might, there's none o' them beenin pris'n yet, an' that's a comfort as long as it lasts. An' when folktells me I'm a doin' o' nothink o' no good, an' my trade's o' no use tonobody, I says to them, says I, 'Beggin' your pardon, sir, or ma'am, butdo you call it nothink to fill--leastways to _nigh_ fill fourhungry little bellies at home afore I wur fifteen?' An' after that, theyain't in general said nothink; an' one gen'leman he give me'alf-a-crown. "

"The best possible answer you could have given, Franks, " rejoined Mr. Christopher. "But I think perhaps you hardly understood what suchobjectors meant to say. They might have gone on to explain, only theyhadn't the heart after what you told them, that most trades didsomething on both sides--not only fed the little ones at home, but didgood to the persons for whom the work was done; that the man, forinstance, who cobbled shoes, gave a pair of dry feet to some old man atthe same time that he filled his own child's hungry little stomach. "

Franks was silent for a moment, thinking. 

"I understand you, sir, " he said. "But I think I knows trades as makes adeal o' money, an' them they makes it out on's the worse an' not thebetter. It's better to stand on a fellow's own head than to sell gin;an' I 'most think it's as good as the fire-work trade. "

"You are quite right: there's not a doubt of it, " answered Mr. Christopher. "But mind you, " he went on, "I don't for a moment agreewith those who tell you your trade is of no use. I was only explainingto you what they meant; for it's always best to know what people mean, even where they are wrong. "

"Surely, sir, and I thank you kindly. Everybody's not so fair. "

Here he broke into a quiet laugh, so pleased was he to have the doctortake his part. 

"I think, " Mr. Christopher went on, "to amuse people innocently is oftenthe only good you can do them. When done lovingly and honestly, it is aChristian service. "

This rather shocked Hester:--acrobatics a Christian service. With hergrand dawning idea mingled yet some foolish notional remnants. She stillfelt as if going to church and there fixing your thoughts on the prayersand the lessons and the hymns and the sermon was the _serving_ ofGod. She turned rather sharply towards the doctor, with a feeling thathonesty called on her to speak; but not a word came to her lips, for thebest of reasons--that not a thought had arisen in answer to his boldassertion. She was one of the few who know when they have nothing tosay. But Christopher had observed the movement of dissent. 

"Suppose, " he went on, but without addressing her more than before, still turning himself almost exclusively to Franks--"Suppose somebodywalking along Oxford Street, brooding over an injury, and thinking howto serve the man out that had done it to him. All the numberless personsand things pass him on both sides and he sees none of them--takes nonotice of anything. But he spies a man in Berners Street, in the middleof a small crowd, showing them some tricks--we won't say so good asyours, Mr. Franks, but he stops, and stares, and forgets for a moment ortwo that there is one brother-man he hates and would kill if he could. "

Here Hester found words, and said, though all but inaudibly, "He would only go away as soon as he had had enough of it, and hate himall the same!"

"I know very well, " answered Christopher, turning now to her, "it wouldnot make a good man of him: but, except the ways of the world, its bestways and all, are to go for nothing in God's plans, it must be somethingto have the bad mood in a man stopped for a moment, just as it issomething to a life to check a fever. It gives the godlike in the man, feeble, perhaps nearly exhausted, a fresh opportunity of revival. Forthe moment at least, the man is open to influences from another sourcethan his hate. If the devil may catch a man at unawares when he is in anevil or unthinking mood, why should not the good Power take hisopportunity when the evil spirit is asleep through the harping of aDavid or the feats of a Franks? I sometimes find, as I come from atheatre where I have been occupied with the interests of a stirringplay, that, with a sudden rush of intelligence, I understand the thingsbest worth understanding better than before. "

The illustration would have pleased Hester much had he said "coming outof a concert-room, " for she was not able to think of God being in atheatre: perhaps that had some relation to her inability to tell Saffywhy God made the animals: she could have found her a reason why he madethe dogs, but not why he made the monkeys. We are surrounded with thingsdifficult to understand, and the way most people take is not to look atthem lest they should find out they have to understand them. Hestersuspected scepticism under the remarks of the doctor: most doctors, shebelieved, had more than a leaning in that direction. But she had herselfbegun to have a true notion of serving _man_ at least; thereforethere was no fear of her not coming to see by and by what serving Godmeant. She did serve him, therefore she could not fail of finding outthe word that belonged to the act: no one who does not serve him evercan find out what serving him means. Some people are constantly rubbingat their skylights, but if they do not keep their other windows cleanalso, there will not be much light in the house: God, like his body, thelight, is all about us, and prefers to shine in upon us sideways: wecould not endure the power of his vertical glory; no mortal man can seeGod and live; and he who loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, shallnot love his God whom he hath not seen. He will come to us in themorning through the eyes of a child, when we have been gazing all nightat the stars in vain. 

Hester rose. She was a little frightened at the very peculiar man andhis talk. She had made several attempts in the dull light, but withoutmuch success, to see him as he watched the contortions of the acrobats, which apparently he enjoyed more than to her seemed reasonable. But, aswith herself, it was the boy Moxy that chiefly attracted him, though theshow of physical prowess was far from uninteresting to him; and althoughwhat she saw through the smoky illumination of the dip was notattractive to her, the question remains whether it was really the manhimself she saw, or only an appearance made up of candle gleam andgloom, complemented by her imagination. I will write what she saw, orthought she saw. 

A rather thick-set man about thirty, in a rough shooting-coat of abrownish gray with many pockets, a striped shirt, and a blacknecktie--if tie it could be called that had so little tie in it; a bighead, with rather thick and long straggling hair; a large forehead, andlarge gray eyes; the remaining features well-formed--but rather fat, like the rest of his not elegant person; and a complexion rather pale. She thought he had quite a careless, if not a slightly rakish look; butI believe a man, even in that light, would have seen in him somethingmanly and far from unattractive. He had a rather gruff but not unmusicalvoice, with what some might have thought a thread of pathos in it. Healways reminded certain of his friends of the portrait of Jean Paul inthe Paris edition of his works. He was hardly above the middle height, and, I am sorry to say, wore his hat on the back of his head, whichwould have given Solon or Socrates himself a foolish look. Hester, however, as she declined his offer to see her home, did not then becomeaware of this peculiarity, which, to say the least, would have made herlike him no better. 

The next time she went to see the Frankses, which was not for four orfive days, she found they were gone. They had told Mrs. Baldwin thatthey were sorry to leave, but they must look for a cheaper lodging--abetter they could not hope to find; and as the Baldwins had just had anapplication for the rooms, they felt they must let them go. 

Hester was disappointed not to have seen them once more, and made them alittle present as she had intended; and in after times the memory ofthem was naturally the more interesting that on Mrs. Franks she hadfirst made experiment in the hope of her calling, and in virtue of herspecial gift had not once nor twice given sleep and rest to her and herbabe. And if it is a fine thing to thrill with delight the audience of aconcert-room--well-dined, well-dressed people, surely it was not alittle thing to hand God's gift of sleep to a poor woman weary with thelot of women, and having so little, as Hester thought, to make life apleasure to her!

Mrs. Franks would doubtless have differed from Hester in this judgmentof her worldly condition, on the ground that she had a good husband, andgood children. Some are always thinking others better off thanthemselves: others feel as if the lot of many about them must beabsolutely unbearable, because they themselves could never bear it, theythink. But things are unbearable just until we have them to bear; theirpossibility comes with them. For we are not the roots of our own being. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

VAVASOR AND HESTER. 

The visits of Vavasor, in reality to Hester, continued. For a time theywere more frequent, and he stayed longer. Hester's more immediatefriends, namely her mother and Miss Dasomma, noted also, and with someincrease of anxiety, that he began to appear at the church theyattended, a dull enough place, without any possible attraction of itsown for a man like Vavasor: they could but believe he went thither forthe sake of seeing Hester. Two or three Sundays and he began to jointhem as they came out, and walk part of the way home with them. Next hewent all the way, was asked to go in, and invited to stay to lunch. 

It may well seem strange that Mrs. Raymount, anxious as to the result, should allow things to go on thus; but, in the first place, she had suchthorough confidence in Hester as not to think it possible she shouldfall in love with such a man as Vavasor; and, in the second place, it iswonderful what weakness may co-exist with what strength, whatworldliness stand side by side with what spirituality--for a time, thatis, till the one, for one must, overcome the other; Mrs. Raymount waspleased with the idea of a possible marriage of such distinction for herdaughter, which would give her just the position she counted her fitfor. These mutually destructive considerations were, with whateverlogical inconsistency, both certainly operative in her. Then again, theyknew nothing against the young man! He made himself agreeable to everyone in the house. In Addison Square he showed scarce the faintest shadowof the manner which made him at the bank almost hated. In the square notonly was he on his good behavior as in a private house, but his heart, and his self-respect, as he would have called his self-admiration, wereequally concerned in his looking his best--which always means lookingbetter than one's best. Then in Hester's company his best was alwaysuppermost, and humility being no part of this best, he not merely feltcomfortable and kindly disposed--which he was--but good in himself andconsiderate of others--which he was not. There was that in Hester andhis feeling towards her which had upon him what elevating influence hewas yet capable of receiving, and this fact said more for him thananything else. She seemed gaining a power over him that could not be forother than good with any man who submitted to it. It had begun to bringout and cherish what was best in a disposition far from unamiable, although nearly ruined by evil influences on all sides. Both glad andproud to see her daughter thus potent, how, thought Mrs. Raymount, couldshe interfere? It was plain he was improving. Not once now did they everhear him jest on anything belonging to church!--As to anything belongingto religion, he scarcely knew enough in that province to have anymaterial for jesting. --If Vavasor was falling in love with Hester, thedanger was for him--lest she, who to her mother appeared colder than anylady she knew, should not respond with like affection. 

Miss Dasomma was more awake. She knew better than Mrs. Raymount the kindof soil in which this human plant had been reared, and saw more dangerahead. She feared the young man was but amusing himself, or at bestenjoying Hester's company as some wary winged thing enjoys the flame, courting a few singes, not quite avoiding even a slight plumousconflagration, but careful not to turn a delightful imagination into aconsuming reality, beyond retreat and self-recovery. She could notbelieve him as careless of himself as of her, but judged he was what hewould to himself call flirting with her--which had the more danger forHester that there was not in her mind the idea corresponding to thephrase. I believe he declined asking himself whither the enjoyment ofthe hour was leading; and I fancy he found it more easy to set aside thequestion because of the difference between his social position and thatof the lady. Possibly he regarded himself as honoring the lowneighborhood of Addison Square by the frequency of his shining presence;but I think he was at the same time feeling the good influences of whichI have spoken more than he knew, or would have liked to acknowledge tohimself; for he had never turned his mind in the direction of good; andit was far more from circumstance than refusal that he was not yet themore hurtful member of society which his no-principles were surelyworking to make him. 

Hester was of course greatly interested in him. She had been but littlein society, had not in the least studied men, and could not help beingpleased with the power she plainly had over him, and which as plainlywent on increasing. Even Corney, not very observant or penetrating, remarked on the gentleness of his behavior in their house. He followedevery word of Hester's about his singing, and showed himself evenanxious to win her approbation by the pains he took and the amount ofpractice he went through to approach her idea of song. He had not onlyceased to bring forward his heathenish notions as to human helplessnessand fate, but allowed what at first she let fall as mere hintsconcerning the individual mission of every human being to blossom inlittle outbursts concerning duty without show of opposition, listeningwith a manner almost humble, and seeming on the way to allow there mightbe some reality in such things. Whether any desire of betterment was nowawake in him through the power of her spiritual presence, I cannot tell;but had Mrs. Raymount seen as much of him as Hester, she would have beenyet better justified in her hope of him. For Hester, she thought first, and for some time, only of doing him good, nor until she imagined somesuccess, did the danger to her begin. 

After that, with every fresh encouragement the danger grew--for just somuch grew the danger of selfcoming in and getting the upper-hand. 

I do not suppose that Vavasor once consciously laid himself out todeceive her, or make her think him better than he thought himself. Witha woman of Hester's instincts, there might have been less danger if hehad; she also would then perhaps have been aware of the present untruth, and have recoiled. But if he had any he had but the most rudimentarynotion of truth in the inward parts, and could deceive the better thathe did not know he was deceiving. As little notion had he of the natureof the person he was dealing with, or the reality to her of the thingsof which she spoke;--belief was to him at most the mere differencebetween decided and undecided opinion. Nay, she spoke the language of aworld whose existence he was incapable at present of recognizing, for hehad never obeyed one of its demands, which language therefore meant tohim nothing like what it meant to her. His natural inborn proclivitiesto the light had, through his so seldom doing the deeds of the light, become so weak, that he hardly knew such a thing as reform was requiredof, possible to, or desirable in him. Nothing seemed to him to matterexcept "good form. " To see and hear him for a few minutes after leavingher and entering his club, would have been safety to Hester. I do notmean that he was of the baser sort there, but whatever came up there, hewould meet on its own grounds, and respond to in its own kind. 

He was certainly falling more and more into what most people call_love_. How little regard there may be in that for the other apartfrom the self I will not now inquire, but what I may call the passionateside of the spiritual was more affected in him than ever previously. Asto what he meant he did not himself know. When intoxicated with the ideaof her, that is when thinking what a sensation she would make in hisgrand little circle, he felt it impossible to live without her: some waymust be found! it could not be his fate to see another triumph inher!--He called his world a circle rightly enough: it was no globe, nothing but surface. --Whether or not she Would accept him he never askedhimself; almost awed in her presence, he never when alone doubted shewould. Had he had anything worthy the name of property coming with thetitle, he would have proposed to her at once, he said to himself. Butwho with only the most beautiful wife in the world, would encounter anaked earldom! The thing would be raging madness--as unjust to Hester asto himself! How just, how love-careful he was not to askher--considerate for her more than himself! But perhaps _she_ mighthave expectations! That could hardly be: no one with anything wouldslave as her governor did, morning, noon and night! True his owngovernor was her uncle--there was money in the family; but people neverleft their money to their poor relations! To marry her would be to liveon his salary, in a small house in St. John's wood, or ParkVillage--perhaps even in Camden Town, ride home in the omnibus everynight like one of a tin of sardines, wear half-crown gloves, cottonsocks, and ten-and-six-penny hats: the prospect was too hideous to beludicrous even! Would the sweetness of the hand that darned the socksmake his over-filled shoe comfortable? And when the awful family beganto come on, she would begin to go off! A woman like her, living in easeand able to dress well--by Jove, she might keep her best points till shewas fifty! If there was such a providence as Hester so dutifullyreferred to, it certainly did not make the best things the easiest toget! How could it care for a fellow's happiness, or even for his leadinga correct life! Would he not be a much better man if allowed to haveHester!--whereas in all probability she would fall to the lot of somequill-driver like her father--a man that made a livelihood by drumminghis notions into the ears of people that did not care a brass farthingabout them!--Thus would Vavasor's love-fits work themselvesoff--declining from cold noon to a drizzly mephitic twilight. 

It was not soon that he risked an attempt to please her with a song ofhis own. There was just enough unconscious truth in him to make him alittle afraid of Hester. Commonplace as were in the most thorough sensethe channels in which his thoughts ran, he would not for less than afortune have risked encountering her scorn. For he believed, and thereinhe was right, that she was capable of scorn, and that of no ordinarilywithering quality: Hester had not yet gathered the sweet gentleness thatcomes of long breathing the air of the high countries. It is generallymany years before a strong character learns to think of itself as itought to think. While there is left in us the possibility of scorn weknow not quite the spirit we are of--still less if we imagine we maykeep this or that little shadow of a fault. But Hester was far lessready to scorn on her own account than on the part of another. And ifshe had fairly seen into the mind interesting her so much, seen howpoverty-stricken it was, and with how little motion towards the better, she would indeed have felt a great rush of scorn, but chiefly againstherself for being taken in after such a fool's-fashion. 

But he had come to understand Hester's taste so far as to know certainqualities she would not like in a song; he could even be sure she wouldlike this one or that; and although of many he could not be certain, having never reached the grounds of her judgment, he had not yetoffended her with any he brought her--and so by degrees he had generatedthe resolve to venture something himself in the hope of pleasing her: heflattered himself he knew her _style_! He was very fond of theword, and had an idea that all writers, to be of any account, mustfashion their style after that of this or the other master. How themaster got it, or whether it might not be well to go back to the seedand propagate no more by cutting, it never occurred to him to ask. Inthe prospect of one day reaching the bloom of humanity in theconservatory of the upper house, he already at odd moments cultivatedhis style by reading aloud the speeches of parliamentary orators; butthe thought never came to him that there was no such thing _per se_as _speaking well_, that there was no cause of its existence except_thinking well_, were the grandfather, and _something to say_the father of if--something so well worth saying that it gave naturalutterance to its own shape. If you had told him this, and he had, as hethought, perceived the truth of it, he would immediately have desiredsome fine thing to say, in order that he might say it well! He could nothave been persuaded that, if one has nothing worth saying, the bestpossible style for him is just the most halting utterance that everissued from empty skull. To make a good speech was the grand thing! whatside it was on, the right or the wrong, was a point unthinkable withhim. Even whether the speaker believed what he said was of noconsequence--except that, if he did not, his speech would be the moreadmirable, as the greater _tour de force_, and himself the moreadmirable as the cleverer fellow. 

Knowing that Hester was fond of a good ballad, he thought at first totry his hand on one: it could not be difficult, he thought! But he foundthat, like everything else, a ballad was easy enough if you could do it, and more than difficult enough if you could not: after several attemptshe wisely yielded the ambition; his gift did not lie in that direction!He had, however, been so long in the habit of writing drawing-roomverses that he had better ground for hoping he might produce somethingin that kind which the too severe taste of Hester could yet admire! Itwould be a great stroke towards placing him in a right position towardsher--one, namely, in which his intellectual faculty would be moremanifest! It should be a love song, and he would present it as one hehad written long ago: as such it would say the more for him while itwould not commit him. 

So one evening as he stood by her piano, he said all at once:

"By the bye, Miss Raymount, last night, as I was turning over some songsI wrote many years ago, I came upon one I thought I should like you justto look at--not the music--that is worth nothing, though I was proudenough of it then and thought it an achievement; but the words I stillthink are not so bad--considering. They are so far from me now that I amable to speak of them as if they were not mine at all!"

"Do let me see them!" said Hester, hiding none of the interest she felt, though fearing a little she might not have to praise them so much as shewould like. 

He took the song from his pocket, and smoothed it out before her on thepiano. 

"Read it to me, please, " said Hester. 

"No; excuse me, " he answered with a little shyness, the rarest ofphenomena in his spiritual atmosphere; "I _could_ not read italoud. But do not let it bore you if--"

He did not finish his sentence, and Hester was already busy with hismanuscript. 

Here is the song:

 If thou lov'st I dare not ask thee, Lest thou say, "Not thee;" Prythee, then, in coldness mask thee, That it _may_ be me. 

 If thou lov'st me do not tell me, Joy would make me rave, And the bells of gladness knell me To the silent grave. 

 If thou lovest not thy lover, Neither veil thine eyes, Nor to his poor heart discover What behind them lies. 

 Be not cruel, be not tender; Grant me twilight hope; Neither would I die of splendor, Nor in darkness mope. 

 I entreat thee for no favor, Smallest nothingness; I will hoard thy dropt glove's savor, Wafture of thy dress. 

 So my love shall daring linger! Moth-like round thy flame; Move not, pray, forbidden finger-- Death to me thy blame. 

Vavasor had gone half-way towards Mrs. Raymount, then turned, and nowstood watching Hester. So long was her head bent over his paper that hegrew uncomfortably anxious. At length, without lifting her eyes, sheplaced it on the stand before her, and began to try its music. ThenVavasor went to her hurriedly, for he felt convinced that if she was notquite pleased with the verses, it would fare worse with the music, andbegged she would not trouble herself with anything so childish. Even nowhe knew less about music than poetry, he said. 

"I wanted you to see the verses, and the manuscript being almostillegible I had to copy it; so, in a mechanical mood, I copied the musicalso. Please let me have them again. I feared they were not worth yournotice! I know it now. "

Hester, however, would not yield the paper, but began again to read it:Vavasor's writing, out of the bank, was one of those irritating handsthat wrong not only with the absence of legibility but with the show ofits presence, and she had not yet got so clear a notion of his verses asa mere glance of them in print would have given her. Why she did notquite like them she did not yet know, and was anxious not to be unfair. That they were clever she did not doubt; they had for one thing his ownair of unassumed ease, and she could not but feel they had some claim toliterary art. This added a little to her hesitation, not in pronouncingon them--she was far from that yet--but in recognizing what she feltabout them. Had she had a suspicion of the lie he had told her, and thatthey were the work of yesterday, it would at once have put leaguesbetween them, and made the verses hateful to her. As it was, the moreshe read and thought, the farther she seemed from a conclusion, and thetime Vavasor stood there waiting, appeared to both of them three timesas long as it really was. At last he felt he was pounded and must tryback. 

"You have discovered, " he said, "that the song is an imitation of SirJohn Suckling!"

He had never thought of the man while writing it. 

"I don't know anything of him, " answered Hester, looking up. 

Vavasor knew nothing was more unlikely than that she should knowanything of him. 

"When did he write?" she asked. 

"In the reign of Charles I. , I believe, " he answered. 

"But tell me, " said Hester, "where is the good of imitating anyone--eventhe best of writers. Our own original, however poor, must be the thingfor us! To imitate is to repudiate our own being. "

"That I admit, " answered Vavasor, who never did anything original exceptwhen he followed his instincts; "but for a mere trial of skill animitation is admissible--don't you think?"

"Oh, surely, " replied Hester; "only it seems to me a waste oftime--especially with such a gift as you have of your own!"

"At all events, " said Vavasor, hiding his gratification with falsehumility, "there was no great presumption in a shy at Suckling!"

"There may have been the more waste, " returned Hester. "I would soonerimitate Bach or even Handel than Verdi. "

Vavasor could stand a good deal of censure if mingled with somepraise--which he called appreciation. Of this Hester had given himenough to restore his spirits, and had also suggested a subject on whichhe found he could talk. 

"But, " he said, "how can it be worse for me to imitate this or thatwriter, than for you to play over and over music you could easilyexcel. "

"I never practice music, " answered Hester, "not infinitely better than Icould write myself. But playing is a different thing altogether fromwriting. I play as I eat my dinner--because I am hungry. My hunger Icould never satisfy with any amount of composition or extemporization ofmy own. My land would not grow corn enough, or good enough for mynecessity. My playing merely corresponds to your reading of yourfavorite poets--especially if you have the habit of reading aloud likemy father. "

"They do not seem to me quite parallel, " rejoined Vavasor, who hadlearned that he lost nothing with Hester by opposing her--so long as nomoral difference was involved. In questions of right and wrong he alwaysagreed with her so far as he dared expression where he understood solittle, and for that very reason, in dread of seeming to have no opinionof his own, made a point of differing from her where he had a safechance. "One may read both poetry and music at sight, but you wouldnever count such reading of music a reproduction of it. That requiresstudy and labor, as well as genius and an art _like_ those whichproduce it. "

"I am equally sure you can never read anything worth reading, " returnedHester, "as it ought to be read, until you understand it at least aswell as the poet himself. To do a poem justice, the reader must so havepondered phrase and word as to reproduce meaning and music in all theinextricable play of their lights and shades. I never came near doingthe kind of thing I mean with any music till I had first learned itthoroughly by heart. And that too is the only way in which I can get tounderstand some poetry!"

"But is it not one of the excellences of poetry to be easy?"

"Yes, surely, when what the poet has to say is easy. But what if thethoughts themselves be of a kind hard to put into shape? There'sBrowning!"

Of Browning Vavasor knew only that in his circle he was laughed at--forin it a man who had made a feeble attempt or two to understand him, andhad failed as he deserved, was the sole representative of his readers. That he was hard to understand Hester knew, for she understood enough ofhim to believe that where she did not understand him he was perhaps onlythe better worth understanding. She knew how, lover of music as she was, she did not at first care for Bach; and how in the process of learningto play what he wrote she came to understand him. 

To her reference to Browning then, Vavasor did not venture a reply. Noneof the poetry indeed by him cultivated was of any sort requiring study. The difficulty Hester found in his song came of her trying to see morethan was there; her eyes made holes in it, and saw the less. Vavasor'smental condition was much like that of one living in a vacuum or sphereof nothing, in which the sole objects must be such as he was creatorenough to project from himself. He had no feeling that he was in theheart of a crowded universe, between all whose great verities movedcountless small and smaller truths. Little notion had he that to learnthese after the measure of their importance, was his business, witheternity to do it in! He made of himself but a cock, set for a while onthe world's heap to scratch and pick. 

When he was gone, leaving his manuscript behind him, Hester set to itagain, and trying the music over, was by it so far enlightened that shedespaired of finding anything in it, and felt a good deal disappointed. 

For she was continuing to gather interest in Vavasor, though slowly, aswas natural with a girl of her character. But she had no suspicion_how_ empty he was, for it was scarcely possible for her to imaginea person indifferent to the truth of things, or without interest in hisown character and its growth. Being all of a piece herself, she had noconception of a nature all in pieces--with no unity but that ofselfishness. Her nature did now and then receive from his a jar andshock, but she generally succeeded in accounting for such as arisingfrom his lack of development--a development which her influence over himwould favor. If she felt some special pleasure in the possession of thatinfluence, who will blame her for the weakness?

Women are being constantly misled by the fancy and hope of being thesaviours of men! It is natural to goodness and innocence, but not theless is the error a disastrous one. There ought surely at least to be ofsuccess some probability as well founded as rare, to justify thesacrifices involved. Is it well that a life of supreme suffering shouldbe gone through for nothing but an increase of guilt? It will be saidthat patience reaps its reward; but I fear too many patiences fail, andthe number of resultant saints is small. The thing once done, the stepno longer retrievable, fresh duty is born, and divine good will resultfrom what suffering may arise in the fulfillment of the same. Theconceit or ambition itself which led to the fault, may have to be curedby its consequences. But it may well be that a woman does more to redeema man by declining than by encouraging his attentions. I dare not sayhow much a woman is not to do for the redemption of a man; but I thinkone who obeys God will scarcely imagine herself free to lay her personin the arms, and her happiness in the bosom of a man whose being is adenial of him. Good Christians not Christians enough to understand this, may have to be taught by the change of what they took for love into whatthey know to be disgust. It is very hard for the woman to know whetherher influence has any real _power_ over the man. It is very hardfor the man himself to know; for the passion having in itself abetterment, may deceive him as well as her. It might be well that awoman asked herself whether moral laxity or genuine self-devotion wasthe more persuasive in her to the sacrifice. If her best hope be torestrain the man within certain bounds, she is not one to imaginecapable of any noble anxiety. God cares nothing about keeping a manrespectable; he will give his very self to make of him a true man. Butthat needs God; a woman is not enough for it. This cannot be God's wayof saving bad men. 

CHAPTER XV. 

A SMALL FAILURE. 

Vavasor at length found he must not continue to visit Hester so often, while not ready to go further; and that, much as he was inlove--proportionately, that is, to his faculty for loving--he dare notdo. But for the unconventionality of the Raymounts he would have reachedthe point long before. He began, therefore, to lessen the number, andshorten the length of his appearances in Addison Square. 

But so doing he became the more aware of the influence she had beenexercising upon him--found that he had come to feel differently aboutcertain things--that her opinion was a power on his consciousness. Hehad nowise begun to change his way; he had but been inoculated, and wastherefore a little infected, with her goodness. In his ignorance he tookthe alteration for one of great moral significance, and was wonderfullypleased with himself. His natural kindness, for instance, towards thepoor and suffering--such at least as were not offensive--was quickened. He took no additional jot of trouble about them, only gave a morefrequent penny to such as begged of him, and had more than a pennorth ofrelief in return. It was a good thing, and rooted in a better, that hisheart should require such relief, but it did not indicate any advancedstage of goodness, or one inconsistent with profoundest unselfishness. He prided himself on one occasion that he had walked home to give hislast shilling to a poor woman, whereas in truth he walked home becausehe found he had given her his last. Yet there was a little more movementof the sap of his nature, as even his behavior in the bank would havetestified, had there been any one interested in observing him. 

Hester was annoyed to find herself disappointed when he did not appear, and betook herself to a yet more diligent exercise of her growingvocation. The question suggested itself whether it might not further herplans to be associated with a sisterhood, but her family relations madeit undesirable, and she felt that the angle of her calling could illconsent to be under foreign rule. She began, however, to widen hersphere a little by going about with a friend belonging to asisterhood--not in her own quarter, for she did not wish her specialwork to be crossed by any prejudices. There she always went alone, andseldom entered a house without singing in several of its rooms beforeshe came away--often having to sing some old song before her audiencewould listen to anything new, and finding the old song generally countedthe best thing in her visit--except by the children, to whom she wouldfrequently tell a fairy tale, singing the little rhymes she made comeinto it. She had of course to encounter rudeness, but she set herself toget used to it, and learn not to resent it but let it pass. One comingupon her surrounded by a child audience, might have concluded herinsensible of what was owing to herself; but the feeling of what wasowing to her fellows, who had to go such a long unknown way to get backto the image of God, made her strive to forget herself. It is well thatso many who lightly try this kind of work meet with so littleencouragement; if it had the result they desire, they would be ruinedthemselves by it, whatever became of their poor. 

Hester's chief difficulty was in getting the kind of song fit for herpurpose; and from it she gained the advantage of reading, or at leastlooking into, with more or less of reading as many of the religiouspoets recognized in our history as she could lay her hands upon; whereshe failed in finding the thing she wanted, she yet often found what waswelcome. She would stop at nearly every book-stall she passed, andbook-stalls were plentiful in her neighborhood, searching for oldhymn-books and collections of poetry, every one of which is sure to havesomething the searcher never saw before. 

About this time, in connection with a fresh and noble endeavor afterbettering the homes of the poor originated, I had almost said _ofcourse_, by a woman, the experiment was in several places made ofgathering small assemblies of the poor in the neighborhood of their owndwellings, that the ladies in charge of the houses in which they livedmight, with the help of friends, give them an unambitious but honestlyattempted concert. At one of these concerts Hester was invited toassist, and went gladly, prepared to do her best. It had, however, beenarranged that any of the audience who would like to sing, should beallowed to make their contributions also to the enjoyment of theevening; and it soon became evident that the company cared for nosinging but that of their own acquaintance; and they, for their part, were so bent on singing, and so supported and called for each other, that it seemed at length the better way to abandon the platform to them. There was nothing very objectionable in the character of any of thesongs sung--their substance in the main was flaunting sentiment--but thesinging was for the most part atrociously bad, and the resultinginfluence hardly what the projectors of the entertainment had had inview. It might be well that they should enjoy themselves so; it might bewell that they should have provided for them something better than theycould produce; but, to judge from the experiment, it seemed useless toattempt the combination of the two. Hester, having listened through ahalf-hour of their singing, was not a little relieved to learn that shewould not be called upon to fulfil her engagement, and the company ofbenefactors went home foiled but not too much disappointed for a goodlaugh over their fiasco before they parted. The affair set Hesterthinking; and before morning she was ready with a scheme to which shebegged her mother to gain her father's consent. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE CONCERT ROOM. 

The house in which they lived, and which was their own, was a somewhatremarkable one--I do not mean because it retained almost all theold-fashionedness of a hundred and fifty years, but for other reasons. Beside the ordinary accommodation of a good-sized London house withthree drawing-rooms on the first floor it had a quite unusual provisionfor the receiving of guests. At the top of the first landing, rathermore than half-way up the stair, that is, there was a door through theoriginal wall of the house to a long gallery, which led to a large andlofty room, apparently, from the little orchestra half-way up one of thewalls, intended for dancing. Since they had owned the house it had beenused only as a playroom for the children; Mr. Raymount always intendedto furnish it, but had not yet done so. The house itself was indeed alarger one than they required, but he had a great love of room. It hadbeen in the market for some time when, hearing it was to be had at a lowprice, he stretched more than a point to secure it. Beneath theconcert-room was another of the same area, but so low, being but theheight of the first landing of the stairs, that it was difficult todiscover any use that could be made of it, and it continued even moreneglected than the other. Below this again were cellars of alarmingextent and obscurity, reached by a long vaulted passage. What they couldhave been intended for beyond ministering to the dryness of the roomsabove, I cannot imagine; they would have held coal and wood and wine, everything natural to a cellar, enough for one generation at least. Thehistory of the house was unknown. There was a nailed-up door in thesecond of the rooms I have mentioned which was said to lead into thenext house; but as the widow who lived there took every opportunity ofmaking herself disagreeable, they had not ventured to propose aninvestigation. There was no garden, for the whole of the spacecorresponding to the gardens on each side was occupied with thisaddition to the original house. The great room was now haunting Hester'sbrain and heart; if only her father would allow her to give in it aconcert to her lowly friends and acquaintance!

Questions concerning the condition of the poor in our large towns had, from the distance of speculation and the press, been of late occupying agood deal of Mr. Raymount's attention, and he believed that he wasenlightening the world on those most important perhaps of all the socialquestions of our day, their wrongs and their rights. He little suspectedthat his daughter was doing more for the poor, almost without knowingit, than he with all his conscious wisdom. She could not, however, havemade her request at a more auspicious moment, for he was just thenfeeling specially benignant towards them, an article in which he had, ashe believed, uttered himself with power on their behalf, having comeforth to the light of eyes that very day. Besides, though far fromunprejudiced, he had a horror of prejudice, and the moment he suspecteda prejudice, hunted it almost as uncompromisingly in himself as inanother: most people surmising a fault in themselves rouse everyindividual bristle of their nature to defend and retain the thing thatdegrades them! He therefore speedily overcame his first reluctance, andagreed to his daughter's strange proposal. He was willing to make asmuch of an attempt towards the establishment of relations with the classhe befriended. It was an approach which, if not quite clear ofcondescension, was not therefore less than kindly meant; and had hisguests behaved as well as he, they would from that day have found him afriend as progressive as steady. Hester was greatly delighted with hisready compliance with her request. 

From that day for nearly a fortnight there were busy doings in thehouse. At once a couple of charwomen were turned loose in the great roomfor a thorough cleaning, but they had made little progress with whatmight have been done, ere Mr. Raymount perceived that no amount of theircleaning could take away its dirty look, and countermanding andpostponing their proceedings, committed the dingy place to painters andpaperhangers, under whose hands it was wonderful to see how gradually itput on a gracious look fit to welcome the human race withal. Although nowhite was left about it except in the ceiling for the sake of the light, scarce in that atmosphere, it looked as if twice the number of windowshad been opened in its walls. The place also looked larger, for in itsnew harmonies of color, one part led to another, introducing it, and bydivision the eye was enabled to measure and appreciate the space. ToSaffy and Mark their playroom seemed transformed into a temple; theywere almost afraid to enter it. Every noise in it sounded twice as loudas before, and every muddy shoe made a print. 

The day for the concert was at length fixed a week off, and Hester beganto invite her poorer friends and neighbors to spend its evening at herfather's house, when her mother would give them tea, and she would singto them. The married women were to bring their husbands if they wouldcome, and each young woman might bring a friend. Most of the men, as amatter of course, turned up their noses at the invitation, but werenevertheless from curiosity inclined to go. Some declared it impossibleany house in that square should hold the number invited. Some spokedoubtfully; they _might_ be able to go! they were not sure! andseemed to regard consent as a favor, if not a condescension. Of these, however, two or three were hampered by the uncertainty as to theredemption of their best clothes from the pawnbroker. 

In requesting the presence of some of the small tradespeople, Hesterasked it as a favor: she begged their assistance to entertain theirpoorer neighbors; and so put, the invitation was heartily accepted. Inone case at least, however, she forgot this precaution; and theconsequence was that the wife of a certain small furniture-broker beganto fume on recognition of some in her presence. While she was drinkingher second cup of tea her eyes kept roving. As she set it down, shecaught sight of Long Tim, but a fortnight out of prison, rose at once, made her way out fanning herself vigorously, and hurried home boilingover with wrath--severely scalding her poor husband who had staid fromhis burial-club that she might leave the shop. The woman was not at allof a bad sort, only her dignity was hurt. 

The hall and gallery were brilliantly lighted, and the room itselflooked charming--at least in the eyes of those who had been so longwatching the process of its resurrection. Tea was ready before thecompany began to arrive--in great cans with taps, and was handed roundby ladies and gentlemen. The meal went off well, with a good buzz ofconversation. The only unpleasant thing was, that several of the guests, mindful like other dams of their cubs at home, slipped large pieces ofcake into their pockets for their behoof; but this must not be judgedwithout a just regard to their ways of thinking, and was not a tenthpart so bad as many of the ways in which well-bred persons appropriateslices of other people's cakes without once suspecting the category inwhich they are doomed to find themselves. 

When the huge urns and the remnants of food were at length removed, andthe windows had been opened for a minute to change the air, a curtainrose suddenly at the end of the room, and revealed a small stagedecorated with green branches and artificial flowers, in the center ofit a piano, on the piano music, and at the piano Hester, now first seen, having reserved her strength for her special duty. 

When the assembly caught sight of her turning over the leaves of hermusic, a great silence fell. The moment she began to play, all began totalk. With the first tone of her voice, every other ceased. She hadchosen a ballad with a sudden and powerfully dramatic opening, and, alittle anxious, a little irritated also with their talking while sheplayed, began in a style that would have compelled attention from a herdof cattle. But the ballad was a little too long for them, and by thetime it was half sung they had begun to talk again, and exchangeopinions concerning it. All agreed that Miss Raymount had a splendidvoice, but several of those who were there by second-hand invitationcould find a woman to beat her easily! Their criticisms were, nevertheless, not unfriendly--in general condescending and patronizing. I believe most of this class regarded their presence as a favor grantedher. Had they not come that she might show off to them, and receivetheir approbation! Amongst the poor the most refined and thecoarsest-grained natures are to be met side by side--egg-china anddrain-tubing in the same shop--just as in _respectable_ circles. The rudeness of the cream of society is more like that of the unwashedthan that of any intermediate class; while often the manners of thewell-behaved poor are equalled by those only of the best bred in thecountry. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

AN UNINVITED GUEST. 

Vavasor had not heard of the gathering. In part from doubt of hissympathy, in part from dislike of talking about doing, Hester had notmentioned it. When she lifted her eyes at the close of her ballad, not alittle depressed at having failed to secure the interest of heraudience, it was with a great gush of pleasure that she saw near thedoor the face of her friend. She concluded that he had heard of herpurpose and had come to help her. Even at that distance she could seethat he was looking very uncomfortable, annoyed, she did not doubt, bythe behavior of her guests. A rush of new strength and courage went fromheart to brain. She rose and advancing to the front of the little stage, called out, in a clear voice that rang across the buzz and stilled it. 

"Mr. Vavasor, will you come and help me?"

Now Vavasor was in reality not a little disgusted at what he beheld. Hehad called without a notion of what was going on, and seeing the row oflights along the gallery as he was making for the drawing-room, hadchanged his direction and followed it, knowing nothing of the room towhich it led. Blinded by the glare, and a little bewildered by theunexpectedness of the sight, he did not at first discern the kind ofcompany he had entered; but the state of the atmosphere wasunaccountable, and for a moment it seemed as if, thinking to enterParadise, he had mistaken and opened the left-hand door. Presently hiseyes coming to themselves, confirmed the fact that he was in the midstof a notable number of the unwashed. He had often talked with Hesterabout the poor, and could not help knowing that she had great sympathywith them. He was ready indeed as they were now a not unfashionablesubject in some of the minor circles of the world's elect, to talk aboutthem with any one he might meet. But in the poor themselves he couldhardly be said to have the most rudimentary interest; and that a ladyshould degrade herself by sending her voice into such ears, and cominginto actual contact with such persons and their attendantdisgusts--except indeed it were for electioneering purposes--exposingboth voice and person to their abominable remarks, was to him a thingsimply incomprehensible. The admission of such people to a respectablehouse, and the entertainment of them as at a music hall, could have itsorigin only in some wild semi-political scheme of the old fellow, whohad more crotchets in his head than brain could well hold! It was aproceeding as disgraceful as extraordinary! Puh! Could the tenth part ofthe air present be oxygen? To think of the woman he worshipped being insuch a hell!

The woman he could honor little by any worship he gave her, was far moresecure from evil eyes and evil thoughts in that company than she wouldhave been in any drawing-room of his world. Her angel would rather seeher where she was. 

But the glorious tones ceased, the ballad was at an end, and the nextmoment, to his dismay, the voice which in its poetry he had delighted toimagine thrilling the listeners in a great Belgravian drawing-room cameto him in prose across the fumes of that Bloomsbury music hall, clearand brave and quiet, asking him, the future earl of Gartley, to come andhelp the singer! Was she in trouble? Had her father forced her into thefalse position in which she found herself? And did she seek refuge withhim the moment he made his appearance? Certainly such was not the toneof her appeal! But these reflections flashing through his brain, causednot a moment's delay in Vavasor's response. With the perfect command ofthat portion of his being turned towards the public on which every manlike him prides himself, and with no shadow of expression on hiscountenance beyond that of a perfect equanimity, he was instantly on hisway to her, shouldering a path in the gentlest manner through themalodorous air. 

"This comes, " he said to himself as he went, "of her foolish parents'receiving so little company that for the free exercise of her greattalent she is driven to such as this! For song must have audience, however unfit! There was Orpheus with his! Genius was always eccentric!If he could but be her protection against that political father, thatPuritan mother, and that idiotic brother of hers, and put an end to thissort of thing before it came to be talked about!"

He grew bitter as with smiling face but shrinking soul he made his waythrough that crowd of his fellow-creatures whose contact was defilement. He would have lost them all rather than a song of Hester's--and yet thathe would on occasion have lost for a good rubber of whist with certainplayers!

He sprang on the stage, and made her a rather low bow. 

"Come and sing a duet with me, " she said, and indicated one on the pianobefore her which they had several times sung together. 

He smiled what he meant to look his sweetest smile, and almostimmediately their duet began. They sang well, and the assembly, fromwhatever reason--I fancy simply because there were two singing insteadof one, was a little more of an audience than hitherto. But it was plainthat, had there been another rondo of the duet, most would have beentalking again. 

Hester next requested Vavasor to sing a certain ballad which she knewwas a great favorite with him. Inwardly protesting and that withvehemence against the profanation, he obeyed, rendering it so as couldnot have failed to please any one with a true notion of song. Hissinging was, I confess, a little wooden, as was everything Vavasor did:being such himself, how could he help his work being wooden? but it wastrue, his mode good, his expression in the right direction. They werenevertheless all talking before he had ended. 

After a brief pause, Hester invited a gentleman prepared for theoccasion to sing them something patriotic. He responded with Campbell'smagnificent song, "Ye Mariners of England!" which was received withhearty cheers. 

He was followed by another who, well acquainted with the predilectionsof his audience, gave them a specially sentimental song about a chair, which was not only heard in silence but followed by tremendous cheering. Possibly it was a luxury to some who had no longer any grandfather tokick, to cry over his chair; but, like the most part of their brethren, the poor greatly enjoy having their feelings gently troubled. 

Thus the muse of the occasion was gradually sinking to the intellectuallevel of the company--with a consequence unforeseen, therefore notprovided against. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

CATASTROPHE. 

For the tail of the music-kite--the car of the music-balloon rather, having thus descended near enough to the earth to be a temptation tosome of the walkers afoot, they must catch at it! The moment thelast-mentioned song was ended, almost before its death-note had left thelips of the singer, one of the friends' friends was on his feet. Withouta word of apology, without the shadow of a request for permission, hecalled out in a loud voice, knocking with his chair on the floor, "Ladies an' gen'lemen, Mr. William Blaney will now favor the companywith a song. "

Thereupon immediately a pale pock-marked man, of diminutive height, withhigh retreating forehead, and long thin hair, rose, and at onceproceeded to make his way through the crowd: he would sing from thestage, of course! Hester and Vavasor looked at each other, and onewhisper passed between them, after which they waited the result insilence. The countenance approaching, kindled by conscious power andanticipated triumph, showed a white glow through its unblushingpaleness. After the singing one sometimes hears in drawing-rooms, thereis little space for surprise that some of less education should thinkthemselves more capable of fine things than they are. 

Scrambling with knee and hand upon the stage, for the poor fellow wasfeeble, the moment he got himself erect with his face to the audience, he plunged into his song, if song it could be called, executed in acracked and strained falsetto. The result, enhanced by the nature of thesong, which was extremely pathetic and dubiously moral, must have beenexcruciation to every good ear and every sensitive nature. Long beforethe relief of its close arrived Hester had made up her mind that it washer part to protect her guests from such. It was compensation no doubtto some present to watch the grotesque contortions of the singersqueezing out of him the precious pathos of his song--in which hescrewed his eyes together like the man in Browning's "Christmas Eve, "and opened his mouth in a long ellipse in the middle of one cheek; butneither was that the kind of entertainment she had purposed. She satready, against the moment when he should end, to let loose the mostthunderous music in her mental _repertoire_, annoyed that she hadbut her small piano on the stage. Vanity, however, is as suspicious ofvanity as hate is of hate, and Mr. Blaney, stopping abruptly in themiddle of the long last note, and in doing so changing the word, withludicrous result, from a song to a spoken one, screeched aloud, ere shecould strike the first chord, "I will now favor the company with a song of my own composure. "

But ere he had got his mouth into its singing place in his left cheek, Hester had risen and begun to speak: when she knew what had to be done, she never hesitated. Mr. Blaney started, and his mouth, after a momentof elliptic suspense, slowly closed, and returned, as he listened, to amore symmetrical position in his face. 

"I am sorry to have to interfere, " said Hester, "but my friends are inmy house, and I am accountable for their entertainment. Mr. Blaney mustexcuse me if I insist on keeping the management of the evening in my ownhands. "

The vanity of the would-be singer was sorely hurt. As he was too selfishfor the briefest comparison of himself with others, it had outgrown allordinary human proportion, and was the more unendurable that no socialconsideration had ever suggested its concealment. Equal arrogance israrely met save in a mad-house: there conceit reigns universal andrampant. 

"The friends as knows me, and what I can do, " returned Mr. Blaney withcalmness, the moment Hester had ended, "will back me up. I have no rightto be treated as if I didn't know what I was about. I can warrant thesong home-made, and of the best quality. So here goes!"

Vavasor made a stride towards him, but scarcely was the ugly mouth halfscrewed into singing-place, when Mr. Raymount spoke from somewhere nearthe door. 

"Come out of that, " he shouted, and made his way through the company asfast as he could. 

Vavasor drew back, and stood like a sentinel on guard. Hester resumedher seat at the piano. Blaney, fancying he had gained his point, andthat, if he began before Mr. Raymount reached him, he would be allowedto end in peace, again got his mouth into position, and began to howl. But his host jumping on the stage from behind, reached him at his thirdnote, took him by the back of the neck, shoved him down, and walked himthrough the crowd and out of the room before him like a naughty boy. Propelling him thus to the door of the house, he pushed him out, closedit behind him, and re-entering the concert-room, was greeted by a greatclapping of hands, as if he had performed a deed of valor. But, notwithstanding the miserable vanity and impudence of the man, it hadgone to Hester's heart to see him, with his low visage and puny form, inthe mighty clutch of her father. That which would have made most despisethe poor creature the more, his physical inferiority, made her pity him, even to pain!

The moment silence was restored, up rose a burly, honest-lookingbricklayer, and said, "I beg your pardon, miss, but will you allow me to make one remark!"

"Certainly, Mr. Jones, " answered Hester. 

"It seems to me, miss, " said Jones, "as it's only fair play on my partas brought Blaney here, as I'm sorry to find behave himself so improper, to say for him that I know he never would ha' done it, if he hadn't havehad a drop as we come along to this 'ere tea-party. That was the cause, miss, an' I hope as it'll be taken into account, an' considered alucidation of his conduct. It takes but very little, I'm sorry to say, miss, to upset his behavior--not more'n a pint at the outside. --But itdon't last! bless you, it don't last!" he added, in a tone of extremedeprecation; "there's not a morsel of harm in him, poor fellow--though Isays it as shouldn't! Not as the guv'nor do anything more'n his duty inputtin' of him out--nowise! I know him well, bein' my wife'sbrother--leastways half-brother--for I don't want to take more o' theblame nor by rights belong to me. When he've got a drop in his nob, it'salways for singin' he is--an' that's the worst of _him_. Thank youkindly, miss. "

"Thank _you_, Mr. Jones, " returned Hester. "We'll think no more ofit. "

Loud applause followed, and Jones sat down, well satisfied: he had donewhat he ought in acknowledging the culprit for his wife's sake, and theact had been appreciated. 

The order of the evening was resumed, but the harmony of the assemblyonce disturbed, all hope of quiet was gone. They had now something totalk about! Everyone that knew Blaney felt himself of importance: had henot a superior right of opinion upon his behavior? Nor was he without afew sympathizers. Was he not the same flesh and blood? they said. Afterthe swells had had it all their own way so long, why shouldn't poorBlaney have his turn? But those who knew Hester, especially the women ofthem, were indignant with him. 

Hester sang again and again, but no song would go quite to her mind. Vavasor also sung several times--as often, that is, as Hester asked him;but inwardly he was disgusted with the whole affair--as was natural, forcould any fish have found itself more out of the water than he?Everything annoyed him--most of all that the lady of his thoughts shouldhave addressed herself to such an assembly. Why did she not leave it tohim or her father! If it was not degrading enough to appear before sucha canaille, surely to sing to them was! How could a woman of refinement, justifiable as was her desire for appreciation, seek it from such arepulsive assemblage! But Vavasor would have been better able tounderstand Hester, and would have met the distastes of the evening withfar less discomposure, if he had never been in worse company. One maintest of our dealings in the world is whether the men and women weassociate with are the better or the worse for it: Vavasor had oftenbeen where at least he was the worse, and no one the better for hispresence. For days a cloud hung over the fair image of Hester in hismind. 

He called on the first possible opportunity to inquire how she was afterher exertions, but avoided farther allusion to the events of theevening. She thanked him for the help he had given her, but was so farfrom satisfied with her experiment, that she too let the subject rest. 

Mr. Raymount was so disgusted, that he said nothing of the kind shouldever again take place in his house: he had not bought it to make amusic-hall of it!

If any change was about to appear in Vavasor a change in the fortunes ofthe Raymounts prevented it. 

What the common judgment calls _luck_ seems to have oddpredilections and prejudices with regard to families as well asindividuals. Some seem invariably successful, whatever they take inhand; others go on, generation after generation, struggling without aray of success; while on the surface appears no reason for theinequality. But there is one thing in which pre-eminently I do notbelieve--that same luck, namely, or chance, or fortune. The Father offamilies looks after his families--and his children too. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

LIGHT AND SHADE. 

Light and shade, sunshine and shadow pursue each other over the moral asover the material world. Every soul has a landscape that changes withthe wind that sweeps its sky, with the clouds that return after itsrain. 

It was now the month of March. The middle day of it had been dreary allover England, dreariest of all, perhaps, in London. Great blasts hadgone careering under a sky whose miles-thick vault of clouds they nevertouched, but instead hunted and drove and dashed earth-clouds of dustinto all unwelcoming places, throats and eyes included. Now and then afew drops would fall on the stones as if the day's fierce misery wereabout to yield to sadness; but it did not so yield; up rose again agreat blundering gust, and repentance was lost in rage. The sun wentdown on its wrath, and its night was tempestuous. 

But the next morning rose bright and glad, looking as if it would makeup for its father's wildness by a gentler treatment of the world. Thewind was still high, but the hate seemed to have gone out of it, andgiven place to a laborious jollity. It swept huge clouds over the sky, granting never a pause, never a respite of motion; but the sky was blueand the clouds were white, and the dungeon-vault of the world was brokenup and being carted away. 

Everything in the room where the Raymounts were one by one assembling tobreak their fast, was discolored and dark, whether with age or smoke itwould have needed more than a glance to say. The reds had grown brown, and the blues a dirty slate-color, while an impression of drab wasprevalent. But the fire was burning as if it had been at it all nightand was glorying in having at length routed the darkness; and in themiddle of the table on the white cloth, stood a shallow piece of redpottery full of crocuses, the earnest of the spring. People think thesecreatures come out of the earth, but there are a few in every place, andin this house Mark was one of such, who are aware that they come out ofthe world of thought, the spirit-land, in order to manifest themselvesto those that are of that land. 

Mr. Raymount was very silent, seemed almost a little gloomy, and theface of his wife was a shade less peaceful in consequence. There wasnothing the matter, only he had not yet learned to radiate. It is hardfor some natures to let their light shine. Mr. Raymount had some light;he let it shine mostly in reviews, not much in the house. He did notlift up the light of his countenance on any. 

The children were rosy, fresh from their baths, and ready to eat likebreakfast-loving English. Cornelius was half his breakfast ahead of therest, for he had daily to endure the hardship of being at the bank bynine o'clock, and made the best of it by claiming in consequence anutter immunity from the _petite norale_ of the breakfast-table. Never did he lose a moment in helping anybody. Even the little Saffy heallowed with perfect frigidity to stretch out a very long arm after thebutter--except indeed it happened to cross his plate, when he wouldsharply rebuke her breach of manners. It would have been all the same ifhe had not been going till noon, but now he had hurry and business torampart his laziness and selfishness withal. Mark would sooner have gonewithout salt to his egg than ask Corney to pass it. 

This morning the pale boy sat staring at the crocuses--things like thempeeping out of the spring-mould of his spirit to greet them. 

"Why don't you eat your breakfast, Mark, dear?" said his mother. 

"I'm not hungry, mamma, " he answered. 

The mother looked at him a little anxiously. He was not a very vigorousboy in corporeal matters; but, unlike his father's, his light was almostalways shining, and making the faces about him shine. 

After a few minutes, he said, as if unconsciously, his eyes fixed on thecrocuses, "I can't think how they come!"

"They grow!" said Saffy. 

Said her father, willing to set them thinking, "Didn't you see Hester make the paper flowers for her party?"

"Yes, " replied Saffy, "but it would take such a time to make all theflowers in the world that way!"

"So it would; but if a great many angels took it in hand, I suppose theycould do it. "

"That can't be how!" said Saffy, laughing; "for you know they come upout of the earth, and there ain't room to cut them out there!"

"I think they must be cut out and put together before they are made!"said Mark, very slowly and thoughtfully. 

The supposition was greeted with a great burst of laughter fromCornelius. In the midst of a refined family he was the one vulgar, andbehaved as the blind and stupid generally behave to those who see whatthey cannot see. Mockery is the share they choose in the motions of thelife eternal!

"Stop, stop, Cornelius!" said his father. "I suspect we have a youngphilosopher where you see only a silly little brother. He has, I fancy, got a glimpse of something he does not yet know how to say. "

"In that case, don't you think, sir, " said Cornelius, "he had betterhold his tongue till he does know how to say it?"

It was not often he dared speak so to his father, but he was growingless afraid of him, though not through increase of love. 

His father looked at him a moment ere he replied, and his mother lookedanxiously at her husband. 

"It _would_ be better, " he answered quietly, "were he not among_friends_. "

The emphasis with which he spoke was lost on Cornelius. 

"They take everything for clever the little idiot says!" he remarked tohimself. "Nobody made anything of _me_ when _I_ was his age!"

The letters were brought in. Amongst them was one for Mr. Raymount witha broad black border. He looked at the postmark. 

"This must be the announcement of cousin Strafford's death!" he said. "Some one told me she was not expected to live. I wonder how she hasleft the property!"

"You did not tell me she was ill!" said his wife. 

"It went out of my head. It is so many years since I had the leastcommunication with her, or heard anything of her! She was a strange oldsoul!"

"You used to be intimate with her--did you not, papa?" said Hester. 

"Yes, at one time. But we differed so entirely it was impossible itshould last. She would take up the oddest notions as to what I thought, and meant, and wanted to do, and then fall out upon me as advocatingthings I hated quite as much as she did. But that is much the waygenerally. People seldom know what they mean themselves, and can hardlybe expected to know what other people mean. Only the amount of mentaland moral force wasted on hating and talking down the non-existent is apity. "

"I can't understand why people should quarrel so about their opinions, "said Mrs. Raymount. 

"A great part of it comes of indignation at not being understood andanother great part from despair of being understood--and that while allthe time the person thus indignant and despairing takes not the smallestpains to understand the neighbor whose misunderstanding of himself makeshim so sick and sore. "

"What is to be done then?" asked Hester. 

"Nothing, " answered her father with something of a cynical smile, bornof this same frustrated anxiety to impress his opinions on others. 

He took up his letter, slowly broke the large black seal which adornedit, and began to read it. His wife sat looking at him, and waiting, inexpectation sufficiently mild, to hear its contents. 

He had scarcely read half the first page when she saw his countenancechange a little, then flush a little, then grow a little fixed, andquite inscrutable. He folded the letter, laid it down by the side of hisplate, and began to eat again. 

"Well, dear?" said his wife. 

"It is not quite what I thought, " he answered, with a curious smile, andsaid nothing more, but ate his toast in a brooding silence. Never in thehabit of _making_ secrets, like his puny son, he had a strongdislike to showing his feelings, and from his wife even was inclined toveil them. He was besides too proud to manifest his interest in thespecial contents of this letter. 

The poor, but, because of its hopelessness, hardly indulged ambition ofMr. Raymount's life, was to possess a portion, however small, of theearth's surface--if only an acre or two. He came of families bothpossessing such property, but none of it had come near him except thatbelonging to the cousin mentioned. He was her nearest relation, but hadnever had much hope of inheriting from her, and after a final quarrelput an end to their quarelling, had had none. Even for Mammon's sake Mr. Raymount was not the man to hide or mask his opinions. 

He worshipped his opinions indeed as most men do Mammon. For many yearsin consequence there had not been the slightest communication betweenthe cousins. But in the course of those years all the other relatives ofthe old lady had died, and, as the letter he now held informed him, hewas after all heir to her property, a small estate in a lovely spotamong the roots of the Cumberland hills. It was attended by not a fewthousands in government securities. 

But while Mr. Raymount was not a money-lover in any notable sense--themen are rare indeed of whom it might be said absolutely they do not lovemoney--his delight in having land of his own was almost beyondutterance. This delight had nothing to do with the money value of theproperty; he scarcely thought of that: it came in large part of a newsense of room and freedom; the estate was an extension of his body andlimbs--and such an extension as any lover of the picturesque would havedelighted in. It made him so glad he could hardly get his toast down. 

Mrs. Raymount was by this time tolerably familiar with her husband'smoods, but she had never before seen him look just so, and was puzzled. The fact was he had never before had such a pleasant surprise, and satabsorbed in a foretaste of bliss, of which the ray of March sun thatlighted up the delicate transparencies of the veined crocuses purple andgolden, might seem the announcing angel. 

Presently he rose and left the room. His wife followed him. The momentshe entered his study behind him he turned and took her in his arms. 

"Here's news, wifie!" he said. "You'll be just as glad of it as I am. Yrndale is ours after all!--at least so my old friend Heron says, and heought to know! Cousin Strafford left no will. He is certain there isnone. She persistently put off making one, with the full intention, hebelieves, that the property shall come to me, her heir at law and nextof kin. He thinks she had not the heart to leave it away from her oldfriend. Thank God! It is a lovely place. Nothing could have happened togive me more pleassure. "

"I am indeed glad, Raymount, " said his wife--who called him by hisfamily name on important occasions. "You always had a fancy for playingthe squire, you know. "

"A great fancy for a little room, rather, " replied her husband--"notmuch, I fear, for the duties of a squire. I know little of them; andhappily we shall not be dependent on the result of my management. Thereis money as well, I am glad to say--enough to keep the place up anyhow. "

"It would be a poor property, " replied his wife with a smile, that couldnot keep itself up. I have no doubt you will develop into a model farmerand landlord. "

"You must take the business part--at least till Corney is fit to lookafter it, " he returned. 

But his wife's main thought was what influence would the change have onthe prospects of Hester. In her heart she abjured the notion of propertyhaving anything to do with marriage--yet this was almost her firstthought! Inside us are played more fantastic tricks than any we play inthe face of the world. 

"Are the children to be told?" she asked. 

"I suppose so. It would be a shame not to let them share in ourgladness. And yet one hates to think of their talking about it aschildren will. "

"I am not afraid of the children, " returned his wife. "I have but totell them not. I am sure of Mark as if he were fifty. Saffy mightforget, but Mark will keep her in mind. "

When she returned to the dining-room Cornelius was gone, but the restwere still at the table. She told them that God had given them abeautiful house in the country, with hills and woods and a swift-flowingriver. Saffy clapped her hands, cried, "Oh, mam_mah_!" and couldhardly sit on her chair till she had done speaking. Mark was perfectlystill, his eyes looking like ears. The moment her mother ceased, Saffyjumped down and made a rush for the door. 

"Saffy, Saffy, where are you going?" cried her mother. 

"To tell Sarah, " answered Saffy. 

"Come back, my child. "

"Oh, do let me run and tell Sarah! I will come back _instantly_. "

"Come here, " insisted the mother. "Your papa and I wish you to saynothing whatever about it to _any_ one. "

"O-oh!" returned Saffy; and both her look and her tone said, "Where isthe good of it then?" as she stood by her mother's side in momentarycheck. 

Not a word did Mark utter, but his face shone as if it had been heavenhe was going to. No color, only light came to the surface of it, andbroke in the loveliest smile. When Mark smiled, his whole body and beingsmiled. He turned and kissed Saffy, but still said nothing. 

Hester's face flushed a "celestial rosy red. " Her first thought was ofthe lovely things of the country and the joy of them. Like Moses onmount Pisgah, she looked back on the desert of a London winter, andforth from the heart of a blustering spring into a land of promise. Hernext thought was of her poor: "Now I shall be able to do something forthem!" Alas! too swiftly followed the conviction that now she would beable to do less than ever for them. Yrndale was far from London! Theycould not come to her, and she could not go to them, except for anoccasional visit, perhaps too short even to see them all. If only herfather and mother would let her stay behind! but that she dared hardlyhope--ought not perhaps to wish! It might be God's will to remove herbecause she was doing more harm than good! She had never been allowed tosucceed in anything! And now her endeavor would be at an end! So herpleasure was speedily damped. The celestial red yielded to earthly pale, and the tears came in her eyes. 

"You don't like the thought of leaving London, Hester!" said her motherwith concern: she thought it was because of Vavasor. 

"I am very glad for you and papa, mother dear, " answered Hester. "I wasthinking of my poor people, and what they would do without me. "

"Wait my child, " returned her mother, "I have sometimes found the verythings I dreaded most serve me best. I don't mean because I got used tothem, or because they did me good. I mean they furthered what I thoughtthey would ruin. "

"Thank you, dear mother, you can always comfort me, " rejoined Hester. "For myself I could not imagine anything more pleasant. If only it werenear London!--or, " she added, smiling through her tears, "if one hadn'ta troublesome heart and conscience playing into each other's hands!"

She was still thinking of her poor, but her mother was in doubt. 

 * * * * *

"I suppose, father, " said Cornelius, "there will be no occasion for meto go to the bank any more?"

"There will be more occasion than ever, " answered his father: "willthere not be the more to look after when I am gone? What do you imagineyou could employ yourself with down there? You have never taken tostudy, else, as you know, I would have sent you to Oxford. When youleave the bank it will be to learn farming and the management of anestate--after which you will be welcome to Yrndale. "

Cornelius made no reply. His father's words deeply offended him. He washardly good at anything except taking offense, and he looked on theestate as his nearly as much as his father's. True the father had notspoken so kindly as he might, but had he known his son, he would oftenhave spoken severely. From the habit of seeking clear and forcibleexpression in writing, he had got into a way of using stronger vocalutterances than was necessary, and what would have been but a blow fromanother, was a stab from him. But the feelings of Cornelius in no case_deserved_ consideration--they were so selfish. And now heconsidered that mighty self of his insulted as well as wronged. Whatright had his father to keep from him--from him alone, who had the firstright--a share in the good fortunes of the family? He left the studyalmost hating his father because of what he counted his injustice; and, notwithstanding his request that he would say nothing of the matteruntil things were riper, made not even an effort to obey him, but, toosore for silence, and filled with what seemed to him righteousindignation, took the first opportunity of pouring out everything toVavasor, in a torrent of complaint against the fresh wrong. His friendresponded to the communication very sensibly, trying, without exactlysaying it, and without a shadow of success, to make him see what a foolhe was, and congratulating him all the more warmly on his good fortunethat a vague hope went up in him of a share in the same. For Corneliushad not failed to use large words in making mention of the estate andthe fortune accompanying it; and in the higher position, as Vavasorconsidered it, which Mr. Raymount would henceforth occupy as one of theproprietors of England, therefore as a man of influence in his countryand its politics, he saw something like an approximative movement in theedges of the gulf that divided him from Hester: she would not unlikelycome in for a personal share in this large fortune; and if he could butsee a possibility of existence without his aunt's money, he would, he_almost_ said to himself, marry Hester, and take the risk of hisaunt's displeasure. At the same time she would doubtless now look withmore favor on his preference--he must not yet say _choice!_ Therecould be nothing insuperably offensive to her pride at least in hisproposing to marry the daughter of a country squire. If she were theheiress of a rich brewer, that is, of a brewer rich enough, his auntwould, like the rest of them, get over it fast enough! In the meantimehe would, as Cornelius, after the first burst of his rage was over, hadbegged him, be careful to make no illusion to the matter. 

Mr. Raymount went to look at his property, and returned more delightedwith house, land, and landscape, than he had expected. He seldom spokeof his good fortune, however, except to his wife, or betrayed hispleasure except by a glistening of the eyes. As soon as the warm weathercame they would migrate, and immediately began their preparations--theyoung ones by packing and unpacking several times a day a mostheterogeneous assemblage of things. The house was to be left in chargeof old Sarah, who would also wait on Cornelius. 

CHAPTER XX. 

THE JOURNEY. 

It was a lovely morning when they left London. The trains did not thentravel so fast as now, and it was late in the afternoon when theyreached the station at which they must leave the railway for the road. Before that the weather had changed, or they had changed their weather, for the sky was one mass of cloud, and rain was falling persistently. They had been for some time in the abode of the hills, but those theywere passing through, though not without wonder and strange interest, were but an inferior clan, neither lofty nor lovely. Through the rainand the mist they looked lost and drear. They were mostly bare, save ofa little grass, and broken with huge brown and yellow gulleys, worn bysuch little torrents as were now rushing along them straight from theclouded heavens. It was a vague sorrowful region of tears, whence thestreams in the valleys below were forever fed. 

This part of the journey Saffy had been sound asleep, but Mark had beenstanding at the window of the railway-carriage, gazing out on an awfulworld. What would he do, he thought, if he were lost there? Would he beable to sit still all night without being frightened, waiting for God tocome and take him? As they rushed along, it was not through the brainalone of the child the panorama flitted, but through his mind and heartas well, and there, like a glacier it scored its passage. Or rather, itleft its ghosts behind it, ever shifting forms and shadows, eachatmosphered in its own ethereal mood. Hardly thoughts were they, butstrange other consciousnesses of life and being. Hills and woods andvalleys and plains and rivers and seas, entering by the gates of sightinto the live mirror of the human, are transformed to another nature, toa living wonder, a joy, a pain, a breathless marvel as they pass. Nothing can receive another thing, not even a glass can take into itsdepth a face, without altering it. In the mirror of man, things becomethoughts, feelings, life, and send their streams down the cheeks, ortheir sunshine over the countenance. 

Before Mark reached the end of that journey, there was gathered in thebottom of his heart a great mass of fuel, there stored for the futureconsumption of thinking, and for reproduction in forms of power. He knewnothing of it. He took nothing consciously. The things kept sinking intohim. The sole sign of his reception was an occasional sigh--of which hecould not have told either the cause or the meaning. 

They got into their own carriage at the station. The drive was a longand a tedious one, for the roads were rough and muddy and often steep, and Mr. Raymount repeatedly expressed his dissatisfaction, that they hadnot put four horses to. For some time they drove along the side of ahill, and could see next to nothing except in one direction; and when atlength the road ran into a valley, and along the course of the swollenriver, it was getting so dark, and the rain was coming down so fast, that they could see next to nothing at all. Long before they reachedtheir new home, Saffy and Mark were sound asleep, Hester was sunk in herown thoughts, and the father and mother sat in unbroken silence, hand inhand. It was pitch-dark ere they arrived; and save what she learned fromthe thousand musics of the swollen river along which they had beendriving for the last hour, Hester knew nothing of the country for whichshe had left the man-swarming city. Ah, that city! so full offellow-creatures! so many of them her friends! and struggling in thetoils of so many foes! Many sorrows had entered in at Hester's ears;tongues that had never known how to give trouble shape, had growneloquent in pouring the tale--of oppression oftener than want, into thebosom of her sympathy. I do not say many tongues--only many sorrows; sheknew from the spray that reached her on its borders, how that human seatossed and raged afar. Reading and interpreting the looks of faces andthe meanings of actions around her by what she had heard, she could notdoubt she had received but a too true sample of experiences innumerable. One result was, that, young as was Hester, she no longer shrank from thethought of that invisible, intangible solvent in which the generationsof man vanish from the eyes of their fellows. She said to herself what ablessed thing was death for countless human myriads--yea doubtless forthe whole race! It looked sad enough for an end; but then it was not theend; while but for the thought of the change to some other mode of life, the idea of this world would have been unendurable to her. "Surely theyare now receiving their evil things!" she said. Alas, but even now shefelt as if the gulf of death separated her from those to whom it hadbeen her painful delight to minister! The weeping wind and the moaningrush of the river, through which they were slowly moving toward theirearthly paradise, were an orchestral part as of hautboys in the wailingharmony of her mood. 

They turned and went through a gate, then passed through trees and treesthat made yet darker pieces of the night. By and by appeared the faintlights of the house, with blotchy pallors thinning the mist anddarkness. Presently the carriage stopped. 

Both the children continued dead asleep, and were carried off to bed. The father and mother knew the house of old time, and revived for eachother old memories. But to Hester all was strange, and what with thelong journey, the weariness, the sadness, and the strangeness, it was asif walking in a dream that she entered the old hall. It had a quiet, dull, dignified look, as if it expected nobody; as if it was here itselfbecause it could not help it, and would rather not be here; as if it hadseen so many generations come and go that it had ceased to care muchabout new faces. Every thing in the house looked somber and solemn, asif it had not forgotten its old mistress, who had been so many years init, and was such a little while gone out of it. They had supper in along, low room, with furniture almost black, against whose windows heavyroses every now and then softly patted, caught in the fringes of therain gusts. The dusky room, the perfect stillness within, the lowmingled sounds of swaying trees and pattering rain without, the sense ofthe great darkness folding in its bosom the beauty so near and themoaning city miles upon miles away--all grew together into onepossessing mood, which rose and sank, like the water in a sea-cave, inthe mind of Hester. But who by words can fix the mood that comes andgoes unbidden, like a ghost whose acquaintance is lost with hisvanishing, whom we know not when we do not see? A single happy phrase, the sound of a wind, the odor of the mere earth may avail to send usinto some lonely, dusky realm of being; but how shall we take ourbrother with us, or send him thither when we would? I doubt if even thepoet ever works just what he means on the mind of his fellow. Sisters, brothers, we cannot meet save in God. 

But the nearest mediator of feeling, the most potent, the most delicate, the most general, the least articulate, the farthest from thought, yetperhaps the likest to the breath moving upon the soft face of the watersof chaos, is music. It rose like a soft irrepressible tide in the heartof Hester; it mingled and became one with her mood; together swellingthey beat at the gates of silence; for life's sake they must rush, embodied and born in sound, into the outer world where utterance meetsutterance! She looked around her for such an instrument as hitherto hadbeen always within her reach--rose and walked around the shadowy roomsearching. But there was no creature amongst the aged furniture--nothingwith a brain to it which her soul might briefly inhabit. She returnedand sat again at the table, and the mood vanished in weariness. 

But they did not linger there long. Fatigue made the ladies glad to beshown to the rooms prepared for them. The housekeeper, the ancientauthority of the place, in every motion and tone expressing herselfwronged by their intrusion, conducted them. Every spot they passed wasplainly far more hers than theirs; only law was a tyrant, and she darednot assert her rights! But she had allotted their rooms well, and theyapproved her judgment. 

Weary as she was, Hester was charmed with hers, and the more charmed themore she surveyed it. I will not spend time or space in describing it, but remember how wearisome and useless descriptions often are. I willbut say it was old-fashioned to her heart's content; that it seemed fullof shadowy histories, as if each succeeding occupant had left behind anethereal phantasmic record, a memorial imprint of presence on walls andfurniture--to which she now was to add hers. But the old sleep must havethe precedence of all the new things. In weary haste she undressed, andascending with some difficulty the high four-post bed which stoodwaiting for her like an altar of sleep for its sacrifice, was presentlyas still and straight and white as alabaster lady lying upon ancienttomb. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 

When she woke it was to a blaze of sunlight, but caught in the net ofher closed curtains. The night had passed and carried the tears of theday with it. Ah, how much is done in the night when we sleep and knownothing! Things never stop. The sun was shining as if he too had weptand repented. All the earth beneath him was like the face of a child whohas ceased to weep and begun to smile, but has not yet wiped away histears. 

Raindrops everywhere! millions upon millions of them! every one of themwith a sun in it? For Hester had sprung from her bed, and opened theeyes of her room. How different was the sight from what she saw when shelooked out in Addison square! If heaven be as different from this earth, and as much better than it, we shall be happy children--except indeed webe but fit to stand in a corner, with our backs to the blessedness. Oneach side she saw green, undulating lawn, with trees and meadows beyond;but just in front the ground sloped rapidly, still in grass, grew steep, and fell into the swift river--which, swollen almost to unwieldiness, went rolling and sliding brown and heavy towards the far off sea; whenits swelling and tumult were over it would sing; now it tumbled alongwith a roaring muffled in sullenness. Beyond the river the bank roseinto a wooded hill. She could see walks winding through the wood, hereappearing, there vanishing, and, a little way up the valley, the railsof a rustic bridge that led to them. It was a paradise! For the roar ofLondon along Oxford street, there was the sound of the river; for thecries of rough human voices, the soprano of birds, and the soft mellowbass of the cattle in the meadows. The only harsh sound in this newworld was the cry of the peacock, but that had somehow got the color ofhis tail in it, and was not unpleasant. The sky was a shining blue. Nota cloud was to be seen upon it. Quietly it looked down, as if saying tothe world over which it stood vaulted, "Yes, you are welcome to it all!"

She thanked God for the country, but soon was praying to him for thetown. The neighborly offer of the country to console her for the loss ofthe town she received with alarm, hastening to bethink herself that Godcared more for one miserable, selfish, wife-and-donkey-beatingcostermonger of unsavory Shoreditch, than for all the hills and dales ofCumberland, yea and all the starry things of his heavens. 

She would care only as God cared, and from all this beauty gatherstrength to give to sorrow. 

She dressed quickly, and went to her mother's room. Her father wasalready out of doors, but her mother was having breakfast in bed. Theygreeted each other with such smiles as made words almost unnecessary. 

"What a _lovely_ place it is, mamma! You did not say half enoughabout it, " exclaimed Hester. 

"Wasn't it better to let you discover for yourself, my child?" answeredher mother. "You were so sorry to leave London, that I would not praiseYrndale for fear of prejudicing you against it. "

"Mother, " said Hester, with something in her throat, "I did not want tochange; I was content, and had my work to do! I never was one to turneasily to new things. And perhaps I need hardly tell you that theconviction has been growing upon me for years and years that my callingis among my fellow-creatures in London!"

She had never yet, even to her mother, spoken out plainly concerning thethings most occupying her heart and mind. Every one of the family, except Saffy, found it difficult to communicate--and perhaps to Saffy itmight become so as she grew. Hester trembled as if confessing a fault. What if to her mother the mere idea of having a calling should seem apresumption!

"Two things must go, I think, to make up a call, " said her mother, greatly to Hester's relief. "You must not imagine, my child, thatbecause you have never opened your mind to me, I have not known what youwere thinking, or have left you to think alone about it. Mother anddaughter are too near not to hear each other without words. There isbetween you and me a constant undercurrent of communion, andoccasionally a passing of almost definite thought, I believe. We may notbe aware of it at the time, but none the less it has its result. "

"O mother!" cried Hester, overjoyed to find she thought them thus nearto each other, "I am _so_ glad! Please tell me the two things youmean. "

"To make up a _call_, I think both impulse and possibility arewanted, " replied Mrs. Raymount. "The first you know well; but have yousufficiently considered the second? One whose impulse or desire wascontinually thwarted could scarcely go on believing herself called. Thehalf that lies in an open door is wanting. If a call come to a man inprison it will be by an angel who can let him out. Neither doesinclination always determine fitness. When your father was an editor, hewas astonished at the bad verse he received from some who had a genuinedelight in good verse. "

"I can't believe, mamma, " returned Hester, "that God gives any specialgift, particularly when accompanied by a special desire to use it, andthat for a special purpose, without intending it should be used. Thatwould be to mock his creature in the very act of making her. "

"You must allow there are some who never find a use for their specialgifts. "

"Yes; but may not that be that they have not sufficiently cultivatedtheir gifts, or that they have not done their best to bring them intouse? Or may they not have wanted to use them for ends of their own andnot of God's? I feel as if I must stand up against every difficulty lestGod should be disappointed in me. Surely any frustration of the ends towhich their very being points must be the person's own fault? May it notbe because they have not yielded to the calling voice that they are alltheir life a prey to unsatisfied longings? They may have gone pickingand choosing, instead of obeying. "

"There must be truth in what you say, Hester, but I am pretty sure itdoes not reach every case. At what point would you pronounce a callingfrustrated? You think yours is to help your poor friends: you are notwith them now: is your calling frustrated? Surely there may be delaywithout frustration! Or, is it for you to say when you are _ready_?Willingness is not everything. Might not one fancy her hour come when itwas not come? May not part of the preparation for work be the mentaldiscipline of imagined postponements? And then, Hester--now I think Ihave found my answer--you do not surely imagine such a breach in thecontinuity of our existence, that our gifts and training here havenothing to do with our life beyond the grave. All good old people willtell you they feel this life but a beginning. Cultivating your gift, andwaiting the indubitable call, you may be in active preparation for thework in the coming life for which God intended you when he made you. "

Hester gave a great sigh. Postponement indefinite is terrible to theyoung and eager. 

"That is a dreary thought, mother, " she said. 

"Is it, my child?" returned her mother. "Painful the will of God maybe--that I well know, as who that cares anything about it does not! but_dreary_, no! Have patience, my love. Your heart's deepest desiremust be the will of God, for he cannot have made you so that your heartshould run counter to his will; let him but have his own way with you, and your desire he will give you. To that goes his path. He delights inhis children; so soon as they can be indulged without ruin, he will heapupon them their desires; they are his too. "

I confess I have, chiefly by compression, put the utterance both ofmother and of daughter into rather better logical form than they gaveit; but the substance of it is thus only the more correctly rendered. Hester was astonished at the grasp and power of her mother. The childmay for many years have but little idea of the thought and life withinthe form and face he knows and loves better than any; but at last thepredestined moment arrives, the two minds meet, and the childunderstands the parent. Hester threw herself on her knees, and buriedher face in her mother's lap. The same moment she began to discover thatshe had been proud, imagining herself more awake to duty than the restaround her. She began, too, to understand that if God has called, hewill also open the door. She kissed her mother as she had never kissedher before, and went to her own room. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

GLADNESS. 

Scarcely had she reached it, however, when the voices of the childrencame shouting along some corridor, on their way to find their breakfast:she must go and minister, postponing meditation on the large and distantfor action in the small and present. But the sight of the exuberance, the foaming overflow of life and gladness in Saffy, and of the quieter, deeper joy of Mark, were an immediate reward. They could hardly beprevented from bolting their breakfast like puppies, in their eagernessto rush into the new creation, the garden of Eden around them. ButHester thought of the river flowing turbid and swift at the foot of thelawn: she must not let them go loose! She told them they must not gowithout her. Their faces fell, and even Mark began a gentleexpostulation. 

A conscientious elder sister has to bear a good many hard thoughts fromthe younger ones on whom, without a parent's authority and reverence, she has to exercise a parent's restraint. Well for her if she come outof the trial without having gathered some needless severity, someseeming hardness, some tendency to peevishness! These weak evils are soapt to gather around a sense at once of the need and of the lack ofpower!

"No, Mark, " she said, "I cannot let you go alone. You are like twokittens, and might be in mischief or danger before you knew. But I won'tkeep you waiting; I will get my parasol at once. "

I will attempt no description of the beauties that met them at everyturn. But the joy of those three may well have a word or two. I doubt ifsome of the children in heaven are always happier than Saffy and Markwere that day. Hester had thoughts which kept her from being so happy asthey, but she was more blessed. Glorious as is the child's delight, thechild-heart in the grown woman is capable of tenfold the bliss. Saffypounced on a flower like a wild beast on its prey; she never stood andgazed at one, like Mark. Hester would gaze till the tears came in hereyes;

There are consciousnesses of lack which carry more bliss than anypossession. 

Mark was in many things an exception--a curious mixture of child andyouth. He had never been strong, and had always been thoughtful. Whenvery small he used to have a sacred rite of his own--I would not havecalled it a rite but that he made a temple for it. Many children like toplay at church, but I doubt if that be good: Mark's rite was neitherplay nor church. He would set two chairs in the recess of a window--"onefor Mark and one for God"--then draw the window-curtains around and sitin silence for a space. 

When a little child sets a chair for God, does God take the chair ordoes he not? God is the God of little children, and is at home withthem. 

For Saffy, she was a thing of smiles and of tears just as they chose tocome. She had not a suspicion yet that the exercise of any operativepower on herself was possible to her--not to say required of her. Manymen and women are in the same condition who have grown cold and hard init; she was soft and warm, on the way to awake and distinguish and act. Even now when a good thought came she would give it a stranger'swelcome; but the first appeal to her senses would drive it out of doorsagain. 

Before their ramble was over, what with the sweet twilight gladness ofMark, the merry noonday brightness of Saffy, and the loveliness allaround, the heart of Hester was quiet and hopeful as a still mere thatwaits in the blue night the rising of the moon. She had some things totrouble her, but none of them had touched the quick of her being. Thoughtful, therefore in a measure troubled, by nature, she did not knowwhat heart-sickness was. Nor would she ever know it as many must, forher heart went up to the heart of her heart, and there unconsciouslylaid up store against the evil hours that might be on their way to her. And this day her thoughts kept rising to Him whose thought was themeaning of all she saw, the center and citadel of its loveliness. 

For if once the suspicion wake that God never meant the things that goto and fro in us as we gaze on the world, that moment is the universeworthless as a doll to a childless mother. If God be not, thensteam-engine and flower are in the same category. No; the steam-engineis the better thing, for it has the soul of a man in it, and the flowerhas no soul at all. It cannot mean if it is not meant. It is God thatmeans everything as we read it, however poor or mingled with mistake ourreading may be. And the soothing of his presence in what we call nature, was beginning to work on Hester, helping her toward that quietness ofspirit without which the will of God can scarce be perceived. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

DOWN THE HILL. 

When Franks, the acrobat, and his family left Mrs. Baldwin's garret togo to another yet poorer lodging, it was with heavy hearts: they creptsilent away, to go down yet a step of the world's stair. I have readsomewhere in Jean Paul of a curiously contrived stair, on which whileyou thought you were going down you were really ascending: I think itwas so with the Frankses and the stair they were upon. But to many theworld is but a treadmill, on which while they seem to be going up andup, they are only serving to keep things going round and round. 

I think God has more to do with the fortunes of the poor a thousand foldthan with those of the rich. In the fortunes of the poor there are manymore changes, and they are of greater import as coming closer to theheart of their condition. To careless and purblind eyes these fortunesappear on an almost dead level of toil and privation; but they have morevariations of weather, more chequers of sunshine and shade, more stormsand calms, than lives passed on airier slopes. Who could think of God asa God like Christ--and other than such he were not Godand imagine hewould not care as much for the family of John Franks as for the familyof Gerald Raymount? It is impossible to believe that he loves such asCornelius or Vavasor as he loves a Christopher. There must be adifference! The God of truth cannot love the unlovely in the same way ashe loves the lovely. The one he loves for what he is and what he hasbegun to be; the other he loves because he sorely needs love--as sorelyas the other, and must begin to grow lovely one day. Nor dare we forgetthat the celestial human thing is in itself lovely as made by God, andpitiably lovely as spoiled by man. That is the Christ-thing which is theroot of every man, created in his image--that which, when he enters themen, he possesses. The true earthly father must always love thosechildren more who are obedient and loving--but he will not neglect onebad one for twenty good ones. "The Father himself loveth you because yehave loved me;" but "There is more joy in heaven over one sinner thatrepenteth than over ninety and nine that need no repentance. " The greatjoy is the first rush of love in the new-opened channel for its issueand entrance. 

The Frankses were on the down-going side of the hill Difficulty, anddown they must go, unable to help themselves. They had found a cheaperlodging, but entered it with misgiving; their gains had been verymoderate since their arrival in London, and their expenses greater thanin the country. Also Franks was beginning to feel or to fancy hisstrength and elasticity not quite what they had been. The firstsuspicion of the approach of old age and the beginning of that weaknesswhose end is sure, may well be a startling one. The man has begun to bea nobody in the world's race--is henceforth himself but the course ofthe race between age and death--a race in which the victor is known erethe start. Life with its self-discipline withdraws itself thenceforthmore to the inside, and goes on with greater vigor. The man has now totrust and yield constantly. He is coming to know the fact that he wasnever his own strength, had never the smallest power in himself at hisstrongest. But he is learning also that he is as safe as ever in thetime when he gloried in his might--yea, as safe as then he imaginedhimself on his false foundation. He lays hold of the true strength, makes it his by laying hold of it. He trusts in the unchangeable thingat the root of all his strength, which gave it all the truth it had--atruth far deeper than he knew, a reality unfathomable, though not of thenature he then fancied. Strength has ever to be made perfect inweakness, and old age is one of the weaknesses in which it is perfected. 

Poor Franks had not got so far yet as to see this, and the feeling ofthe approach of old age helped to relax the springs of his hopefulness. Also his wife had not yet got over her last confinement. The baby, too, was sickly. And there was not much popular receptivity for acrobatics inthe streets; coppers came in slowly; the outlay was heavy; and theoutlook altogether was of the gray without the gold. But his wife'swords were always cheerful, though the tone of them had not a little ofthe mournful. Their tone came of temperament, the words themselves oflove and its courage. The daughter of a gamekeeper, the neighborsregarded her as throwing herself away when she married Franks; but shehad got an honest and brave husband, and never when life was hardestrepented giving herself to him. 

For a few weeks they did pretty well in their new lodging. They managedto pay their way, and had food enough--though not quite so good ashusband and wife wished each for the other, and both for their children. The boys had a good enough time of it. They had not yet in Londonexhausted their own wonder. The constant changes around made of theirlives a continuous novel--nay, a romance, and being happy they could eatanything and thrive on it. 

The lives of the father and mother over-vault the lives of the children, shutting out all care if not all sorrow, and every change is welcomed asa new delight. Their parents, where positive cruelty has not installedfear and cast out love, are the divinities of even the most neglected. They feel towards them much the same, I fancy, as the children ofordinary parents in the middle class--love them more than children givenover to nurses and governesses love theirs. Nor do I feel certain thatthe position of the children of the poor, in all its oppression, is notmore favorable to the development of the higher qualities of the humanmind, such as make the least show, than many of those more pleasantplaces for which some religious moralists would have us give the thanksof the specially favored. I suspect, for instance, that imagination, fancy, perception, insight into character, the faculty of fitting meansto ends, the sense of adventure, and many other powers and feelings aremore likely to be active in the children of the poor, to the greater joyof their existence, than in others. These Frankses, too, had a strictrule over them, and that increases much the capacity for enjoyment. Thefather, according to his lights, was, as we have seen, a careful andconscientious parent, and his boys were strongly attached to him, neverthought of shirking their work, and endured a good deal of hardness andfatigue without grumbling: their mother had opened their eyes to thefact that their father took his full share in all he required of them, and did his best for them. They were greatly proud of their father oneand all believing him not only the first man in his profession, but thebest man that ever was in the world; and to believe so of one's parentis a stronger aid to righteousness than all things else whatever, untilthe day-star of the knowledge of the great Father goes up in the heart, to know whom, in like but better fashion, as the best more than man andthe perfect Father of men, is the only thing to redeem us from miseryand wrong, and lift us into the glorious liberty of the sons anddaughters of God. 

They were now reduced to one room, and the boys slept on the floor. Thiswas no hardship, now that summer was nigh, only the parents found itinterfered a little with their freedom of speech. Nor did it mend thematter to send them early to bed, for the earlier they went the longerwere they in going to sleep. At the same time they had few things totalk of which they minded their hearing, and to the mother at least itwas a pleasure to have all her chickens in the nest with her. 

One evening after the boys were in bed, the father and mother sattalking. They had a pint of beer on the table between them, of which thewoman tasted now and then that the man might imagine himself sharing itwith her. Silence had lasted for some time. The mother was busyrough-patching a garment of Moxy's. The man's work for the day was over, but not the woman's!

"Well, I dunnow!" he said at last, and there ceased. 

"What don ye know, John?" asked his wife, in a tone she would have triedto make cheerful had she but suspected it half as mournful as it was. 

"There's that Mr. Christopher as was such a friend!" he said: "--youdon't disremember what he used to say about the Almighty and that? Youremember as how he used to say a man could no more get out o' the sighto' them eyes o' hisn than a child could get out o' sight o' the eyes onhis mother as was a watchin' of him!"

"Yes, John, I do remember all that very well, and a great comfort it wasto me at the time to hear him say so, an' has been many's the timesince, when I had no other--leastways none but you an' the children. Ioften think over what he said to you an' me then when I was down, an'not able to hold my head up, nor feelin' as if I should ever lift it nomore!"

"Well, I dunnow!" said Franks, and paused again. 

But this time he resumed, "What troubles me is this:--if that theremother as was a lookin' arter her child, was to see him doin' no better'n you an' me, an' day by day gettin' furder on the wrong way, I shouldsay she wan't much of a mother to let us go on in that 'ere way as Ispeak on. "

"She might ha' got her reasons for it, John, " returned his wife, in somefear lest the hope she cherished was going to give way in her husband. "P'r'aps she might see, you know, that the child might go a littlefarther and fare none the worse. When the children want their dinnervery bad, I ha' heerd you say to them sometimes, 'Now kids, ha'patience. Patience is a fine thing. What if ye do be hungry, you ain't adyin' o' hunger. You'll wear a bit longer yet!' Ain't I heerd you saythat John--more'n once, or twice, or thrice?"

"There ain't no need to put me to my oath like that, old woman! I ain'ta goin' for to deny it! You needn't go to put it to me as if I was thepris'ner at the bar, or a witness as wanted to speak up for him!--Butyou must allow this is a drivin' of it jest a _leetle_ too far!Here we be come up to Lon'on a thinkin' to better ourselves--not wantin'no great things--sich we don't look for to get--but jest thinkin' as howit wur time'--as th' parson is allus a tellin' his prishioners, to layby a shillin' or two to keep us out o' th' workus, when 't come on torain, an' let us die i' the open like, where a poor body canbreathe!--that's all as we was after! an' here, sin' ever we come, fustone shillin' goes, an' then another shillin' goes as we brought with us, till we 'ain't got one, as I may almost say, left! An' there ain't noluck! I'stead o' gitting more we git less, an' that wi' harder work, asis a wearin' out me an' the b'ys; an'--"

Here he was interrupted by a cry from the bed. It was the voice oflittle Moxy, the Sarpint o' the Prairies. 

"I ain't wore out, father! I'm good for another go. "

"I ain't neither, gov'nor. I got a lot more work in me!"

"No, nor me, " cried the third. "I likes London. I can stand on my headtwice as long as Tommy Blake, an he's a year older 'n I am. "

"Hold your tongues, you rascals, an' go to sleep, " growled the father, pretending to be angry with them. "What right have you to be awake atthis time o' the night--an' i' Lon'on too? It's not like the country, asyou very well know. I' the country you can do much as you like, but notin the town! There's police, an' them's there for boys to mind whatthey're about. You've no call to be awake when your father an' motherwant to be by theirselves--a listenin' to what they've got to say to oneanother! Us two was man an' wife afore you was born!"

"We wasn't a listenin', father. We was only hearin' 'cause we wasn'tasleep. An' you didn't speak down as if it was secrets!"

"Well, you know, b'ys, there's things as fathers and mothers canunderstand an' talk about, as no b'y's fit to see to the end on, an' sothey better go to sleep, an' wait till their turn comes to be fathersan' mothers theirselves. --Go to sleep direc'ly, or I'll break every bonein your bodies!"

"Yes, father, yes!" they answered together, nowise terrified by theawful threat--which was not a little weakened by the fact that they hadheard it every day of their lives, and not yet known it carried intoexecution. 

But having been thus advised that his children were awake, the father, without the least hypocrisy, conscious or unconscious, changed his tone:in the presence of his children he preferred looking at the other sideof the argument. After a few moments' silence he began again thus:--

"Yes, as you was sayin', wife, an' I knows as you're always in theright, if the right be anyhows to be got at--as you was sayin', I say, there's no sayin' when that same as we was a speakin' of--the Almightyis the man I mean--no sayin', I say, when he may come to see as we have, as I may say, had enough on it, an' turn an' let us have a taste o' luckagain! Luck's sweet; an' some likes, an' it may be as he likes to givehis childer a taste o' sweets now an' again, just as you and me, that iswhen we can afford it, an' that's not often, likes to give ourn abull's-eye or a suck of toffy. I don't doubt _he_ likes to see usenj'yin' of ourselves just as well as we like to see our little unsenj'yin' o' _theirselves!_--It stands to reason, wife--don't it?"

"So it do seem to me, John!" answered the mother. 

"Well, " said Franks, apparently, now that he had taken up the defence ofthe ways of the Supreme with men, warming to his subject, "I dessay hedo the best he can, an' give us as much luck as is good for us. Leastways that's how the rest of us do, wife! We can't allus do as wellas we would like for to do for our little uns, but we _always_, ingeneral, does the best we can. It may take time--it may take time evenwith all the infl'ence _he_ has, to get the better o' things asstands in _his_ way! We'll suppose yet a while, anyhow, as how he'sa lookin' arter us. It can't be for nothink as he counts the hairs onour heads--as the sayin' is!--though for my part I never could see whatgood there was in it. But if it ain't for somethink, why it's no moregood than the census, which is a countin' o' the heads theirselves. "

There are, or there used to be when I was a boy, who, in their reverencefor the name of the Most High, would have shown horror at the idea thathe could not do anything or everything in a moment as it pleased him, but would not have been shocked at all at the idea that he might notplease to give this or that man any help. In their eyes power was agrander thing than love, though it is nowhere said in the Book that Godis omnipotence. Such, because they are told that he is omnipotent, callhim Omnipotence; when told that he is Love, do not care to argue that hemust then be loving? But as to doing what he wills with a word--see whatit cost him to redeem the world! He did not find that easy, or to bedone in a moment without pain or toil. Yea, awfully omnipotent is God. For he wills, effects and perfects the thing which, because of the badin us, he has to carry out in suffering and sorrow, his own and hisSon's Evil is a hard thing for God himself to overcome. Yet thoroughlyand altogether and triumphantly will he overcome it; and that not bycrushing it underfoot--any god of man's idea could do that!--but byconquest of heart over heart, of life in life, of life over death. Nothing shall be too hard for the God that fears not pain, but willdeliver and make true and blessed at his own severest cost. 

For a time, then, the Frankses went on, with food to eat and money topay their way, but going slowly down the hill, and finding it harder andharder to keep their footing. By and by the baby grew worse, piningvisibly. They sought help at the hospital, but saw no Mr. Christopher, and the baby did not improve. Still they kept on, and every day thehusband brought home a little money. Several times they seemed on thepoint of an engagement, but as often something came between, until atlength Franks almost ceased to hope, and grew more and more silent, until at last he might well have appeared morose. The wonder to me isthat any such as do not hope in a Power loving to perfection, shouldescape moroseness. Under the poisonous influences of anxiety, a lovingman may become unkind, even cruel to the very persons for whose sake heis anxious. In good sooth what we too often count righteous care, butour Lord calls the care of the world, consumes the life of the heart assurely as the love of money. At the root they are the same. Yet evilthing as anxiety is, it were a more evil thing to be delivered from itby anything but the faith of the Son of God--that is faith in his Fatherand our Father; it would be but another and worse, because morecomfortable form of the same slavery. 

Poor Franks, however, with but a little philosophy, had much affection, which is indeed the present God in a man--and so did not go far in theevil direction. The worse sign of his degenerating temper was the morefrequently muttered oath of impatience with his boys--never with hiswife; and not one of them was a moment uneasy in consequence--only whenthe _gov'nor_ wasn't jolly, neither were they. 

The mind of Franks, so it appears to me, was mainly a slow sullen streamof subthought, a something neither thought nor feeling but partaking ofthe character of both, a something more than either, namely, thesubstance of which both are formed--the undeveloped elemental life, risen a little way, and but a little way, towards consciousness. Theswifter flow of this stream is passion, the gleams of it where itripples into the light, are thoughts. This sort of nature can enduremuch without being unhappy. What would crush a swift-thinking man isupborne by the denser tide. Its conditions are gloomier, and it consortsmore easily with gloom. But light and motion and a grand future arewaiting for such as he. All their sluggish half-slumberous being will beroused and wrought into conscious life--nor the unconscious whence itarises be therein exhausted, for that will be ever supplied and upheldby the indwelling Deity. In his own way Franks was in conflict with theproblems of life; neither was he very able to encounter them; but on theother hand he was one to whom wonders might safely be shown, for hewould use them not speculatively but practically. "Nothing almost seesmiracles but misery, " perhaps because to misery alone, save it be to thegreat unselfish joy, is it safe to show miracles. Those who must see erethey will believe, may have to be brought to the verge of the infinitegrave that a condition fit for seeing may be effected in them. "Blessedare they who have not seen and yet have believed. "

CHAPTER XXIV. 

OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN. 

There is another person in my narrative whom the tide of her destinyseemed now to have caught and to be bearing more swiftly somewhither. Unable, as she concluded, any longer to endure a life bounded by theespionage, distrust, and ill-tempered rebuke of the two wretched dragonswhose misery was their best friend--saving them from foreboded want bykilling them while yet they had something to live upon--Amy Amber did atlast as she had threatened, and one morning when, in amazement that shewas so late, they called her, they received no answer, neither couldfind her in or out of the house. She had applied to a friend in London, and following her advice, had taken the cheap train overnight, and goneto her. She met her, took her home; and helped her in seeking asituation--with the result that, before many days were over, herappearance and manners being altogether in her favor, she obtained herdesire--a place behind a counter in one of the largest shops. There shewas kept hard at work, and the hours of business were long; but thelabor was by no means too much for the fine health and spirits which nowblossomed in her threefold. 

Her aunts raised an outcry of horror and dismay first, then ofreprobation, accusing her of many things, and among the rest of thosefaults of which they were in reality themselves guilty toward her; foras to the gratitude and affection we are so ready to claim and so slowto pay, the debt was great on their part, and very small indeed on hers. They wrote to her guardians of course to acquaint them with the shockingfact of her flight, but dwelt far more upon the badness of her behaviorto them from the first, the rapidity with which she had deteriorated, and the ghastliness of their convictions as to the depth of thedegradation she had preferred to the shelter of their--verymoth-eaten--wings. 

The younger of the two guardians was a man of business, and at once tookproper measures for discovering her. It was not, however, before thelapse of several months that he succeeded. By that time her employerswere so well satisfied with her, that after an interview with them, followed by one with the girl herself, he was convinced that she wasmuch better where she was than with her aunts, whose dispositions werenot unknown to him. So he left her in peace. 

Knowing nothing of London, interested in all she saw, and much occupiedwith her new way of life, Amy did not at once go to find her friend MissRaymount. She often recalled her kindness, often dreamed of thebeautiful lady who had let her brush her hair, and always intended toseek her as soon as she could feel at leisure. But the time wore away, and still she had not gone. 

She continued a well behaved girl, went regularly to church on Sundays, had many friends but few intimates, and lived with the girl who had beenher friend before her mother's death. Her new way of life was, no doubt, from its lack of home-ties, and of the restraining if not alwayselevating influences of older people, dangerous: no kite can soarwithout the pull of the string; but danger is less often ruin than somepeople think; and the propt house is not the safest in the row. He whocan walk without falling, will learn to walk the better that his road isnot always of the smoothest; and, as Sir Philip Sidney says, "Thejourney of high honor lies not in plain ways. "

Such were the respective conditions of Amy Amber and the Frankses, whenthe Raymounts left London. The shades were gathering around the family;the girl had passed from the shadow into the shine. Hester knew nothingof the state of either, nor had they ever belonged to her flock. It wasnot at all for them she was troubled in the midst of the peace and restof her new life when she felt like a shepherd compelled to leave hissheep in the wilderness. Amid the sweet delights of sunshine, room, air, grass, trees, flowers, music, and the precious stores of an old library, every now and then she would all at once imagine herself a herald thathad turned aside into the garden of the enchantress. Were not her poorfriends the more sorely tried that she was dwelling at ease? Could it beright? Yet for the present she could see no way of reaching them. Allshe could do for them was to cultivate her gifts, in the hope of one dayreturning to them the more valuable for the separation. 

One good thing that came of the change was that she and her father weredrawn in the quiet of this country life closer together. When Mr. Raymount's hours of writing were over, he missed the more busy life intowhich he had been able to turn at will, and needed a companion. His wifenot being able to go with him, he naturally turned to his daughter, andthey took their walks abroad together. In these Hester learned much. Herfather was not chiefly occupied with the best things, but he was both ofa learning and a teaching nature. There are few that in any true sensecan be said to be alive: of Mr. Raymount it might be said that he wascoming alive; and it was no small consolation to Hester to get thusnearer to him. Like the rest of his children she had been a littleafraid of him, and fear, though it may dig deeper the foundations oflove, chokes its passages; she was astonished to find before a month wasover, how much of companions as well as friends they had become to eachother. 

Most fathers know little of their sons and less of their daughters. Because familiar with every feature of their faces, every movement oftheir bodies, and the character of their every habitual pose, they takeit for granted they know them! Doubtless knowledge of the person doesthrough the body pass into the beholder, but there are few parents whomight not make discoveries in their children which would surprise them. Some such discoveries Mr. Raymount began to make in Hester. 

She kept up a steady correspondence with Miss Dasomma, and that also wasa great help to her. She had a note now and then from Mr. Vavasor, andthat was no help. A little present of music was generally its pretext. He dared not trust himself to write to her about anything else--not fromthe fear of saying more than was prudent, but because, not even yetfeeling to know what she would think about this or that, he was afraidof encountering her disapprobation. In music he thought he didunderstand her, but was in truth far from understanding her. For tounderstand a person in any one thing, we must at least be capable ofunderstanding him in everything. Even the bits of news he ventured tosend her, all concerned the musical world--except when he referred nowand then to Cornelius he never omitted to mention his having been to hisaunt's. Hester was always glad when she saw his writing, and alwaysdisappointed with the letter--she could hardly have said why, for shenever expected it to go beyond the surfaces of things: he was not yetsufficiently at home with her, she thought, to lay open the stores ofhis heart and mind--as he would doubtless have been able to do morereadily had he had a sister to draw him out!

Vavasor found himself in her absence haunted with her face, her form, her voice, her song, her music, --sometimes with the peace and power ofher presence, and the uplifting influence she exercised upon him, It ispossible for a man to fall in love with a woman he is centuries frombeing able to understand. But how the form of such a woman must bedwarfed in the camera of such a man's mind! It is the falsehood of thesilliest poetry to say he defies the image of his beloved. He is but atelescope turned wrong end upon her. If such a man could see such awoman after her true proportions, and not as the puppet he imagines her, thinking his own small great-things of her, he would not be able to loveher at all. To see how he sees her--to get a glimpse of the shrunkencreature he has to make of her ere, through his proud door, he can gether into the straightened cellar of his poor, pinched heart, would beenough to secure any such woman from the possibility of falling in lovewith such a man. Hester knew that in some directions he was muchundeveloped; but she thought she could help him; and had he thoroughlybelieved in and loved her, which he was not capable of doing, she couldhave helped him. But a vision of the kind of creature he was capable ofloving--therefore the kind of creature he imagined her in loving her, would have been--to use a low but expressive phrase--_a sickener toher_. 

At length, in one of his brief communications, he mentioned that hisyearly resurrection was at hand--his butterfly-month he called it--whenhe ceased for the time to be a caterpillar, and became a creature of theupper world, reveling in the light and air of summer. He must gonorthward, he said; he wanted not a little bracing for the heats of theautumnal city. The memories of Burcliff drew him potently thither, butwould be too sadly met by its realities. He had an invitation to theopposite coast which he thought he would accept. He did not know exactlywhere Paradise lay, but if he found it within accessible distance, hehoped her parents would allow him to call some morning and be happy foran hour or two. 

Hester answered that her father and mother would be glad to see him, andif he were inclined to spend a day or two, there was a beautiful countryto show him. If his holiday happened again to coincide with Corney's, perhaps they would come down together. If he cared for sketching, therewas no end of picturesque spots as well as fine landscapes. 

Of music or singing she said not a word. 

By return of post came a grateful acceptance. About a week after, theyheard from Cornelius that his holiday was not to make its appearancebefore vile November. He did not inform them that he sought an exchangewith a clerk whose holiday fell in the said undesirable month. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

WAS IT INTO THE FIRE?

One lovely evening in the beginning of June, when her turn had come toget away a little earlier, Amy Amber thought with herself she would atlast make an effort to find Miss Raymount. In the hurry of escaping fromBurcliff she left her address behind, but had long since learned it froma directory, and was now sufficiently acquainted with London to know howto reach Addison square. Having dressed herself therefore in becomingstyle, for dress was one of the instincts of the girl--an unacquirablegift, not necessarily associated with anything noble--in the daintiest, brightest little bonnet, a well-made, rather gay print, boots just alittle too _auffallend_, and gloves that clung closer to the smallshort hand than they had to cling to the bodies of the rodents fromwhich they came, she set out for her visit. 

In every motion and feeling, Amy Amber was a little lady. She had notmuch experience. She could not fail to show ignorance of some of thesmall ways and customs of the next higher of the social strata. But suchknowledge is not essential to ladyhood, though half-ladies thinkthemselves whole ladies because they have it. To become ladies indeedthey have to learn what those things and the knowledge of them arereally worth. And there was another thing in which Amy was unlike manywho would on the ground of mere social position have counted themselvesimmeasurably her superiors: she was incapable of being disagreeable, andfrom the thing in itself ill-bred recoiled instinctively. Withoutknowing it, she held the main secret of all good manners: she wassimple. Many a one imitates simplicity, but Amy was simple--_one-fold_. She never put anything on, never wished to appear anything, never triedto look pleasant. When cross, which she was sometimes, though very rarely, she tried to _be_ pleasant. If I could convey the idea of her, withher peaceful temperament and her sunshiny summer-atmosphere, most of myreaders would allow she must have been an engaging and lovable little lady. 

She got into an omnibus, and all the way distinguished herself byreadiness to make room. Can it be that the rarity of this virtue inEngland has to do with our living in a straitened island? It_ought_ to work in the contrary direction! The British lady, theBritish gentleman too, seems to cultivate a natural repellence. Amy'shospitable nature welcomed a fellow-creature even into an omnibus. 

She found Addison square, and the house she sought. It looked dingy anddull, for many of its shutters were closed, and there was anindescribable air of departure about it. She knocked nevertheless, andthe door was opened. She asked if Miss Raymount was at home. 

Now Sarah, with most of the good qualities of an old trustworthyfamily-servant, had all the faults as well, and one or two besides. Shehad not been to Burcliff, consequently did not know Amy, else certainlyshe would not have behaved to her as she ought. Many householders havenot an idea how abominably the servants they count patterns ofexcellence comport themselves to those even to whom special attention isowing. 

"They are all out of town, miss, " replied Sarah, "--except Mr. Cornelius, of course. "

At that moment Mr. Cornelius, on his way to go out, stepped on thelanding of the stair, and stood for an instant looking down into thehall, wondering who it might be at the door. From his position he couldnot see Amy's face, and had he seen it, I doubt if he would haverecognized her, but the moment he heard her voice he knew it, andhurried down his face in a glow of pleasure. But as he drew near, thechange in her seemed to him so great that he could hardly believe withhis eyes what his ears had told him. 

From the first, Corney, like every one else of the family, was takenwith Amy, and Amy was not less than a little taken with him. The formerfact is not wonderful, the latter not altogether inexplicable. No manneeds flatter his _vanity_ much on the ground of being liked bywomen, for there never yet was man but some woman was pleased with him. Corney was good-looking, and, except with his own people, ready enoughto make himself agreeable. Troubled with no modesty and very littlefalse shame, and having a perfect persuasion of the power of hisintellect and the felicity of his utterance, he never lost the chance ofsaying a good thing from the fear of saying a foolish one; neitherhaving said a foolish one, did he ever perceive that such it was. With afew of his own kind he had the repute of one who said very good things. Amy, on her side, was ready to be pleased with whatever could beregarded as pleasant--most of all with things intended to please, andwas prejudiced in Corney's favor through knowing less of him and more ofhis family. Her face beamed with pleasure at sight of him, and almostinvoluntarily she stepped within the door to meet him. 

"Amy! Who would have thought of seeing you here? When did you come totown?" he said, and shook hands with her. 

"I have been in London a long time, " she answered. Corney thought shelooked as if she had. 

"How deuced pretty she is!" he said to himself. Quite lady-like, byJove. "

"Come up-stairs, " he said, "and tell me all about it. "

He turned and led the way. Without a second thought, Amy followed him. Sarah stood for a moment with a stare, wondering who the lady could be:Mr. Cornelius was so much at home with her! and she had never been tothe house before! "A cousin from Australia, " she concluded: they hadcousins there. 

Cornelius went into the drawing-room, Amy after him, and opened theshutters of a window, congratulating himself on his good luck. Not oftendid anything so pleasant enter the stupid old place! He made her sit onthe sofa in the half-dark, sat down beside her, and in a few minutes hadall her story. Moved by her sweet bright face and pretty manners, pleased with the deference, amounting to respect, which she showed him, he began to think her the nicest girl he had ever known. For herbehavior made him feel a large person with power over her, in whichpower she seemed pleased to find herself. After a conversation of abouthalf an hour, she rose. 

"What!" said Corney, "you're not going already, Amy?"

"Yes, sir, " replied Amy, "I think I had better go. I am so sorry not tosee Miss Raymount! She was very kind to me!"

"You mustn't go yet, " said Corney. "Sit down and rest a little. Come--you used to like music: I will sing to you, and you shall tell mewhether I have improved since you heard me last. "

He went to the piano, and Amy sat down again. He sang with his usualinferiority--which was not so inferior that he failed of pleasing simpleAmy. She expressed herself delighted. He sang half a dozen songs, thenshowed her a book of photographs, chiefly portraits of the more famousactresses of the day, and told her about them. With one thing andanother he kept her--until Sarah grew fidgety, and was on the point ofstalking up from the kitchen to the drawing-room, when she heard themcoming down. Cornelius took his hat and stick, and said he would walkwith her. Amy made no objection; she was pleased to have his company; hewent with her all the way to the lodging she shared with her friend in aquiet little street in Kensington. Before they parted, her manner andbehavior, her sweetness, and the prettiness which would have been beautyhad it been on a larger scale, had begun to fill what little there wasof Corney's imagination; and he left her with a feeling that he knewwhere a treasure lay. He walked with an enlargement of strut as he wenthome through the park, and swung his cane with the air of a man who hadmade a conquest of which he had reason to be proud. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

WAITING A PURPOSE. 

The hot dreamy days rose and sank in Yrndale. Hester would wake in themorning oppressed with the feeling that there was something she ought tohave begun long ago, and must positively set about this new day. Then asher inner day cleared, she would afresh recognize her duty as that ofthose who stand and wait. She had no great work to do--only the commonfamily duties of the day, and her own education for what might be thewill of Him who, having made her for something, would see that thepossibility of that something should not be wanting. In the heat of theday she would seek a shady spot with a book for her companion--generallysome favorite book, for she was not one of those who say of one book asof another--"Oh, I've read that!" It was some time before she came tolike any particular spot: so many drew her, and the spirit ofexploration in that which was her own was strong in her. Under theshadow of some rock, the tent-roof of some umbrageous beech, or thesolemn gloom of some pine-grove, the brooding spirit of the summer wouldday after day find her when the sun was on the height of his greatbridge, and fill her with the sense of that repose in which alone sheherself can work. Then would such a quiescence pervade Hester's spirit, such a sweet spiritual sleep creep over her, that nothing seemedrequired of her but to live; mere existence was conscious well-being. But the feeling never lasted long. All at once would start awake in herthe dread that she was forsaking the way, inasmuch as she was morewilling to be idle, and rest in inaction. Then would faith rouse herselfand say: "But God will take care of you in this thing too. You have notto watch lest He should forget, but to be ready when He gives you thelightest call. You have to keep listening. " And the ever returningcorrective to such mood came with the evening; for, regularly as shewent to bed at night and left it in the morning, she went from thetea-table in the afternoon to her piano, and there, through all thesweet evening movements and atmospheric changes of the brain--for thebrain has its morning and evening, its summer and winter as well as theday and the year--would meditate aloud, or brood aloud over the musicalmeditations of some master in harmony. And oftener than she knew, especially in the twilight, when the days had grown shorter, and hismother feared for him the falling dew, would Mark be somewhere in thedusk listening to her, a lurking cherub, feeding on her music--sometimesascending on its upward torrent to a solitude where only God could findhim. 

At such time the thought of Vavasor would come, and for a while remain;but it was chiefly as one who would be a welcome helper in her work. When for the time she had had enough of music, softly as she would havecovered a child, she would close her piano, then glide like a bat intothe night, and wander hither and thither through the gloom withoutconscious choice. Then most would she think what it would be to have aman for a friend, one who would strengthen her heart and make her boldto do what was needful and right; and if then the thoughts of the maidenwould fall to the natural architecture of maidens, and build one or twoof the airy castles into which no man has looked or can look, and ifthrough them went flitting the form of Vavasor, who will wonder! It isnot the building of castles in the steepest heights of air that is to beblamed, but the building of such as inspector conscience is not invitedto enter. To cherish the ideal of a man with whom to walk on her waythrough the world, is as right for a woman as it was for God to makethem male and female; and to the wise virgin it will ever be a solemnthought, lovelily dwelt upon, and never mockingly, when most playfullyhandled. For there is a play even with most serious things that has init no offense. Humor has its share even in religion--but oh, how fewseem to understand its laws! I confess to a kind of foreboding shudderwhen even a clergyman begins to jest upon the borders of sacred things. It is not humor that is irreverent, but the mind that gives it the wrongturn. As we may be angry and not sin, so may we jest and not sin. Butthere is a poor ambition to be married, which is, I fear, the thoughtmost present with too many young women. They feel as if their worthremained unacknowledged, as if there were for them no place they couldcall their own in society, until they find a man to take them under hiswing. She degrades womanhood who thinks thus of herself. It says ill forthe relation of father and mother if the young women of a family recoilfrom the thought of being married, but it says ill for the relation ofparents and children if they are longing to be married. 

One evening towards the end of July, when the summer is at its heat, andmakes the world feel as if there never had been, and never ought to beanything but summer; and when the wind of its nights comes to us fromthe land where the sun is not, to tell human souls that, dear as is thesunlight to their eyes, there are sweeter things far with which the sunhas little to do--Hester was sitting under a fir-tree on the gatheredleaves of numberless years, pine-odors filling the air around her, as ifthey, too, stole out with the things of the night when the sun was gone. It happened that a man came late in the day to tune her piano, and shehad left him at his work, and wandered up the hill in the last of thesunlight. All at once the wind awoke, and began to sing the strange, thin, monotonous Elysian ghost-song of the pine-wood--for she sat in alittle grove of pines, and they were all around her. The sweetmelancholy of the hour moved her spirit. So close was her heart to thatof nature that, when alone with it, she seldom or never longed for herpiano; she _had_ the music, and did not need to hear it. When weare very near to God, we do not desire the Bible. When we feel far fromhim, we may well make haste to it. Most people, I fear, wait till theyare inclined to seek him. They do not stir themselves up to lay hold onGod; they breathe the dark airs of the tomb till the morning break, instead of rising at once and setting out on their journey to meet it. 

As she sat in music-haunted reverie, she heard a slight rustle on thedry carpet around her feet, and the next moment saw dark in the gloomthe form of a man. She was startled, but he spoke instantly; it wasVavasor. She was still, and could not answer for a moment. 

"I am so sorry I frightened you!" he said. 

"It is nothing, " she returned. "Why can't one help being silly? I don'tsee why ladies should ever be frightened more than gentlemen. "

"Men are quite as easily startled as ladies, " he answered, "thoughperhaps they come to themselves a little quicker. Nothing is morestartling than to find some one near when you thought you were alone. "

"Except, " said Hester, "finding yourself alone when you thought some onewas near. But how did you find me?"

"They told me at the house you were somewhere in this direction. Markhad followed you apparently some distance. So I ventured to come andlook for you, and--something led me right. But all the time I seem goingto lose myself instead of finding you. "

"It might be both, " returned Hester; "for I don't at all know my waywith certainty, especially in the dusk. We are on the shady side of thehill, you see. "

"I cannot have lost myself if I have found you, " rejoined Vavasor, butdid not venture to carry the speech farther. 

"It is time we were moving, " said Hester, "seeing we are both souncertain of the way. Who knows when we may reach the house!"

"Do let us risk it a few minutes longer, " said Vavasor. "This isdelicious. Just think a moment: this my first burst from thedungeon-land of London for a whole year! This is paradise! I could fancyI was dreaming of fairyland! But it is such an age since you leftLondon, that I fear you must be getting used to it, and will scarcelyunderstand my delight!"

"It is only the false fairyland of mechanical inventors, " repliedHester, "that children ever get tired of. And yet I don't know, " sheadded, correcting herself; "it is true the things that delight Saffy area contempt to Mark; but I am sorry to say the things Mark delights in, Saffy says are so dull; there is hardly a giant in them!"

As they talked Vavasor had seated himself on the fir-spoil beside her. She asked him about his journey and about Cornelius; then told him howshe came to be there instead of at her piano, "The tuner must have finished by this time!" she said; "let us go andtry his work!"

So saying she rose, and was on her feet before Vavasor. The way seemedto reveal itself to her as they went, and they were soon at home. 

The next fortnight Vavasor spent at Yrndale. In those days Nature hadthe best chance with him she had yet had since first he came into herdominions. For a man is a man, however he may have been "dragged up, "and however much injured he may be by the dragging. Society may havesought to substitute herself for both God and Nature, and may have had ahorrible amount of success: the rout of Comus see no beast-faces amongthem. Yet, I repeat, man is potentially a man, however far he may befrom actual manhood. What one man has, every man has, however hidden andunrecognizable. Who knows what may not sometimes be awakened in him! Themost heartless scoffer may be suddenly surprised by emotion in a way tohim unaccountable; of all its approaches and all the preparation for ithe has been profoundly unaware. During that fortnight, Vavasor developednot merely elements of which he had had no previous consciousness, butelements in whose existence he could not be said to have reallybelieved. He believed in them the less in fact that he had affectedtheir existence in himself, and thought he possessed what there was ofthem to be possessed. The most remarkable event at once of his inner andouter history, and the only one that must have seemed almost incredibleto those who knew him best, was, that one morning he got up in time tosee, and for the purpose of seeing, the sun rise. I hardly expect to bebelieved when I tell the fact! I am not so much surprised that he formedthe resolution the night before. Something Hester said is enough toaccount for that. But that a man like him should already have got on sofar as, in the sleepiness of the morning, to keep the resolve he hadcome to in the wakefulness of the preceding night, fills me withastonishment. It was a great stride forward. Nor was this all: he reallyenjoyed it! I do not merely mean that, as a victorious man, he enjoyedthe conquest of himself when the struggle was over, attributing to itmore heroism than it could rightly claim; nor yet that, as any younghuman animal may, he enjoyed the clear invigorating clean air thatfilled his lungs like a new gift of life and strength. He had poetryenough to feel something of the indwelling greatness that belonged tothe vision itself--for a vision and a prophecy it is, as much as whenfirst it rose on the wondering gaze of human spirit, to every soul thatthrough its eyes can see what those eyes cannot see. He felt a power ofsome kind present to his soul in the sight--though he but set it down topoetic feeling, which he never imagined to have anything to do withfact. It was in the so-called Christian the mere rudiment of thatworship of the truth which in the old Guebers was developed intoadoration of it in its symbol. It was the drawing of the eternal Naturein him towards the naturing Eternal, whom he was made to understand, butof whom he knew so little. 

When the evening came, after almost a surfeit of music, if one dare, un-self-accused, employ such a word concerning a holy thing, they wentout to wander a little about the house in the twilight. 

"In such a still soft negative of life, " he said, "as such an eveninggives us, really one could almost doubt whether there was indeed such aconstantly recurring phenomenon in nature as I saw this morning!"

"What did you see this morning?" asked Hester, wondering. 

"I saw the sun rise, " he answered. 

"Did you really? I'm so glad! That is a sight rarely seen in London--atleast if I may judge by my own experience. "

"One goes to bed so late and so tired!" he replied simply. 

"True! and even if one be up in time, where could you see it from?"

"I _have_ seen it rise coming home from a dance; but then somehowyou don't seem to have anything to do with it. I have, however, oftensmelt the hay in the streets in the morning. "

Hester was checked by this mention of the hay--as if the sun wassomething that belonged to the country, like the grass he withered; butere she had time to explain to herself what she felt, the next thing hesaid got her over it. 

"I assure you I felt as if I had never seen the sun before. His way ofgetting up was a new thing to me altogether. He seemed to meanshining--and somehow I felt that he did. In London he always looksindifferent--just as if he had got it to do, and couldn't help it, likeeverybody else in the horrible place. Who is it that says--'God made thecountry, and man made the town'?"

"I think it was Cowper, but I'm not sure, " answered Hester. "It can't bequite true though. I suspect man has more to do with the unmaking thanthe making of either. We have reason to be glad he has not come nearenough to us yet to destroy either our river or our atmosphere. "

"He is creeping on, though. The quarries are not very far from you evennow. "

"The quarries do little or no harm. There are a great many things manmay do that only make nature show her beauty the more. I have beenthinking a good deal about it lately: it is the rubbish that makes allthe difficulty--the refuse of the mills and the pits and the iron-worksand the potteries that does all the mischief. "

"So it is! and worst of all the human rubbish--especially that whichgathers in our great cities, and gives so much labor in vain toclergyman and philanthropist!"

Hester smiled--not that she was pleased with the way Vavasor spoke, forshe could not but believe he would in his _rubbish_ include many ofher dear people, but that she was amused at his sympathetic tone towardsthe clergy as generally concerned in the matter. For she had had alittle experience, and had listened to much testimony from such as knew, and firmly believed that the clergy were very near the root of the evil;and that not with the hoe and weeder, but with the watering pot andartificial manure, helping largely to convert the poor--into beggars, and the lawless into hypocrites, heaping cairn upon cairn on the graveof their poor prostrate buried souls. But thank God, it is by the few, but fast increasing exceptions, that she knew what the rest were doing!

But perhaps he meant only the wicked when he used the word. 

"What do you mean by the human rubbish, Mr. Vavasor?" she asked. 

He saw he must be careful, and would fence a little. 

"Don't you think, " he said slowly, and measuring his words, "that in thebody politic there is something analogous to the waste in matter?"

"Certainly, " she answered, "only we might differ as to the persons whowere to be classed in it. I think we should be careful of our judgmentas to when that state has been reached. I fancy that is just the onething the human faculty is least able to cope with. None but God canread in a man what he really is. It can't be a safe thing to call humanbeings, our own kith and kin, born into the same world with us, andunder the same laws of existence, _rubbish_. "

"I see what you mean, " said Vavasor to Hester. But to himself said, "Good heavens!"

"You see, " Hester went on--they were walking in the dark dusk, shebefore him in a narrow path among the trees, whence she was able both tothink and speak more freely than if they had been looking in eachother's face in the broad daylight--"you see, rubbish with life in it isan awkward thing to deal with. Rubbish proper is that out of which thelife, so far at least as we can see, is gone; and this loss of life hasrendered it useless, so that it cannot even help the growth of life inother things. But suppose, on the one hand, this rubbish, say that whichlies about the mouth of a coal-pit, could be by some process made toproduce the most lovely flowers, or that, on the other hand, ifneglected, it would bring out the most horrible weeds of poison;infecting the air, or say horrible creeping things, then the word_rubbish_ would mean either too much or too little; for it meanswhat can be put to no use, and what is noxious by its mere presence, itsugliness and immediate defilement. You see, Mr. Vavasor, I have beenthinking a great deal about all this kind of thing. It is my business ina way. "

"But would you not allow that the time comes when nothing can be donewith them?"

"I will not allow it of any I have to do with, at least before I can saywith confidence I have done all I can. After that another may be able todo more. And who shall say when God can do no more--God who takes nocare of himself, and is laboriously working to get his children home. "

"I confess, " said Vavasor, "the condition of our poor in our large townsis the great question of the day. "

"--which every one is waking up to _talk_ about, " said Hester, andsaid no more. 

For, as one who tried to do something, she did not like to go on and saythat if all who found the question interesting, would instead of talkingabout it do what they could, not to its solution but to its removal, they would at least make their mark on the _rubbish_-heap, of whichnot all the wind of words would in ten thousand years blow away aspadeful. And yet is talk a less evil than the mischief of mereexperimenters. It is well there is the talk to keep many from doingpositive harm. It is not those who, regarding the horrors around them asa nuisance, are bent upon their destruction, who will work any salvationin the earth, but those who see the wrongs of the poor, and strive togive them their own. Not those who desire a good report among men, northose who seek an antidote against the tedium of a selfish existence, but those who, loving their own flesh and blood, and willing not merelyto spend but to be spent for them, draw nigh them, being to being, willcause the light to rise upon such as now sit in darkness and the shadowof death. Love, and love alone, as from the first it is the source ofall life, love alone, wise at once and foolish as a child, can workredemption. It is life drawing nigh to life, person to person, the humanto human, that conquers death. This--therefore urges people to combine, seeking the strength of men, not the strength of God. The result is ashe would have it--inevitable quarreling. The unfit brought in forstrength are weakness and destruction. They want their own poor way, anddestroy the work of their hands by the sound of their tongues. Combinations should be for passing necessities, and only between thosewho can each do good work alone, and will do it with or withoutcombination. Whoever depends on combinations is a weakness to anyassociation, society or church to which he may imagine himself tobelong. The more easily any such can be dissolved the better. It isalways by single individual communication that the truth has passed inpower from soul to soul. Love alone, and the obligation thereto betweenthe members of Christ's body, is the one eternal unbreakable bond. It isonly where love is not that law must go. Law is indeed necessary, butwoe to the community where love does not cast out--where at least loveis not casting out law. Not all the laws in the universe can save a manfrom poverty, not to say from sin, not to say from conscious misery. Work on, ye who cannot see this. Do your best. You will be rewardedaccording to your honesty. You will be saved by the fire that willdestroy your work, and will one day come to see that Christ's way, andno other whatever, can either redeem your own life, or render thecondition of the poorest or the richest wretch such as would justify hiscreation. If by the passing of this or that more or less wise law, youcould, in the person of his descendant of the third or fourthgeneration, make a _well-to-do_ man of him, he would probably be agood deal farther from the kingdom of heaven than the beggar or thethief over whom you now lament. The criminal classes, to use yourphrase, are not made up of quite the same persons in the eyes of theSupreme as in yours. 

Vavasor began to think that if ever the day came when he might approachHester "as a suitor for her hand, " he must be very careful over what hecalled her philanthropic craze. But if ever he should in earnest setabout winning her, he had full confidence in the artillery he couldbring to the siege: he had not yet made any real effort to gain heraffections. 

Neither had he a doubt that, having succeeded, all would be easy, and hecould do with her much as he pleased. He had no anxiety concerning thephilanthropic craze thereafter. His wife, once introduced to suchsociety as would then be her right, would speedily be cured of any suchextravagance or enthusiasm as gave it the character of folly. 

Under the influence of the lovely place, of the lovely weather, and ofhis admiration for Hester, the latent poetry of his nature awoke withincreasing rapidity; and, this reacting on its partial occasion, he wasgrowing more and more in love with Hester. He was now, to use the phrasewith which he confessed the fact to himself, "over head and ears in lovewith her, " and notwithstanding the difficulties in his way, it was apleasant experience to him: like most who have gone through the same, hewas at this time nearer knowing what bliss may be than he had ever beenbefore. Most men have the gates once thus opened to them a little way, that they may have what poor suggestion may be given them, by theirclosing again, of how far off they are from them. Very hard! Is it? Thenwhy in the name of God, will you not go up to them and enter? You do notlike the conditions? But the conditions are the only naturalpossibilities of entrance. Enter as you are and you would but see thedesert you think to leave behind you, not a glimpse of a promised land. The false cannot inherit the true nor the unclean the lovely. 

And it began to grow plain to him that now his aunt could no longer lookupon the idea of such an alliance, as she must _naturally_ haveregarded it before. It was a very different thing to see her in themidst of such grounds and in such a house, with all the old-fashionedcomforts and luxuries of an ancient and prosperous family around her, and in that of a toiling _litterateur_ in the dingy region ofBloomsbury, where everything was--of course respectable in a way, butthat way a very inferior and--well, snuffy kind of way--where indeed youcould not dissociate the idea of smoke and brokers' shops from thenewest bonnet on Hester's queenly head! If he could get his aunt to seeher in the midst of these surroundings, then her beauty would have achance of working its natural effect upon her, tuned here to "its rightpraise and true perfection. " She was not a jealous woman, and was readyto admire where she could, but not the less would keep even beauty atarm's length when prudence recommended: here, thought Vavasor, prudencewould hold her peace. He would at least himself stand amid no smallamount of justification. 

By degrees, and without any transition marked of Hester, emboldenedmainly by the influences of the soft dusky twilight, he came to speakwith more warmth and nearer approach. His heart was tuned above itsordinary pitch, and he was borne a captive slave in the triumph ofNature's hour. 

"How strangely this loveliness seems to sink into the soul, " he said oneevening, when the bats were coming and going like thoughts that refuseto take shape and be shared, and when with intensest listening you couldnot be sure whether it was a general murmur of nature you heard, low inher sleep, or only the strained nerves of your own being imitating thatwhich was not. 

"For the moment, " he went on, "you seem to be the soul of that which isaround you, yet oppressed with the weight of its vastness, and unable toaccount for what is going on in it. "

"I think I understand you, " returned Hester. "It is strange to feel atonce so large and so small; but I presume that is how all true feelingseems to itself. "

"You are right, " responded Vavasor; "for when one loves, how it exaltshis whole being, yet in the presence of the woman he worships, how smallhe feels, and how unworthy!"

In the human being humility and greatness are not only correlative, butare one and the same condition. But this was beyond Vavasor. 

For the first time in her life Hester felt, nor knew what it was, avague pang of jealousy. Whatever certain others may think, there arewomen who, having had their minds constantly filled with true andearnest things, have come for years to woman's full dignity, withouthaving even speculated on what it may be to be in love. Such thereforeare somewhat in the dark when first it begins to show itself withinthemselves: that it should be within them, they having never invited itspresence, adds to their perplexity. She was silent, and Vavasor, whoseexperience was scarcely so valuable as her ignorance, judged he mightventure a little farther. But with all his experience in the manufactureof compliments and in high-flown poetry, he was now at a loss; he had nofine theories of love to talk from! Love was with him, _at itsbest_, the something that preceded marriage--after which, whateverboys and girls might think, and although, of course, to a beautiful wifelike Hester he could never imagine himself false, it must take itschance. But as he sat beside God's loveliest idea, exposed to themightiest enchantment of life, little imagining it an essential heavenlydecree for the redemption of the souls of men, he saw, for brokenmoments, and with half-dazed glimpses, into the eternal, and spoke asone in a gracious dream:

"If one might sit forever thus!" he said, almost in a whisper, --"foreverand ever, needing nothing, desiring nothing! lost in perfect, inabsolute bliss! so peacefully glad that you do not want to know whatother joy lies behind! so content, that, if you were told there was noother bliss, you would but say, 'I am the more glad; I want no other! Irefuse all else! let the universe hear, and trouble me with none! Thisand nought else ought ever to be--on and on! to the far-away end. Thevery soul of me is music, and needs not the softest sound of earth tokeep it alive. '"

At that moment came a sigh of the night-wind, and bore to their ears thewhispered moan of the stream away in the hollow, as it broke its beinginto voice over the pebbly troubles of its course. It came with a swell, and a faint sigh through the pines, and they woke and answered it withyet more ethereal voice. 

"Still! still!" said Vavasor, apostrophizing the river as if it were alive thing and understood him; "do not speak to me. I cannot attend evento your watery murmur. A sweeter music, born of the motions of my ownspirit, fills my whole hearing. Be content with thy flowing, as I amcontent with my being. Would that God in the mercy of a God would makethis moment eternal!"

He ceased, and was silent. 

Hester could not help being thrilled by the rhythm, moved by the poeticphrase, and penetrated by the air of poetic thought that pervaded theutterance--which would doubtless indeed have entranced many a smallerwoman than herself, yet was not altogether pleased. Never yet had shereached anything like a moment concerning which even in transient moodshe could pray, "Let it last forever!" Nor was the present within sightof any reason why she should not wish it to make way for a better behindit. But the show of such feeling in Vavasor, was at least the unveilingof a soul of song in him, of such a nature, such a relation to upperthings that he must one day come to feel the highest, and know a blissbeyond all feeble delights of the mere human imagination. She must notbe captious and contrary with the poor fellow, she thought--that wouldbe as bad as to throw aside her poor people: he was afflicted with thesame poverty that gave all the sting to theirs. To be a true woman shemust help all she could help--rich or poor, nor show favor. "Thou shaltnot countenance a poor man in his cause. "

"I do not _quite_ understand you, " she said. "I can scarcelyimagine the time should ever come when I should wish it, or even becontent that it should last for ever. "

"Have you had so little happiness?" he asked sympathetically. 

"I do not mean that, " she replied. "Indeed I have had a great deal--morethan all but a very few, I should imagine. But I do not think much ofhappiness. Perhaps that is a sign--I daresay it is--that I have not hadmuch of what is not happiness. But no amount of happiness that I haveknown yet would make me wish the time to stand still. I want to bealways growing--and while one is growing Time cannot stand if he would:you drag him on with you! I want, if you would like it better put inthat way, to be always becoming more and more capable of happiness. Whether I have it or not, I must be and ought to be capable of it. "

"Ah!" returned Vavasor, "you are as usual out of sight beyond me. Youmust take pity on me and carry me with you, else you will leave me milesbehind, and I shall never look on you again; and what eternity would beto me without your face to look at, God only knows. There will be nopunishment necessary for me but to know that there is a gulf I cannotpass between us. "

"But why should it be so!" answered Hester almost tenderly. "Our fate isin our own hands. It is ours to determine the direction in which weshall go. I don't want to preach to you, dear Mr. Vavasor, but so muchsurely one friend may say to another! Why should not every one bereasonable enough to seek the one best thing, and then there would be noparting; whereas all the love and friendship in the world would notsuffice to keep people together if they were inwardly parted by suchdifference as you imply. "

Vavasor's heart was touched in two ways by this simple speech--first, inthe best way in which it was at the moment capable of being touched; forhe could not help thinking for a moment what a blessed thing it must beto feel good and have no weight upon you--as this lovely girl plainlydid, and live like her in perfect fearlessness of whatever might begoing to happen to you. Religion would be better than endurable in thecompany of such an embodiment of it! He might even qualify for somedistinction in it with such a teacher!--Second, in the way ofself-satisfaction; for clearly she was not disinclined to be on terms ofcloser intimacy with him. And as she made the advance why should he notaccept, if not the help, yet the offer of the help she had _almost_made? That would and could bind him to nothing. He understood her wellenough to have no slightest suspicion of any coquetry such as a foollike Cornelius would have imagined. He was nevertheless a fool, also, only of another and deeper sort. It needs brains to be a real fool!

From that night he placed himself more than ever in the position of apupil towards her, hoping in the natural effect of the intimacy. To keepup and deepen the relation, he would go on imagining himself in this andthat difficulty, such as he was never really in, or even quite knew thathe was not in. He was no conscious hypocrite in the matter--only hisintellect alone was concerned where he talked as if his being was. Noanswer he could have had would have had the smallest effect on theman--Vavasor only determined what he would say next. Hester kept tryingto meet him as simply and directly as she could, although to meet thesesupposed difficulties she was unconsciously compelled to transform them, in order to get a hold of them at all, into something the nearest likethem that she understood--still something very different from anythingin Vavasor's thoughts. But what she said made no difference to him, solong as she would talk to him. And talk she did, sometimes with anaffectionate fervor of whose very possibility he had had no idea. Solong as she would talk, he cared not a straw whether she understood whathe had said; and with all her misconception, she understood it betterthan he did himself. Thus her growing desire to wake in him the betterlife, brought herself into relations with him which had an earthly side, as everything heavenly of necessity has; for this life also is God's, and the hairs of our heads are numbered. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

MAJOR H. G. MARVEL. 

One afternoon when Vavasor was in his room, writing a letter to hisaunt, in which he described in not too glowing terms, for he knewexaggeration would only give her a handle, the loveliness of the retreatamong the hills where he was spending his holiday--when her father wasin his study, her mother in her own room, and the children out of doors, a gentleman was shown in upon her as she sat alone in the drawing-roomat her piano, not playing but looking over some books of old music shehad found in the house. The servant apologized, saying he thought shewas out. The visitor being already in the room, the glance she threw onthe card the man had given her had had time to teach her little ornothing with regard to him when she advanced to receive him. The name onthe card was _Major H. G. Marvel_. She vaguely thought she had heardit, but in the suddenness of the meeting was unable to recall a singleidea concerning the owner of it. She saw before her a man whosedecidedly podgy figure yet bore a military air, and was not without acertain grace of confidence. For his bearing was even _marked_ bythe total absence of any embarrassment, anxiety, or any even of that airof apology which one individual seems almost to owe to another. At thesame time there was not a suspicion of truculence or even repulse in hiscarriage. There was self-assertion, but not of the antagonistic--solelyof the inviting sort. His person beamed with friendship. Notably abovethe middle height, the impression of his stature was reduced by a toogreat development of valor in the front of his person, which must alwayshave met the enemy considerably in advance of the rest of him. On thetop of rather asthmatic-looking shoulders was perched a head that lookedsmall for the base from which it rose, and the smaller that it was anevident proof of the derivation of the word _bald_, by Chaucerspelled _balled_; it was round and smooth and shining like ivory, and the face upon it was brought by the help of the razor into as closea resemblance with the rest of the ball as possible. The said face was apleasant one to look at--of features altogether irregular--a retreatingand narrow forehead over keen gray eyes that sparkled with intelligenceand fun, prominent cheek-bones, a nose thick in the base andconsiderably elevated at the point, a large mouth always ready to show aset of white, regular, serviceable teeth--the only regular arrangementin the whole facial economy--and a chin whose original character wasrendered doubtful by its _duplicity_--physical, I mean, with nohint at the moral. 

"Cousin Hester!" he said, advancing, and holding out his hand. 

Mechanically she gave him hers. The voice that addressed her was at oncea little husky, and very cheery; the hand that took hers was small andsoft and kind and firm. A merry, friendly smile lighted up eyes and faceas he spoke. Hester could not help liking him at first sight--yet felt alittle shy of him. She thought she had heard her mother speak of acousin somewhere abroad: this must be he--if indeed she did remember anysuch!

"You don't remember me, " he said, "seeing you were not in this world, wherever else you may have been, for a year or two after I left thecountry: and, to tell the truth, had I been asked, I should haveobjected to your appearance on any terms. "

As this speech did not seem to carry much enlightenment with it, he wenton to explain. "The fact is, my dear young lady, that I left the countrybecause your mother and I were too much of one mind. "

"Of one mind?" said Hester, bewildered. 

"Ah, you don't understand!" said the major, who was all the timestanding before her with the most polite though confident bearing. Thething you see, was this: I liked your mother better than myself, and sodid she; and without any jealousy of one another, it was not anarrangement for my happiness. I had the choice between two things, stopping at home and breaking my heart by seeing her the wife of anotherman, and going away and getting over it the best way I could. So you seeI must by nature be your sworn enemy, only it's of no use, for I'vefallen in love with you at first sight. So now, if you will ask me tosit down, I will swear to let bygones be bygones, and be your trueknight and devoted servant as long as I live. How you do remind me ofyour mother, only by Jove, you're twice as handsome. "

"Do pray sit down, Mr. Marley----"

"Marvel, if you please, " interrupted the major; "and I'm sure it's agreat marvel if not a great man I am, after what I've come through! Butdon't you marvel at me too much, for I'm a very good sort of fellow whenyou know me. And if you could let me have a glass of water, with alittle sherry just to take the taste off it, I should be greatly obligedto you. I have had to walk farther for the sight of you than on such aday as this I find altogether refreshing: it's as hot as the tropics, byGeorge! But I am well repaid--even without the sherry. "

As he spoke he was wiping his round head all over with a red silkhandkerchief. 

"I will get it at once, and let my mother know you are here, " saidHester, turning to the door. 

"No, no, never mind your mother; I daresay she is busy, or lying down. She always went to lie down at this time of the day; she was never verystrong you know, though I don't doubt it was quite as much to get rid ofme. I shouldn't wonder if she thought me troublesome in those days. ButI bear no malice now, and I hope she doesn't either. Tell her I say so. It's more than five and twenty years ago, though to me it don't seemmore than so many weeks. Don't disturb your mother, my dear. But if youinsist on doing so, tell her old Harry is come to see her--very muchimproved since she turned him about his business. "

Hester told a servant to take the sherry and the water to thedrawing-room, and, much amused, ran to find her mother. "There's thestrangest gentleman down-stairs, mamma, calling himself old Harry. He'shaving some sherry and water in the drawing-room! I never saw such anodd man!" Her mother laughed--a pleased little laugh. "Go to him, Hesterdear, and say I shall be down directly. " "Is he really a cousin, mamma?""To be sure--my second cousin! He was very fond of me once. " "Oh, hehas told me all about that already. He says you sent him about hisbusiness. " "If that means that I wouldn't marry him, it is true enough. But he doesn't know what I went through for always taking his part. Ialways stood up for him, though I never could bear him near me. He wassuch an odd, good-natured bear! such a rough sort of creature! alwayssaying the thing he ought not to, and making everybody, ladiesespecially, uncomfortable! He never meant any harm, but never saw wherefun should stop. You wouldn't believe the vulgar things Harry would sayout of pure fun!--especially if he got hold of a very stiff old maid; hewould tease her till he got her in a passion. But if she began to cry, then Harry had the worst of it, and was as penitent as any good child. Idaresay he's much improved by this time. " "He told me to tell you hewas. But if he is much improved--well, what he must have been! I likehim though, mamma--I suppose because you liked him a little. So takecare you are not too hard upon him; I'm going to take him up now. "

"I make over my interest in him, and have no doubt he will be pleasedenough with the change, for a man can't enjoy finding an old woman wherehe had all the time been imagining a young one. But I must warn you, Hester, as he seems to have made a conquest of you already, that he hasin the meantime been married to a black--or at least a very brown Hindoowoman. "

"That's nothing to his discredit with you, mamma, I hope. Has he broughther home with him, I wonder. "

"She has been dead now for some ten years. I believe he had a largefortune with her, which he has since by judicious management increasedconsiderably. He is really a good-hearted fellow, and was kind to everyone of his own relations as long as there was one left to be kind to. "

"Well, I shall go back to him, mamma, and tell him you are coming assoon as you have got your wig and your newest lace-cap on, and yourcheeks rouged and pearl-powdered, to look as like the lady that wouldnone of him as you can. "

Her mother laughed merrily, and pretended to box her daughter's ears. Itwas not often any mood like this rose between them; for not only werethey serious in heart, but from temperament, and history, and modes anddirection of thought, their ways were serious as well. Yet who may sowell break out in childlike merriment as those whose life has in it nomoth-eaten Mammon-pits, who have no fear, no greed, and live with awill--rising like the sun to fill the day with the work given them todo!

"Look what I have brought you, cousin, " said major Marvel, the momentHester re-entered the room, holding out to her a small necklace. "Youneedn't mind taking them from an old fellow like me. It don't mean thatI want to marry you off-hand before I know what sort of a temper you'vegot. Take them. "

Hester drew near, and looked at the necklace. 

"Take it, " said the major again. 

"How strangely beautiful it is!--all red, pear-shaped, dull, scratched-looking stones, hanging from a savage-looking gold chain! Whatare they, Mr. Marvel?"

"You have described it like a book!" he said. "It is a barbarous nativenecklace--but they are fine rubies--only rough--neither cut norpolished. "

"It is beautiful, " repeated Hester. "Did you really mean it for me?"

"Of course I did!"

"I will ask mamma if I may keep it. "

"Where's the good of that? I hope you don't think I stole it? Thoughfaith there's a good deal that's like stealing goes on where that comesfrom!--But here comes the mother!--Helen, I'm so glad to see you oncemore!"

Hester slipped away with the necklace in her hand, and left her motherto welcome her old admirer before she would trouble her about theoffered gift. They met like trusting friends whom years had done nothingto separate, and while they were yet talking of bygone times, Mr. Raymount entered, received him cordially, and insisted on his remainingwith them as long as he could; they were old friends, although rivals, and there never had been any ground for bitterness between them. Themajor agreed; Mr. Raymount sent to the station for his luggage, andshowed him to a room. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE MAJOR AND VAVASOR. 

As major Marvel, for all the rebuffs he had met with, had not yetlearned to entertain the smallest doubt as to his personalacceptability, so he was on his part most catholic in his receptivity. But there were persons whom from the first glance he disliked, and thenhis dislike was little short of loathing. I suspect they were such asfound the heel of his all but invulnerable vanity and wounded it. Notaccustomed to be hurt, it resented hurt when it came the more sorely. Hewas in one sense, and that not a slight one, a true man: there was nodiscrepancy, no unfittingness between his mental conditions and theclothing in which those conditions presented themselves to others. Hiswords, looks, manners, tones, and everything that goes to express man toman, expressed him. What he felt that he showed. I almost think he wasunaware of the possibility of doing otherwise. At the same time, he hadvery little insight into the feelings of others, and almost no sense ofthe possibility that the things he was saying might affect his listenersotherwise than they affected him. If he boasted, he meant to boast, andwould scorn to look as if he did not know it was a good thing he wastelling of himself: why not of himself as well as of another? He had novery ready sympathy with other people, especially in any suffering hehad never himself experienced, but he was scrupulously fair in what hesaid or did in regard of them, and nothing was so ready to make himangry as any appearance of injustice or show of deception. He would havesaid that a man's first business was to take care of himself, as so manythink who have not the courage to say it; and so many more who do notthink it. But the Major's conduct went far to cast contempt upon hisselfish opinion. 

During dinner he took the greater part of the conversation upon himself, and evidently expected to be listened to. But that was nearly all hewanted. Let him talk, and hear you laugh when he was funny, and he wassatisfied. He seemed to have no inordinate desire for admiration or evenfor approbation. He was fond of telling tales of adventure, somewonderful, some absurd, some having nothing in them but his ownpresence, and occasionally, while the detail was good the point for thesake of which it had been introduced would be missing; but he was justas willing to tell one, the joke of which turned against himself, as oneamusing at the expense of another. Like many of his day who had spenttheir freshest years in India, he was full of the amusements and sportswith which so much otherwise idle time is passed by Englishmen in theEast, and seemed to think nothing connected with the habits of theircountrymen there could fail to interest those at home. Every now andthen throughout the dinner he would say, "Oh, that reminds me!" and thenhe would tell something that happened when he was at such and such aplace, when So-and-So "of our regiment" was out tiger-shooting, orpig-sticking, or whatever the sport might be; "and if Mr. Raymount willtake a glass of wine with me, I will tell him the story"--for he wasconstantly drinking wine, after the old fashion, with this or that oneof the company. 

When he and Vavasor were introduced to each other, he glanced at him, drew his eyebrows together, made his military bow, and included himamong the listeners to his tales of exploit and adventure by sea andland. 

Vavasor was annoyed at his presence--not that he much minded a littleboring in such good company, or forgot that everything against anotherman was so much in his own favor; but he could not help thinking, "Whatwould my aunt say to such a relative?" So while he retained the blandestexpression, and was ready to drink as many glasses of wine with the newcomer as he wished, he set him down in his own mind not only as anill-bred man and a boaster, in which there was some truth, but as a liarand a vulgar-minded man as well, in which there was little or no truth. 

Now although major Marvel had not much ordinary insight into character, the defect arose mainly from his not feeling a deep enough interest inhis neighbor; and if his suspicion or dislike was roused in respect ofone, he was just as likely as any other ever is to arrive at a correctjudgment concerning a man he does not love. 

He had been relating a thrilling adventure with a man-eating tiger. Hesaw, as they listened, the eyes of little Mark and Saffy had almostsurpassed the use of eyes and become ears as well. He saw Hester also, who was still child enough to prefer a story of adventure to a love-talefixed as if, but for the way it was bound over to sobriety, her hairwould have stood on end. But at one moment he caught also--surprisedindeed a certain expression on the face of Vavasor, which thatexperienced man of the world never certainly intended to be sosurprised, only at the moment he was annoyed to see the absorption ofHester's listening; she seemed to have eyes for no one but the man whoshot tigers as Vavasor would have shot grouse. 

The major, who upon fitting occasion and good cause, was quarrelsome asany turkey-cock, swallowed something that was neither good, nor good forfood, and said, but not quite so carelessly as he had intended:

"Ha, ha, I see by your eyes, Mr. Passover, you think I'm drawing thelong bow--drawing the arrow to the head, eh?"

"No, 'pon my word!" said Vavasor earnestly, "nothing farther frommy thoughts. I was only admiring the coolness of the man who wouldactually creep into the mouth of the--the--the jungle aftera--what-you-call-him--a man-eating tiger. "

"Well, you see, what was a fellow to do, " returned the majorsuspiciously. "The fellow wouldn't come out! and by Jove I wasn't theonly fellow that wanted him out! Besides I didn't creep in; I onlylooked in to see whether he was really there. That I could tell by theshining eyes of him. "

"But is not a man-eating tiger a something tremendous, you know? When heonce takes to that kind of diet, don't you know--they say he likesnothing else half so well! Good beef and mutton will no longer serve histurn, I've been told at the club. A man must be a very Munchausen toventure it. "

"I don't know the gentleman--never heard of him, " said the major: forVavasor had pronounced the name German-fashion, and none of thelisteners recognized that of the king of liars; "but you are quitemistaken in the character of the man-eating tiger. It is true he doesnot care for other food after once getting a passion for the moredelicate; but it does not follow that the indulgence increases eitherhis courage or his fierceness. The fact is it ruins his moral nature. Hedoes not get many Englishmen to eat; and it would seem as if the fleshof women and children and poor cowardly natives, he devours, took itsrevenge upon him by undermining and destroying his natural courage. Thefact is, he is well-known for a sneak. I sometimes can't help thinkingthe ruffian knows he is a rebel against the law of his Maker, and atraitor to his natural master. The man-eating tiger and therogue-elephant are the devils of their kind. The others leave you aloneexcept you attack them; then they show fight. These attack you--butrun--at least the tiger, not the elephant, when you go out after him. From the top of your elephant you may catch sight of him sneaking offwith his tail tucked between his legs from cover to cover of the jungle, while they are beating up his quarters to drive him out. You can neverget any sport out of him. _He_ will never fly at your elephant, orclimb a tree, or take to the water after you! If there's a creature onearth I hate it's a coward!" concluded the major. 

Said Vavasor to himself, "The man is a coward!"

"But _why_ should you hate a coward so?" asked Hester, feeling atthe moment, with the vision of a man-eating tiger before her, that shemust herself come under the category. "How can a poor creature madewithout courage help being one? You can neither learn nor buy courage!"

"I am not so sure about the learning. But such as you mean, I wouldn'tcall cowards, " returned the major. "Nobody thinks worse of the hare, oreven the fox, for going away before the hounds. Men whose business it isto fight go away before the enemy when they have not a chance, and whenit would do no good to stand and be cut down. To let yourself be killedwhen you ought not is to give up fighting. There is a time to run and atime to stand. But the man will run like a man and the coward like acoward. "

Said Vavasor to himself, "I'll be bound you know when to run at least!"

"What can harmless creatures do but run, " resumed the major, filling hisglass with old port. "But when the wretch that has done all the hurt hecould will not show fight for it, but turns tail the moment dangerappears, I call him a contemptible coward. Man or beast I would set myfoot on him. That's what made me go into the hole to look after thebrute. "

"But he might have killed you, though he was a coward, " said Hester, "when you did not leave him room to run. "

"Of course he might, my dear! Where else would be the fun of it? Withoutthat the thing would be no better than this shooting of pigeons andpheasants by men who would drop their guns if a cock were to fly intheir faces. You _had_ to kill him, you know! He's first cousin--theman-eating, or rather woman-eating tiger, to a sort that I understandabounds in the Zoological Gardens called English society; if the womanbe poor, he devours her at once; if she be rich he marries her, and eatsher slowly up at his ease in his den. "

"How with the black wife!" thought Mr. Raymount, who had been littlemore than listening. 

But Mr. Raymount did not really know anything about that part of his oldfriend's history; it was hardly to his discredit. The black wife, as hecalled her, was the daughter of an English merchant by a Hindoo wife, ayoung creature when he first made her acquaintance, unaware of her ownpower, and kept almost in slavery by the relatives of her deceasedfather, who had left her all his property. Major Marvel made heracquaintance and became interested in her through a devilish attempt tolay the death of her father to her door. I believe the shine of her goldhad actually blinded her relatives into imagining, I can hardly say_believing_ her guilty. The major had taken her part and been ofthe greatest service to her. She was entirely acquitted. But althoughnobody believed her in the smallest degree guilty, _society_ lookedaskance upon her. True, she was rich, but was she not black? and had shenot been accused of a crime? And who saw her father and mother married?Then said the major to himself--"Here am I a useless old fellow, livingfor nobody but myself! It would make one life at least happier if I tookthe poor thing home with me. She's rather too old, and I'm rather tooyoung to adopt her; but I daresay she would marry me. She has a trifle Ibelieve that would eke out my pay, and help us to live decently!" He didnot know then that she had more than a very moderate income, but itturned out to be a very large fortune indeed when he came to inquireinto things. That the major rejoiced over his fortune, I do not doubt;but that he would have been other than an honorable husband had he foundshe had nothing, I entirely disbelieve. When she left him the widowedfather of a little girl, he mourned sincerely for her. When the childfollowed her mother, he was for some time a sad man indeed. Then, as ifher money was all he had left of her, and he must lead what was left ofhis life in its company, he went heartily into speculation with it, andat least doubled the fortune she brought him. He had now returned to hiscountry to find almost every one of his old friends dead, or so changedas to make them all but dead to him. Little as any one would haveimagined it from his conversation or manner, it was with a kind ofheart-despair that he sought the cousin he had loved. And scarcely hadhe more than seen the daughter of his old love than, in the absence ofalmost all other personal interest, he was immediately taken possessionof by her--saw at once that she was a grand sort of creature, graciousas grand, and different from anything he had even seen before. At thesame time he unconsciously began to claim a property in her; to haveloved the mother seemed to give him a right in the daughter, and thatright there might be a way of making good. But all this was as yet onlyin the region of the feeling, not at all in that of the thinking. 

In proportion as he was taken with the daughter of the house, hedisliked the look of the fine gentleman visitor that seemed to bedangling after her. Who he was, or in what capacity there, he did notknow, but almost from the first sight profoundly disliked him, and themore as he saw more sign of his admiration of Hester. He might be awoman-eater, and after her money--if she had any: such suspects must bewatched and followed, and their haunts marked. 

"But, " said Hester, fearing the conversation might here take a dangerousturn, "I should like to understand the thing a little better. I am notwilling to set myself down as a coward; I do not see that a woman hasany right to be a coward any more than a man. Tell me, majorMarvel--when you know that a beast may have you down, and begin eatingyou any moment, what is it that keeps you up? What have you to fall backupon? Is it principle, or faith, or what is it?"

"Ho, ho!" said the Major, laughing, "a meta-physician in the very bosomof my family!--I had not reckoned upon that!--Well, no, my dear, Icannot exactly say that it is principle, and I am sure it is not faith. You don't think about it at all. It's partly your elephant, and partlyyour rifle--and partly perhaps--well, there I daresay comes in somethingof principle!--that as an Englishman you are sent to that benightedquarter of the world to kill their big vermin for them, poor things! Butno, you don't think of that at the time. You've got to kill him--that'sit. And then when he comes roaring on, your rifle jumps to your shoulderof itself. "

"Do you make up your mind beforehand that if the animal should kill you, it is all right?" asked Hester. 

"By no means, I give you my word of honor, " answered the major, laughing. 

"Well now, " answered Hester, "except I had made up my mind that if I waskilled it was all right, I couldn't meet the tiger. "

"But you see, my dear, " said the major, "you do not know what it is tohave confidence in your eye and your rifle. It is a form of power thatyou soon come to feel as resting in yourself--a power to destroy thething that opposes you!"

Hester fell a-thinking, and the talk went on without her. She neverheard the end of the story, but was roused by the laughter that followedit. 

"It was no tiger at all--that was the joke of the thing, " said themajor. "There was a roar of laughter when the brute--a great lumberingfloundering hyena, rushed into the daylight. But the barrel of my riflewas bitten together as a schoolboy does a pen--a quill-pen, I mean. Theyhave horribly powerful jaws, those hyenas. "

"And what became of the man-eater?" asked Mark, with a disappointedlook. 

"Stopped in the hole till it was safe to come out and go on with hisdelicate meals. "

"Just imagine that horrible growl behind you, as if it came out of awhole mine of teeth inside!"

"By George! for a young lady, " said the major, "you have an imagination!Too much of that, you know, won't go to make you a good hunter oftigers!"

"Then you owe your coolness to want of imagination?" suggested Hester. 

"Perhaps so. Perhaps, after all, " returned the major, with a merrytwinkle in his eye, "we hunters are but a set of stupid fellows--toostupid to be reasonably frightened!"

"I don't mean that exactly. I think that perhaps you do not know so wellas you might where your courage comes from. For my part I would ratherbe courageous to help the good than to destroy the bad. "

"Ah, but we're not all good enough ourselves for that, " said the major, with a serious expression, and looking at her full out of his cleareyes, from which their habitual twinkle of fun had for the momentvanished. "Some of us are only fit to destroy what is yet worse thanourselves. "

"To be sure we can't _make_ anything, " said Hester thoughtfully, "but we can help God to make. To destroy evil things is good, but theworst things can only be destroyed by being good, and that is so hard!"

"It _is_ hard, " said the major--"so hard that most people never tryit!" he added with a sigh, and a gulp of his wine. 

Mrs. Raymount rose, and with Hester and the children withdrew. Afterthey were gone the major rattled on again, his host putting in a wordnow and then, and Vavasor sat silent, with an expression that seemed tosay, "I am amused, but I don't eat all that is put on my plate. "

CHAPTER XXIX. 

A BRAVE ACT. 

The major had indeed taken a strong fancy to Hester, and during thewhole of his visit kept as near her as he could, much to the annoyanceof Vavasor. Doubtless it was in part to keep the other from her that hehimself sought her: the major did not take to Vavasor. There was anatural repulsion between them. Vavasor thought the major a mostobjectionable, indeed low fellow, full of brag and vulgarity, and themajor thought Vavasor a supercilious idiot. It is curious howdifferently a man's character will be read by two people in the samecompany, but it is not hard to explain, seeing his carriage to theindividual affects only the man who is the object of it, and is seldomobserved by the other; like a man, and you will judge him with more orless fairness; dislike him, fairly or unfairly, and you cannot fail tojudge him unjustly. All deference and humility towards Hester and herparents, Vavasor without ceasing for a moment to be conventionallypolite, allowed major Marvel to see unmistakably that his society wasnot welcome to the man who sat opposite him. Entirely ignorant each ofthe other's pursuits, and nearly incapable of sympathy upon any point, each would have gladly shown the other to be the fool he counted him. Only the major, being the truer man, was able to judge the man of theworld with a better gauge than he could apply in return. Each watchedthe other--the major annoyed with the other's silent pretension, anddisgusted with his ignorance of everything in which he took an interest, and Vavasor regarding the major as a narrow-minded overgrownschool-boy--though, in fact, his horizon was very much wider than hisown--and disgusted with the vulgarity which made even those who knew hisworth a little anxious every time he opened his mouth. He did not offendvery often, but one never knew when he might not. The offence neverhurt, only rendered the sensitive, and others for their sakes, uncomfortable. 

After breakfast the next day, they all but Mr. Raymount went out for alittle walk together. 

It seemed destined to be a morning of small adventures. As they passedthe gate of the Home Farm, out rushed, all of a sudden, a half-grown pigright between the well-parted legs of the major, with the awkwardconsequence that he was thrown backwards, and fell into a place which, if he had had any choice, he certainly would not have chosen for thepurpose. A look of keen gratification rose in Vavasor's face, but wasimmediately remanded; he was much too well-bred to allow it to remain. With stony countenance he proceeded to offer assistance to the fallenhero, who, however, heavy as he was, did not require it, but gotcleverly on his feet again with a cheerfulness which discomfiteddiscomfiture, and showed either a sweetness or a command of temper whichgave him a great lift in the estimation of Hester. 

"Confound the brute!" he said, laughing. "He can't know how many of hiswild relatives I have stuck, else I should set it down to revenge. Whata mess he has made of me! I shall have to throw myself in the river, like a Hindoo, for purification. It's a good thing I've got some moreclothes in my portmanteau. "

Saffy laughed right merrily over his fall and the fun he made of it; butMark looked concerned. He ran and pulled some grass and proceeded to rubthe Major down. 

"Let us go into the farmhouse, " said Mrs. Raymount. "Mrs. Stokes willgive us some assistance. "

"No, no, " returned the major. "Better let the mud dry, it will come offmuch better then. A hyena once served me the same. I didn't mind that, though all the fellows cracked their waistbands laughing at me. Whyshouldn't piggy have his fun as well as another--eh, Mark? Come along. You sha'n't have your walk spoiled by my heedllessness. "

"The pig didn't mean it, sir, " said Mark. "He only wanted to get out. "

But there seemed to be more creatures about the place that wanted to getout. A spirit of liberty was abroad. Mark and Saffy went rushing awaylike wild rabbits every now and then, making a round and returning, children once more. It was one of those cooler of warm mornings thatrouse all the life in heart, brain and nerves, making every breath apleasure, and every movement a consciousness. 

They had not gone much farther, when, just as they approached the palingof a paddock, a horse which had been turned in to graze, came blunderingover the fence, and would presently have been ranging the world. Unaccustomed to horses, except when equipped and held ready by the handof a groom, the ladies and children started and drew back. Vavasor alsostepped a little aside, making way for the animal to follow his ownwill. But as he lighted from his jump, carrying with him the top bar ofthe fence, he stumbled, and almost fell, and while yet a littlebewildered, the major went up to him, and ere he could recover such witsas by nature belonged to him, had him by nose and ear, and leading himto the gap, made him jump in again, and replaced the bar he had knockedaway. 

"Mind we don't forget to mention it as we go back, " he said to Mark. 

"Thank you! How brave of you, major Marvel!" said Mrs. Raymount. 

The Major laughed with his usual merriment. 

"If it had been the horse of the Rajah of Rumtool, " he said, "I shouldhave been brave indeed only by this time there would have been nothingleft of me to thank. A man would have needed courage to take him by thehead! But a quiet good-tempered carriage-horse--none but a cockney wouldbe frightened at him!"

With that he began and to the awful delight of the children, told themthe most amazing and indeed horrible tales about the said horse. Whetherit was all true or not I cannot tell; all I can say is that the majoronly told what he had heard and believed, or had himself seen. 

Vavasor, annoyed at the involuntary and natural enough nervousness hehad shown, for it was nothing more, turned his annoyance on the Major, who by such an insignificant display of coolness, had gained so great anadvantage over him in the eyes of the ladies, and made up his opinionthat in every word he said about the horse of the Rajah of Rumtool hewas romancing--and that although there had been no slightest pretence topersonal prowess in the narrative. Our judgment is always too much atthe mercy of our likes and dislikes. He did indeed mention himself, butonly to say that once in the street of a village he saw the horse atsome distance with a child in his teeth shaking him like a terrier witha rat. He ran, he said, but was too far off. Ere he was half-way, thehorse's groom, who was the only man with any power over the brute, hadcome up and secured him--though too late to save the child. 

They were following the course of the river, and had gradually descendedfrom the higher grounds to the immediate banks, which here spread outinto a small meadow on each side. There were not now many flowers, butSaffy was pulling stalks of feathery-headed grasses, while Mark waswalking quietly along by the brink of the stream, stopping every now andthen to look into it. The bank was covered with long grass hanging over, here and there a bush of rushes amongst it, and in parts was a littleundermined. On the opposite side lower down was a meal-mill, and nearlyopposite, a little below, was the head of the mill-lade, whose weir, turning the water into it, clammed back the river, and made it deeperhere than in any other part--some seven feet at least, and that close tothe shore. It was still as a lake, and looked, as deep as it was. Thespot was not a great way from the house, but beyond its grounds. The twoladies and two gentlemen were walking along the meadow, some distancebehind the children, and a little way from the bank, when they werestartled by a scream of agony from Saffy. She was running towardsthem-shrieking, and no Mark was to be seen. All started at speed to meether, but presently Mrs. Raymount sank on the grass. Hester would havestayed with her, but she motioned her on. 

Vavasor outran the major, and reached Saffy first, but to his anxiousquestions--"Where is he? Where did you leave him? Where did you see himlast?" she answered only by shrieking with every particle of availablebreath. When the major came up, he heard enough to know that he must usehis wits and lose no time in trying to draw information from a creaturewhom terror had made for the moment insane. He kept close to the bank, looking for some sign of the spot where he had fallen in. 

He had indeed overrun the place, and was still intent on the bank whenhe heard a cry behind him. It was the voice of Hester, screaming"Across; Across!"

He looked across, and saw half-way over, slowly drifting towards themill-lade, a something dark, now appearing for a little above the water, now sinking out of sight. The major's eye, experienced in every point ofcontact between man and nature, saw at once it must be the body, dead oralive--only he could hardly be dead yet--of poor Mark. He threw off hiscoat, and plunged in, found the water deep enough for good swimming, andmade in the direction of the object he had seen. But it showed so littleand so seldom, that fearing to miss it, he changed his plan, and madestraight for the mouth of the mill-lade, anxious of all things toprevent him from getting down to the water-wheel. 

In the meantime, Hester, followed by Vavasor, while Saffy ran to hermother, sped along the bank till she came to the weir, over which hardlyany water was running. When Vavasor saw her turn sharp round and makefor the weir, he would have prevented her, and laid his hand on her arm;but she turned on him with eyes that flashed, and lips which, notwithstanding her speed, were white as with the wrath that has nobreath for words. He drew back and dared only follow. The footing wasuncertain, with deep water on one side up to a level with the stones, and a steep descent to more deep water on the other. In one or two spotsthe water ran over, and those spots were slippery. But, renderedabsolutely fearless by her terrible fear, Hester flew across without aslip, leaving Vavasor some little way behind, for he was neither verysure-footed nor very sure-headed. 

But when they had run along the weir and landed, they were only on theslip between the lade and the river: the lade was between them and theother side--deep water therefore between them and the major, wherealready he was trying to heave the unconscious form of Mark on to thebank. The poor man had not swum so far for many years, and was nearlyspent. 

"Bring him here, " cried Vavasor. "The stream is too strong for me to getto you. It will bring you in a moment. "

The major muttered an oath, gave a great heave, got the body half on theshore, and was then just able to scramble out himself. 

When Vavasor looked round, he saw Hester had left him, and was alreadyalmost at the mill. There she crossed the lade and turning ran up theother side, and was soon at the spot where the major was doing all hecould to bring back life. But there was little hope out there in thecold. Hester caught the child up in her arms. 

"Come; come!" she cried, and ran with him back to the mill. The majorfollowed, running, panting, dripping. When they met Vavasor, he wouldhave taken him from her, but she would not give him up. 

"Go back to my mother, " she said. "Tell her we have got him, and he isat the mill. Then go and tell my father, and ask him to send for thedoctor. "

Vavasor obeyed, feeling again a little small. But Hester had neverthought that he might have acted at all differently; she never recalledeven that he had tried to prevent her from crossing to the major's help. She thought only of Mark and her mother. 

In a few minutes they had him in the miller's blankets, with hot waterabout him, while the major, who knew well what ought to be done, for hehad been tried in almost every emergency under the sun, went through thevarious movements of the arms prescribed; inflated the chest again andagain with his own breath, and did all he could to bring back the actionof the breathing muscles. 

Vavasor took upon him to assure Mrs. Raymount that Mark was safe andwould be all right in a little while. She rose then, and with what helpSaffy could give her, managed to walk home. But after that day she neverwas so well again. Vavasor ran on to the house. Mr. Raymount crossed theriver by the bridge, and was soon on the spot--just as the first signsof returning animation appeared. His strength and coolness were a greatcomfort both to Hester and the major. The latter was the more anxiousthat he knew the danger of such a shock to a delicate child. After abouthalf-an-hour, the boy opened his eyes, looked at his father, smiled inhis own heavenly way, and closed them again with a deep sigh. Theycovered him up warm, and left him to sleep till the doctor shouldappear. 

That same night, as Hester was sitting beside him, she heard him talkingin his sleep:

"When may I go and play with the rest by the river? Oh, how sweetly ittalks! it runs all through me and through me! It was such a nice way, God, of fetching me home! I rode home on a water-horse!"

He thought he was dead; that God had sent for him home; that he was nowsafe, only tired. It sent a pang to the heart of Hester. What if afterall he was going to leave them! For the child had always seemed fitterfor. Home than being thus abroad, and any day he might be sent for!

He recovered by degrees, but seemed very sleepy and tired; and when, twodays after, he was taken home he only begged to go to bed. But he neverfretted or complained, received every attention with a smile, and toldhis mother not to mind, for he was not going away yet. He had been toldthat under the water, he said. 

Before winter, he was able to go about the house, and was reading allhis favourite books over again, especially the Pilgrim's Progress, whichhe had already read through five times. 

The major left Yrndale the next morning, saying now there was Mark toattend to, his room was better than his company. Vavasor would stay aday or two longer, he said, much relieved. He could not go until he sawMark fairly started on the way of recovery. 

But in reality the major went because he could no longer endure thesight of "that idiot, " as he called Vavasor, and with design against himfermenting in his heart. 

"The poltroon!" he said. "A fellow like that to marry a girl like cousinHelen's girl! A grand creature, by George! The grandest creature I eversaw in my life! Why, rather than wet his clothes the sneak would havelet us both drown after I had got him to the bank! Calling to me to goto him, when I had done my best, and was at the last gasp!"

He was not fair to Vavasor; he never asked if he could swim. But indeedVavasor could swim, well enough, only he did not see the necessity forit. He did not love his neighbor enough to grasp the facts of the case. And after all he could and did do without him!

The major hurried to London, assured he had but to inquire to find outenough and more than enough to his discredit, of the fellow. 

He told them to tell Mark he was gone to fetch tiger-skins and a littleidol with diamond eyes, and a lot of queer things that he had broughthome; and he would tell him all about them, and let him have any of themhe liked to keep for his own, as soon as he was well again. So he mustmake haste, for the moth would get at them if they were long lying aboutand not seen to. 

He told Mr. Raymount that he had no end of business to look after; butnow he knew the way to Yrndale, he might be back any day. As soon asMark was well enough to be handed over to a male nurse he would comedirectly. He told Mrs. Raymount that he had got some pearls for her--heknew she was fond of pearls--and was going to fetch them. 

For Hester he made her promise to write to him at the Army and Navy Clubevery day till Mark was well. And so he departed, much blessed of allthe family for saving the life of their precious boy. 

The major when he reached London hunted up some of his old friends, andthrough them sent out inquiry concerning Vavasor. He learned then somefew things about him--nothing very bad as things went where everythingwas more or less bad, and nothing to his special credit. That he washeir to an earldom he liked least of all, for he was only the morelikely to marry his beautiful cousin, and her he thought a great dealtoo good for him--which was truer than he knew. 

Vavasor was relieved to find that Hester, while full of gratitude to themajor, had no unfavourable impression concerning his own behaviour inthe sad affair. As the days went on, however, and when he expectedenthusiasm to have been toned down, he was annoyed to find that she wasjust as little impressed with the objectionable character of the man whoby his unselfish decision, he called it his good luck, had got the startof him in rendering the family service. To himself he styled him "abeastly fellow, a lying braggart, a disgustingly vulgar ill-bredrascal. " He would have called him an army-cad, only the word _cad_was not then invented. If there were any more such relations likely toturn up, the sooner he cut the connection the better! But that Hestershould not be shocked with him was almost more than he could bear; thatwas shocking indeed!

He could not understand that as to the pure all things are pure, so thecommon mind sees far more vulgarity in others than the mind developed ingenuine refinement. It understands, therefore forgives, nor finds ithard. Hester was able to look deeper than he, and she saw much that wasgood and honourable in the man, however he might have the bridle of histongue too loose for safe riding in the crowded paths of society. Vavasor took care, however, after hearing the first words of defencewhich some remark of his brought from Hester, not to go farther, andturned the thing he had said aside. Where was the use of quarrellingabout a man he was never likely to set eyes on again?

A day or two before the natural end of his visit, as Mrs. Raymount, Hester and he were sitting together in the old-fashioned garden, theletters were brought them--one for Vavasor, with a great black seal. Heread it through, and said quietly:

"I am sorry I must leave you to-morrow. Or is there not a trainto-night? But I dare say it does not matter, only I ought to be presentat the funeral of my uncle, Lord Gartley. He died yesterday, from what Ican make out. It is a tiresome thing to succeed to a title with hardlyproperty enough to pay the servants!"

"Very tiresome, " assented Mrs. Raymount; "but a title is not like anillness. If you can live without, you can live with one. "

"True; very true! But society, you see. There's so much expected of aman in my position! What do you think, Miss Raymount?" he asked, turningtowards her with a look that seemed to say whatever she thought wouldalways be law to him. 

"I think with mamma, " replied Hester. "I do not see why a mere nameshould have any power to alter one's mode of life. Of course if thechange brings new duties, they must be attended to; but if the propertybe so small as you say, it cannot want much looking after. To be surethere are the people upon it, but they cannot be many. Why should younot go on as you are?"

"I must go a good deal by what my aunt thinks best. She has a sort ofright, you see. All her life her one fixed idea, knowing I was likely tosucceed, has been the rehabilitation of the earldom, and all her lifeshe has been saving for that. "

"Then she is going to make you her heir?" said Hester, who, having beenasked her opinion, simply desired the grounds on which to give it. 

"My dear Hester!" said her mother. 

"I am only too much delighted Miss Raymount should care to ask me_any_thing, " said Vavasor. "My aunt does mean to make me her heir, I believe, but one must not depend upon that, because, if I were todisplease her, she might change her mind any moment. But she has beenlike a mother to me, and I do not think, for any small provocation suchas I am likely to give her, she would yield the dream of her life. Sheis a kind-hearted woman, though a little peculiar; true as steel whereshe takes a fancy. I wish you knew my aunt, Mrs. Raymount. "

"I should be much pleased to know her. "

"She would be delighted with this lovely place of yours. It is a perfectparadise. I feel its loveliness the more that I am so soon to hear itsgates close behind me. Happily there is no flaming sword to mount guardagainst the expelled!"

"You must bring your aunt some time, Mr. Vavasor. We should make hervery welcome, " said Mrs. Raymount. 

"Unfortunately, with all her good qualities, my aunt, as I have said, isa little peculiar. For one thing she shrinks from making newacquaintances. "

He should have said--any acquaintances out of her own world. All others, so far as she was concerned, existed only on the sufferance ofremoteness. 

But by this time Vavasor had resolved to make an attempt to gain hisaunt, and so Hester. He felt sure his aunt could not fail to be takenwith Hester if only she saw her in fit surroundings: with her the framewas more than half the picture. He was glad now that she had notconsented to call on the family in Addison Square: they would be of somuch more importance in her eyes in the setting of Yrndale. He hadhimself also the advantage of being now of greater importance, the titlebeing no longer in prospect but in possession: he was that Earl ofGartley for whom she had been saving all the time he was merely theheir, who might die, or be kept waiting twenty years for the succession. She must either be of one mind with him now, or lose the cherishedpurpose of so many years. If he stood out, seeming to prefer poverty andthe woman of his choice, she would be compelled to give in. 

That same evening he left them in high spirits, and without any pretenceof decent regret for the death of one whom he had never seen, and whohad for many years lived the life of an invalid and a poor man--neitherof much account in his world. 

He left behind him one child--a lovely but delicate girl, of whom no oneseemed to think in the change that had arrived. 

It would be untrue to say that Hester was not interested in the news. They had been so much thrown together of late, and in circumstances sofavourable to intimacy, to the manifestation of what of lovable was inhim, and to the revelation of how much her image possessed him, that shecould hardly have been a woman at all and not care for what might befallhim. Neither, although her life lay, and she felt that it lay, in farother regions, was she so much more than her mother absorbed in thebest, as to be indifferent to the pleasure of wearing a distinguishedhistorical name, or of occupying an exalted position in the eyes of theworld. Her nature was not yet so thoroughly possessed with the thingsthat _are_ as distinguished from the things that only appear, asnot to feel some pleasure in being a countess of this world, whilewaiting the inheritance of the saints in light. Of course this was justas far unworthy of her as it is unworthy of any one who has seen the hidtreasure not to have sold all that he has to buy it--not to havecounted, with Paul, everything but dross to the winning of Christ--noteven worth being picked up on the way as he presses towards the mark ofthe high calling; but I must say this for her, that she thought of itfirst of all as a buttressing help to the labours, which, come whatmight, it remained her chief hope to follow again among her poor friendsin London. To be a countess would make many things easier for her, shethought. Little she knew how immeasurably more difficult it would makeit to do anything whatever worth doing!--that, at the very first, shewould have to fight for freedom--her own--with hidden crafts of slavery, especially mighty in a region more than any other under the influencesof the prince of the power of the air! She had the foolish notion that, thus uplifted among the shows of rule, she would be able with more thanmere personal help to affect the load of injustice laid upon them fromwithout, and pressing them earthwards. She had learned but not yetsufficiently learned that, until a man has begun to throw off theweights that hold him down, it is a wrong done him to attempt to lightenthose weights. Why seek a better situation for the man whose increase ofwages will only go into the pocket of the brewer or distiller? While thetree is evil, its fruit will be evil. 

So again the days passed quietly on. Mark grew a little better. Hesterwrote regularly, but the briefest bulletins, to the major, seldomreceiving an acknowledgment. The new earl wrote that he had been to thefuneral, and described in a would-be humorous way the house and lands towhich he had fallen heir. The house might, he said, with unlimitedmoney, be made fit to live in, but what was left of the estate wasliterally a mere savage mountain. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

IN ANOTHER LIGHT. 

Mr. Raymount went now and then to London, but never stayed long. In theautumn he had his books removed to Yrndale, saying in London he couldalways get what books he wanted, but must have his own about him in thecountry. When they were accommodated and arranged to his mind, all onthe same floor, and partly in the same room with the old library of thehouse, he began, for the first time in his life, to feel he had anabiding place and talked of selling the house in Addison Square. Itwould have been greater progress to feel that there is no abiding inplace or among things. 

In the month of October, when the forsaken spider-webs were filled nomore with flies, but in the morning now with the dew-drops, now withhoarfrost, and the fine stimulus and gentle challenge of the cold rousedthe vital spirit in every fibre to meet it; when the sun shone a littlesadly, and the wraith of the coming winter might be felt hovering in theair, major Marvel again made his appearance at Yrndale, but not quitethe man he was; he had a troubled manner, and an expression on his facesuch as Mrs. Raymount had never before seen there: it was the look ofone who had an unpleasant duty to discharge--a thing to do he wouldrather not do, but which it would cost him far more to leave undone. Hehad brought the things he promised, every one, and at sight of them Markhad brightened up amazingly. At table he tried to be merry as before, but failed rather conspicuously, drank more wine than was his custom, and laid the blame on the climate. His chamber was over that of his hostand hostess, and they heard him walking about for hours in the night. There was something on his mind that would not let him sleep! In themorning he appeared at the usual hour, but showed plain marks of asleepless night. When condoled with he answered he must seek a warmerclimate, for if it was like this already, what would it be in January?

It was in reality a perfect autumn morning, of which every one exceptthe major felt the enlivening influence--the morning of all mornings fora walk! Just as Hester was leaving the room to get ready to go withSaffy--Mark was not able for a long walk--the major rose, and overtakingher in the anteroom, humbly whispered the request that she would walkwith him alone, as he much wished a private conversation with her. Hester, though with a little surprise, also a little undefined anxiety, at once consented, but ran first to her mother. 

"What can he want to talk to me about, mamma?" she concluded. 

"How can I tell, my dear?" answered her mother with a smile. "Perhapshe will dare the daughter's refusal too. "

"Oh, mamma! how can you joke about such a thing!"

"I am not quite joking, my child. There is no knowing what altogetherunsuitable things men will do!--Who can blame them when they see howwomen consent to many unsuitable things!"

"But, mamma, he is old enough to be my father!"

"Of course he is! Poor man! it would be a hard fate to have fallen inlove with both mother and daughter in vain!"

"I won't go with him, mamma!"

"You had better go, my dear. You need not be much afraid. He is really agentleman, however easily mistaken for something else. You must notforget how much we owe him for Mark!"

"Do you mean, mamma, " said Hester, with a strange look out of her eyes, "that I ought to marry him if he asks me?" Hester was sometimes oddlystupid for a moment as to the intent of those she knew best. 

Her mother laughed heartily. 

"What a goose you are, my darling! Don't you know your mother from amiscreant yet?"

But in truth her mother so rarely jested that there was some excuse forher. Relieved from the passing pang of a sudden dread, Hester wentwithout more words and put on her bonnet to go with the cause of it. Shedid not like the things at all, for no one could be certain what absurdthing he might not do. 

They set out together, but until they were some distance from the housewalked in absolute silence, which seemed to Hester to bode no good. Buthow changed the poor man was, she thought. It would be pitiful to haveto make him still more miserable! Steadily the major marched along, hisstick under his arm like a sword, and his eyes looking straight beforehim. 

"Cousin Hester, " he said at length, "I am about to talk to you verystrangely--to conduct myself indeed in a very peculiar manner. Can youimagine a man rendering himself intensely, unpardonably disagreeable, from the very best of motives?"

It was a speech very different from any to be expected of him. That heshould behave oddly seemed natural--not that he should knowingly intendto do so!

"I think I could, " answered Hester, wishing neither to lead him on norto deter him: whatever he had to say, the sooner it was said the better!

"Tell me, " he said suddenly after a pause just beginning to beawkward--then paused again. "--Let me ask you first, " he resumed, "whether you are able to trust me a little. I am old enough to be yourfather--let me say your grandfather;--fancy I am your grandfather: in mysoul I believe neither could wish you well more truly than myself. Tellme--trust me and tell me: what is there between you and Mr. Vavasor?"

Hester was silent. The silence would have lasted but a moment had Hesterto ask herself, not what answer she should give to his question, butwhat answer there was to give to it. Whether bound, whether pleased toanswer it or not, might have come presently, but it did not; everyquestion has its answer, known or unknown: what was the answer to thisone? Before she knew it, the major resumed. 

"I know, " he said, "ladies think such things are not to be talked aboutwith gentlemen; but there are exceptions to every rule: David ate theshow-bread because there was a good reason for breaking a goodrule. --Are you engaged to Mr. Vavasor?"

"No, " answered Hester promptly. 

"What is it then? Are you going to be?"

"If I answered that in the affirmative, " said Hester, "would it not bemuch the same as acknowledging myself already engaged?"

"No! no!" cried the major vehemently. "So long as your word is notpassed you remain free. The two are as far asunder as the pole from theequator. I thank God you are not engaged to him!"

"But why?" asked Hester, with a pang of something like dread. "Whyshould you be so anxious about it?"

"Has he never said he loved you?" asked the major eagerly. 

"No, " said Hester hurriedly. She felt instinctively it was best toanswer directly where there was no reason for silence. What he might bewrong to ask she was not therefore wrong to answer. But her _No_trembled a little, for the doubt came with it, whether though literally, it was strictly true. "We are friends, " she added. "We trust each othera good deal. "

"Trust him with nothing, least of all your heart, my dear, " said themajor earnestly. "Or if you must trust him, trust him with anything, with everything, except that. He is not worthy of you. "

"Do you say so to flatter me or to disparage him?"

"Entirely to disparage him. I never flatter. "

"You did not surely bring me out, major Marvel, to hear evil of one ofmy best friends?" said Hester, now angry. 

"I certainly did--if the truth be evil--but only for your sake. The manI do not feel interest enough in to abuse even. He is a nobody. "

"That only proves you do not know him: you would not speak so if youdid, " said Hester, widening the space between her and the major, andready to choke with what in utterance took such gentle form. 

"I am confident I should have worse to say if I knew him better. It isyou who do not know him. It astonishes me that sensible people like yourfather and mother should let a fellow like that come prowling afteryou!"

"Major Marvel, if you are going to abuse my father and mother as well aslord Gartley, --" cried Hester, but he interrupted her. 

"Ah, there it is!" exclaimed he bitterly. "Lord Gartley!--I have nobusiness to interfere--no more than your gardener or coachman! but tothink of an angel like you in the arms of a----"

"Major Marvel!"

--"I beg ten thousand pardons, cousin Hester! but I am so damnably inearnest I can't pick and choose my phrases. Believe me the man is notworthy of you. "

"What have you got against him?--I do hate backbiting! As his friend Iask you what you have against him. "

"That's the pity of it! I can't tell you anything very bad of him. But aman of whom no one has anything good to say--one of whom never a warmword is uttered--"

"I have called him my friend!" said Hester. 

"That's the worst of it! If it were not for that he might go to thedevil for me!--I daresay you think it a fine thing he should have stuckto business so long!

"He was put to that before there was much chance of his succeeding; hisaunt would not have him on her hands consuming the money she meant forthe earldom. His elder brother would have had it, but he killed himselfbefore it fell due: there are things that must not be spoken of to youngladies. I don't say your _friend_ has disgraced himself; he hasnot: by George, it takes a good deal for that in his set! But not a soulout of his own family cares two-pence for him. "

"There are some who are better liked everywhere than at home, andthey're not the better sort, " said Hester. "That goes for less thannothing. I know the part of him chance acquaintances cannot know. Hedoes not bear his heart on his sleeve. I assure you, major Marvel, he isa man of uncommon gifts and--"

"Great attractions, no doubt--to me invisible, " blurted the major. 

Hester turned from him. 

"I am going home, " she said. "--Luncheon is at the usual hour. "

"Just one word, " cried he, hurrying after her. "I swear by the livingGod I have no purpose or hope in interfering but to save you from amiserable future. Promise me not to marry this man, and I will settle onyou a thousand a year--safe. You shall have the principal down if youprefer. "

Hester walked the faster. 

"Hear me, " he went on, in an agony of entreaty mingled with somethinglike anger. 

"I mean it, " he continued. "Why should I not for Helen's child!"

He was a yard or two behind her. She turned on him with a glance ofcontempt. But the tears were in his eyes, and her heart smote her. Hehad abused her friend, but was plainly honest himself. Her countenancechanged as she looked at him. He came up to her. She laid her hand onhis arm, and said--

"Dear major Marvel, I will speak to you without anger. What would youthink of one who took money to do the thing she ought to do? I will notask you what you would think of one who took money to do the thing sheought not to do! I would not _promise_ not to marry a beggar fromthe street. It _might_ be disgraceful to marry the beggar; it_must_ be disgraceful to promise not!"

"Yes, yes, my dear! you are quite right--absolutely right, " said themajor humbly. "I only wanted to make you independent. You don't thinkhalf enough of yourself. --But I will dare one more question before Igive you up; is he going to ask you to marry him?"

"Perhaps. I do not know. "

"One more question yet: can you secure any liberty? Will your fathersettle anything upon you?"

"I don't know. I have never thought about anything of the kind. "

"How could they let you go about with him so much and never ask him whathe meant by it?"

"They could easier have asked me what I meant by it!"

"If I had such a jewel I would look after it!"

"Have me shut up like an eastern lady, I suppose, " said Hester, laughing; "make my life miserable to make it safe. If a woman has anysense, major Marvel, she can take care of herself; if she has not, shemust learn the need of it. "

"Ah!" said the major sadly, "but the thousand pangs and aches andheart-sickenings! I would sooner see my child on the funeral pyre of ahusband she loved, than living a merry life with one she despised!"

Hester began to feel she had not been doing the major justice. 

"So would I!" she said heartily. "You mean me well, and I shall notforget how kind you have been. Now let us go back. "

"Just one thing more: if ever you think I can help you, you _will_let me know?"

"That I promise with all my heart, " she answered. 

"I mean, " she added, "if it be a thing I count it right to trouble youabout. "

The major's face fell. 

"I see!" he said; "you won't promise anything. Well, stick to that, and_don't_ promise. "

"You wouldn't have me come to you for a new bonnet, would you?"

"By George! shouldn't I be proud to fetch you the best in Regent streetby the next train!"

"Or saddle the pony for me?"

"Try me. --But I won't have any more chaff. I throw myself on yourgenerosity, and trust you to remember there is an old man that lovesyou, and has more money than he knows what to do with. "

"I think, " said Hester, "the day is sure to come when I shall ask yourhelp. In the meantime, if it be any pleasure to you to know it, I trustyou heartily. You are all wrong about lord Gartley though. He is notwhat you think him. "

She gave him her hand. The major took it in his own soft smallone--small enough almost for the hilt of an Indian tulwar--and pressedit devoutly to his lips. She did not draw it away, and he felt shetrusted him. 

Now that the hard duty was done, and if not much good yet no harm hadresulted, he went home a different man. A pang of fear for Hester in thepower of "that ape Gartley" would now and then pass through him; but hehad now a right to look after her, and who can tell what might not turnup!

His host congratulated him on looking so much better for his walk, andHester recounted to her mother their strange conversation. 

"Only think, mamma!" she said; "he offered me a thousand a year not tomarry lord Gartley!"

"Hester!"

"He does not like the earl, and he does like me; so he wants me not tomarry him. That is all!"

"I thought I could have believed anything of him, but this goes almostbeyond belief!"

"Why should it, mamma? There is an odder thing still: instead of hatinghim for it, I like him better than before. "

"Are you sure he has no notion of making room for himself?"

"Quite sure. He would have it he was old enough to be my grandfather. But you know he is not that!"

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind if he were a little younger yet!" said hermother merrily, "as he is too young to be your grandfather. "

"I suppose you had a presentiment I should like him, and left him forme, mamma!" returned Hester in like vein. 

"But seriously, Hester, is it not time we knew what lord Gartley means?"

"Oh, mamma! please don't talk like that!"

"It does sound disagreeable--vulgar, if you like, my child; but I cannothelp being anxious about you. If he does not love you he has no right tocourt your company so much. "

"I encourage it, mamma. I like him. "

"That is what makes me afraid. "

"It will be time enough to think about it if he comes again now he hasgot the earldom. "

"Should you like to be a countess, Hester?"

"I would rather not think about it, mother. It may never make anydifference whether I should like it or not. 

"I can't help thinking it strange he should be so much with you andnever say a word!"

"Might you not just as well say it was strange of me to be so much withhim, or of you, mother dear, to let him come so much to the house?"

"It was neither your part nor mine to say anything. Your father even hasalways said he would scorn to ask a man his _intentions_: either hewas fit to be in his daughter's company, or he was not. Either he mustget rid of him, or leave his daughter to manage her own affairs. He isquite American in his way of looking at those matters. "

"Don't you think he is right, mother? If I let lord Gartley come, surelyhe is not to blame for coming!

"Only if you should have got fond of him, and it were to come tonothing?"

"It can't come to nothing, mother, and neither of us will be the worsefor it, I trust. As to what I think about him, I don't feel as if Iquite knew; and I don't think at present I need ask myself. I am afraidyou think me very cool: and in truth I don't quite understand myself;but perhaps if one tries to do right as things come up, one may get onwithout understanding oneself. I don't think, so far as I can make out, St. Paul understood himself always. Miss Dasomma says a great part ofmusic is the agony of the musician after the understanding of himself. Iwill try to do what is right--you may be sure of that, mother. "

"I am sure of that, my dear--quite sure; and I won't trouble you moreabout it. You may imagine I should not like to see my Hester a love-sickmaiden, pining and wasting away!"

"Depend upon It, mamma, if I found myself in that state no one elseshould discover it, " said Hester, partly in play, but thoroughly inearnest. 

"That only reveals how little you know about such things, my love! Youcould no more hide it from the eyes of your mother than you could ahusband. "

"Such things have been hid before now, mamma! And yet why should a womanever hide anything? I must think about that! From one's own mother? No;when I am dying of love, you shall know, mamma. But it won't beto-morrow or the next day. "

CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE MAJOR AND COUSIN HELEN'S BOYS. 

The major was in no haste to leave, but he spent most of his time withMark, and was in nobody's way. Mark was very happy with the major. Thenature of the man was so childlike that, although he knew little of thedeep things in which Mark was at home, his presence was never aninterruption to the child's thoughts; and when the boy made a remark inthe upward direction, he would look so grave, and hold such a peace thatthe child never missed the lacking words of response. Who knows what theman may not have gained even from silent communication with the child!

One day he was telling the boy how he had been out alone on a desolatehill all night; how he heard the beasts roaring round him, and not oneof them came near him. "Did you see _him_?" asked Mark. 

"See who, sonny?" returned the major. 

"The one between you and them, " answered Mark in a subdued tone; andfrom the tone the major understood. 

"No, " he answered; and taking into his the spirit of the child, went on. "I don't think any one sees him now-a-days. "

"Isn't it a pity?" said Mark. Then after a thoughtful pause, he resumed:"Well, not see him just with your eyes, you know! But old Jonathan atthe cottage--he has got no eyes--at least none to speak of, for they'reno good to see with--he always speaks of seeing the people he has beentalking with--and in a way he does see them, don't you think? But Ifancy sometimes I must have seen _him_ with my very eyes when I wasyoung: and that's why I keep always expecting to see him again--someday, you know--some day. Don't you think I shall, Majie?"

"I hope so, indeed, Mark! It would be a bad job if we were never to seehim!" he added, suddenly struck with a feeling he had never had before. 

"Yes, indeed; that it would!" responded the child. "Why, where would bethe good of it all, you know! That's what we came here for--ain't it?God calls children--I know he calls some, for he said, 'Samuel! Samuel!'I wish he would call me!"

"What would you say?" asked the major. 

"I would say--' Here I am, God! What is it?' We musn't keep God waiting, you know!"

The major felt, like Wordsworth with the leech-gatherer, that the childwas there to give him "apt admonishment. " Could God have ever called himand he not have listened? Of course it was all a fancy! And yet as helooked at the child, and met his simple believing eyes, he felt he hadbeen a great sinner, and the best things he had done were not fit to belooked at. Happily there were no conventional religious phrases in themouth of the child to repel him; his father and mother had a horror ofpharisaic Christianity: I use the word _pharisaic_ in its truesense--as _formal_, not as _hypocritical_. They had both seenin their youth too many religious prigs to endure temple-whitewash ontheir children. Except what they heard at church, hardly a specialreligious phrase ever entered their ears. Those of the New Testamentwere avoided from reverence, lest they should grow common and fail oftheir purpose when the children read them for themselves. "But if thissucceeded with Hester and Mark, how with Cornelius?" I answer, if tothat youth's education had been added the common _forms_ of areligious one, he would have been--not perhaps a worse fellow, but a farmore offensive one, and harder to influence for good. Inclined to scoff, he would have had the religious material for jest and ribaldry ready tohis hand; while if he had wanted to start as a hypocrite, it would havebeen specially easy. The true teaching for children is persons, historyand doctrine in the old sense of the New Testament--instruction inrighteousness, that is--not human theory about divine facts. 

The major was still at Yrndale, when, in the gloomy month to which forreasons he had shifted his holiday, Cornelius arrived. The major couldhardly accept him as one of the family, so utterly inferior did he show. There was a kind of mean beauty about his face and person and an evidentvarnish on his manners which revolted him. "That lad will bring grief onthem!" he said to himself. He was more than usually polite to the major:he was in the army, the goal of his aspiration! but he laughed at whathe called his vulgarity in private, and delighted to annoy Hester withremarks upon her "ancient adorer. " Because he prized nothing of thekind, he could see nothing of his essential worth, and took note merelyof his blunders, personal ways and oddities. The major was not properlyvulgar, only ill-bred: he had not had a sharp enough mother, jealous forthe good manners as well as good behaviour of her boy. There are manyladylike mothers--ladylike because their mothers were ladies and taughtthem to behave like ladies, whose children do not turn out ladies andgentlemen because they do not teach them as they were taught themselves. Cornelius had been taught--and had learned nothing but manners. He wasvulgar with a vulgarity that went miles deeper than that of the major. The major would have been sorry to find he had hurt the feelings of adog; Cornelius would have whistled on learning that he had hurt thefeelings of a woman. If the major was a clown, Cornelius was a cad. Theone was capable of genuine sympathy; the other not yet of any. The latterloved his own paltry self, counting it the most precious thing increation; the former was conceited it is true, but had no lofty opinionof himself. Hence it was that he thought so much of his small successes. His boasting of them was mainly an uneasy effort at establishing himselfcomfortably in his own eyes and the eyes of friends. It was little morethan a dog's turning of himself round and round before he lies down. He knew they were small things of which he boasted but he had no other, and scorned to invent: his great things, those in which he had shownhimself a true and generous man, he looked on as matters of course, norrecognized anything in them worth thinking of. He was not a great man, but had elements of greatness; he had no vision of truth, but obeyed hismoral instincts: when those should blossom into true intents, as one daythey must, he would be a great man. As yet he was not safe. But howblessed a thing that God will judge us and man shall not! Where we seeno difference, he sees ages of difference. The very thing that looks tous for condemnation may to the eyes of God show in its heart ground ofexcuse, yea, of partial justification. Only God's excuse is, I suspect, seldom coincident with the excuse a man makes for himself. If any onethinks that God will not search closely into things, I say there couldnot be such a God. He will see the uttermost farthing paid. His excusesare as just as his condemnations. 

In respect of Cornelius the major was more careful than usual not tomake himself disagreeable, for his feelings put him on his guard: thereare not a few who behave better to those they do not like than to thosethey do. He thus flattered, without intending it, the vanity of theyouth, who did not therefore spare his criticism behind his back. Hesterusually answered in his defence, but sometimes would not condescend tojustify him to such an accuser. One day she lost her temper with herbeam-eyed brother. "Cornelius, the major may have his faults, " she said, "but you are not the man to find them out. He is ten times the gentlemanyou are. I say it deliberately, and with all my soul!" As she began thisspeech, the major entered the room, but she did not see him. He askedCornelius to go with him for a walk. Hoping he had only just come in, but a little anxious, Cornelius agreed, and as they walked behavedbetter than he had ever done before--till he had persuaded himself thatthe major had heard nothing, when he speedily relapsed into his formermanner--one of condescension and thin offence to nearly every one abouthim. But all the time the major was studying him, and saw into himdeeper than his mother or Hester--descried a certain furtive anxiety inthe youth's eyes when he was silent, an unrest as of trouble he wouldnot show. "The rascal has been doing something wrong, " he said tohimself; "he is afraid of being found out! And found out he is sure tobe; he has not the brains to hide a thing! It's not murder--he ain't gotthe pluck for that; but it may be petty larceny!"

The weeks went on. Cornelius's month wore out, but he seemed restlessfor it to be gone, making no response to the lamentations of thechildren that Christmas was so near, and their new home such a grand onefor keeping it in, and Corney not to be with them! He did not show themmuch kindness, but a little went a great way with them, and they lovedhim. 

"Mind you're well, before I come again, Markie, " he said as he took hisleave; "you're not a pleasant sight moping about the house!" The tearscame in the child's eyes. He was not moping--only weakly and even whenlooking a little sad, was quite happy. 

"I don't think I mope, Hessy--do I?" he said. "What does Corney mean? Idon't want to do what ain't nice. I want to be pleasant!"

"Never mind, Markie dear, " answered Hester; "it's only that you are notvery strong--not up to a game of romps as you used to be. You will bemerry again one day. "

"I am merry enough, " replied Mark; "only somehow the merry goes allabout inside me, and don't want to come out--like the little bird, youknow, that wouldn't go out of its cage though I left the door open forit. I suppose it felt just like me. I don't care if I never go out ofthe house again. "

He was indeed happy enough--more than happy when _Majie_ was there. They would be together most days all day long. And the amount of storiesMark, with all his contemplativeness could swallow, was amazing. Thatmay be good food which cannot give life. But the family-party was soonto be broken up--not by subtraction, but by addition. The presence ofthe major had done nothing to spoil the homeness of home, but it was nowfor a time to be set aside. 

There is something wrong with anyone who, entering a house of any kind, makes it less of a home. The angel-stranger makes the children of ahouse more aware of their home; they delight in showing it to him, forhe takes interest in all that belongs to the family-life--the onlyblessed life in heaven or upon earth, and sees the things as thechildren see them. But the stranger of this world makes the very home byhis presence feel out of doors. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

A DISTINGUISHED GUEST. 

A letter came from lord Gartley, begging Mrs. Raymount to excuse theliberty he took, and allow him to ask whether he might presume upon herwish, casually expressed, to welcome his aunt to the hospitality ofYrndale. London was empty, therefore her engagements, although Parliamentwas sitting, were few, and he believed if Mrs. Raymount would take thetrouble to invite her, she might be persuaded to avail herself of thecourtesy. "I am well aware, " he wrote, "of the seeming rudeness of thissuggestion, but you, dear Mrs. Raymount, can read between lines, andunderstand that it is no presumptuous desire to boast my friends to myrelatives that makes me venture what to other eyes than yours might wellseem an arrogance. If you have not room for us, or if our presence wouldspoil your Christmas party, do not hesitate to put us off, I beg. Ishall understand you, and say nothing to my rather peculiar but mostworthy aunt, waiting a more convenient season. " The desired invitationwas immediately dispatched, --with some wry faces on the part of the headof the house who, however, would not oppose what his wife wished. 

Notwithstanding his knowledge of men, that is, of fundamental humannature, Mr. Raymount was not good at reading a man who made himselfagreeable, and did not tread on the toes of any of his theories--ofwhich, though mostly good, he made too much, as every man of theorydoes. I would not have him supposed a man of theory only: such a man ishardly man at all; but while he thought of the practice, he toosparingly practiced the thought. He laid too much upon words altogether;especially words in print, attributing more power to them for theregeneration of the world than was reasonable. If he had known how fewcared a pin's point for those in which he poured out his mind, justflavored a little with his heart, he would have lost hope altogether. Ifhe had known how his arguments were sometimes used against the veryprinciples he used them for, it would have enraged him. Perhaps theknowledge of how few of those who admired his words acted upon them, would have made him think how little he struggled himself to do thethings which by persuasion and argument he drove home upon theconsciences of others. He had not yet believed that to do right is moreto do for the regeneration of the world than any quality or amount ofteaching can do. "_The Press_" no doubt has a great power for good, but every man possesses, involved in the very fact of his consciousness, a greater power than any verbal utterance of truth whatever. It isrighteousness--not of words, not of theories, but in being, that is, invital action, which alone is the prince of the power of the spirit. Where that is, everything has its perfect work; where that is not, theman is not a power--is but a walker in a vain show. 

He did not see through or even into Gartley who was by no means aprofound or intentional hypocrite. But he never started on a newrelation with any suspicions. Men of the world called him too good, therefore a fool. It was not however any over-exalted idea of humannature that led him astray in his judgment of the individual; it wasmerely that he was too much occupied with what he counted his work--withhis theories first, then his writing of them, then the endless defendingof them, to care to see beyond the focus of his short-sighted eyes. Vavasor was a gentlemanly fellow, and that went a long way with him. Hedid not oppose him, and that went another long way: of all things hecould not bear to be opposed in what he so plainly saw to be true, norcould think why every other honest man should not at once also see ittrue. He forgot that the difficulty is not so much in recognizing thetruth of a proposition, as in recognizing what the proposition is. Inthe higher regions of thought the recognition of what a proposition is, and the recognition of its truth are more than homologous--they are thesame thing. 

The ruin of a man's teaching comes of his followers, such as havingnever touched the foundation he has laid, build upon it wood, hay, andstubble, fit only to be burnt. Therefore, if only to avoid his worstfoes, his admirers, a man should avoid system. The more correct a systemthe worse will it be misunderstood; its professed admirers will takeboth its errors and their misconceptions of its truths, and hold themforth as its essence. Mr. Raymount, then, was not the man to take thatcare of his daughter which people of the world think necessary. But, onthe whole, even with the poor education they have, women, if let alone, would take better care of themselves, than father or brother will forthem. I say _on the whole_; there may well be some exceptions. Theonly thing making men more fit to take care of women than the womenthemselves, is their greater opportunity of knowing the character of menconcerned--which knowledge, alas! they generally use against those theyclaim to protect, concealing facts from the woman to whom they ought tobe conveyed; sometimes indeed having already deluded her with thepersuasion that is of no consequence in the man which is essential inherself. 

The day before Christmas-eve the expected visitors arrived--just in timeto dress for dinner. 

The family was assembled in the large old drawing-room of dingy whiteand tarnished gold when Miss Vavasor entered. She was tall and handsomeand had been handsomer, for she was not of those who, growing within, grow more beautiful without as they grow older. She was dressed in theplainest, handsomest fashion--in black velvet, fitting well her finefigure, and half covered with point lace of a very thicktexture--Venetian probably. The only stones she wore were diamonds. Herfeatures were regular; her complexion was sallow, but not too sallow forthe sunset of beauty; her eyes were rather large, and of a clear gray;her expression was very still, self-contained and self-dependent, without being self-satisfied; her hair was more than half gray, but veryplentiful. Altogether she was one with an evident claim to distinction, never asserted because always yielded. To the merest glance she showedherself well born, well nurtured, well trained, and well kept, hencewell preserved. At an age when a poor woman must have been old andwrinkled, and half undressed for the tomb, she was enough to make anycompany look distinguished by her mere presence. Her manner was assimple as her dress--without a trace of the vulgarity of condescensionor the least more stiffness than was becoming with persons towards whoseacquaintance, the rather that she was their guest, it was but decent toadvance gently, while it was also prudent to protect her line ofretreat, lest it should prove desirable to draw back. She spoke with theutmost readiness and simplicity, looked with interest at Hester butwithout curiosity, had the sweetest smile at hand for use as often aswanted--a modest smile which gleamed but a moment and was gone. Therewas nothing in her behaviour to indicate a consciousness of error fromher sphere. The world had given her the appearance of much of whichChrist gives the reality. For the world very oddly prizes the form whoseinforming reality it despises. 

Lord Gartley was in fine humour. He had not before appeared to so greatadvantage. Vavasor had never put off his company manner with Hester'sfamily, but Gartley was almost merry, quite graciously familiar--as ifset on bringing out the best points of his friends, and preventing hisaunt's greatness from making them abashed, or their own too much modestyfrom showing a lack of breeding. But how shall I describe his face whenmajor Marvel entered! he had not even feared his presence. A blankdismay, such as could seldom have been visible there, a strange minglingof annoyance, contempt, and fear, clouded it with an inharmoniousexpression, which made him look much like a discomfited commoner. In amoment he had overcome the unworthy sensation, and was again impassiveand seemingly cool. The major did not choose to see him at first, butwas presented to Miss Vavasor by their hostess as her cousin. Heappeared a little awed by the fine woman, and comported himself with thedignity which awe gives, behaving like any gentleman used to society. Seated next her at dinner, he did not once allude to pig-sticking ortiger-shooting, to elephants or niggers, or even to his regiment orIndia, but talked about the last opera and the last play, with some goodcriticisms on the acting he had last seen, conducting himself in suchmanner as would have made lord Gartley quite grateful to him, had he notput it down to the imperial presence of his high-born aunt, cowering hisinferior nature. But while indeed the major was naturally checked by aself-sufficing feminine presence, the cause that mainly operated to hissuppression was of another kind and from an opposite source. 

He had been strongly tempted all that day to a very different behaviour. Remembering what he had heard of the character of the lady, and of therelation between her and her nephew, he knew at once, when told she wascoming, that lord Gartley was bringing her down with the hope of gainingher consent to his asking Hester to marry him. "The rascal knows, " saidthe major to himself, "that nothing human could stand out against her!There is only her inferior position to urge from any point of view!" Andtherewith arose his temptation: might he not so comport himself beforethe aunt as to disgust her with the family, and save his lovely cousinfrom being sacrificed to a heartless noodle? To the extent of his meanshe would do what money could to console her! It was at least better thanthe empty title! He recalled the ways of his youth, remembered with whatdelightful success he had annoyed aunts and cousins and lady friends, chuckled to think that some of them had for months passed him withouteven looking at him:

"I'll settle the young ape's hash for him!" he said to himself. "It onlywants a little free-and-easyness with my lady to do the deed. It cancost me nothing except her good opinion, which I can afford. But I'lllay you anything to nothing, if she knew the weight of my four quarters, she would have me herself after all! I don't quite think myself alady-killer: by George, my--hum!--_entourage_ is against that, butwhere money is money can! Only I don't want her, and my money is for herbetters! What damned jolly fun it will be to send her out of the housein a rage!--and a good deed done too!--By George, I'll do it! See if Idon't!"

He might possibly have found it not quite so easy to shock Miss Vavasoras some of his late country cousins. 

In this resolution he had begun to dress, but before he had finished hadbegun to have his doubts. Would it not be dishonorable? Would it notbring such indignation upon him that even Mark would turn away? Hesterwould never except so much as a postage-stamp from him if he broughtdisgrace on her family, and drove away her suitor! Besides, he mightfail! They might come to an understanding and leave him out in the cold!By the time he was dressed he had resolved to leave the fancy alone, andbehave like a gentleman. But now with every sip of wine the temptationcame stronger and stronger. The spirit of fun kept stirring in him. Notmerely for the sake of Hester, but for the joke of the thing, he wastempted, and had to keep fighting the impulse till the struggle wasalmost more than he could endure. And just from this came the subduedcharacter of his demeanour! What had threatened to destroy his mannersfor the evening turned out the corrective of his usual behaviour: as anescape from the strife within him, he tried to make himself agreeable. Miss Vavasor being good natured, was soon interested and by and bypleased with him. This reacted; he began to feel pleased with her, andwas more at his ease. Therewith came the danger not unforeseen of someat the table: he began to tell one of his stories. But he saw Hesterlook anxious; and that was enough to put him on his careful honour. Eredinner was over he said to himself that if only the nephew were half asgood a fellow as the aunt, he would have been happy to give the youngpeople his blessing and a handsome present. 

"By Jove!" said lord Gartley, "the scoundrel is not such a low fellowafter all! I think I will try to forgive him!" Now and then he wouldlisten across the table to their talk, and everything the major saidthat pleased his aunt pleased him amazingly. At one little witticism ofhers in answer to one of the major's he burst into such a hearty laughthat his aunt looked up. 

"You are amused, Gartley!" she said. 

"You are so clever, aunt!" he returned. 

"Major Marvel has all the merit of my wit, " she answered. This gave the_coup de grace_ to the major's temptation to do evil that goodmight come, and sacrifice himself that Hester might not be sacrificed. 

After dinner, they sat down to whist, of which Miss Vavasor was veryfond. When however she found they did not play for money, though shepraised the asceticism of the manner, she plainly took little interestin the game. The major therefore, who had no scruples either ofconscience or of pocket in the matter, suggested that his lordship andHester should take their places, and proposed cribbage to her, for whatpoints she pleased. To this she acceded at once. The major was the bestplayer in his regiment, but Miss Vavasor had much the better of it, andregretted she had not set the points higher. All her life she had hadmoney in the one eye and the poor earldom in the other. The major laiddown his halfcrowns so cheerfully, with such a look of satisfactioneven, that she came quite to like the man, and to hope he would be therefor some time, and prove as fond of cribbage as she was. The fear oflord Gartley as to the malign influence of the major vanished entirely. 

And now that he was more at his ease, and saw that his aunt was at leastfar from displeased with Hester, lord Gartley began to radiate hisfascinations. All his finer nature appeared. He grew playful, eventeasing; gave again and again a quick repartee; and sang as his aunt hadnever heard him sing before. But when Hester sang, the thing was done, and the aunt won: she perceived at once what a sensation such a singerwould make in her heavenly circle! She had, to be sure, a little_too_ much expression, and sang well enough for a professional, which was too well for a lady with no object in her singing except toplease. But in manner and style, to mention neither beauty noraccomplishments, she would be a decided gain to the family, possessingeven in herself a not inconsiderable counterpoise to the title. Then whocould tell but this cousin--who seemed to have plenty of money, heparted with it so easily--might be moved by like noble feelings with herown to make a poor countess a rich one. The thing, I say, was settled, so far as the chief family-worshipper was concerned. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

COURTSHIP IN EARNEST. 

I do not care to dwell upon what followed. Christmas was a merry day toall but the major, who did not like the engagement any better thanbefore. He found refuge and consolation with Mark. The boy was merry ina mild, reflected way, because the rest were merry, but preferred hisown room with "dear Majie, " to the drawing-room with the grand lady. Hewould steal from it, assured that in a moment the major would be afterhim, to keep him company, and tell him such stories!

Lord Gartley now began to make love with full intent and purpose. "Howcould she listen to him!" says this and that reader? I can but echo theexclamation, "How could she!" To explain the thing is more than I ambound to undertake. As I may have said twenty times before, how thiswoman will have this man is one of the deeper mysteries of theworld--yea, of the maker of the world, perhaps. One thing I may fairlysuggest--that where men see no reason why a woman should love this orthat man, she may see something in him which they do not see, or do notvalue as she does. Alas for her if she only imagines it! Another thingwe may be sure of--that in few cases does the woman see what the menknow: much of that which is manifest to the eyes of the male world, isby the male world scrupulously hidden from the female. One thing more Iwould touch upon which men are more likely never to have thought of thanto have forgotten: that the love which a beautiful woman gives a man, isin itself not an atom more precious than that which a plain woman gives. In the two hearts they are the same, if the hearts be like; if not, theadvantage may well be with the plain woman. The love of a beautifulwoman is no more thrown away than the love of the plainest. The sameholds with regard to women of differing intellectual developments orendowment. But when a woman of high hopes and aims--a woman filled witheternal aspirations after life, and unity with her divine original givesherself to such a one as lord Gartley, I cannot help thinking she musthave seriously mistaken some things both in him and in herself, theconsequence, probably, of some self-sufficiency, ambition, or otherfault in her, which requires the correction of suffering. 

Hester found her lover now very pleasant. If sometimes he struck ajarring chord, she was always able to find some way of accounting forit, or explaining it away--if not entirely to her satisfaction, yet sofar that she was able to go on hoping everything, and for the present toput off any further consideration of the particular phenomenon to thetime when, like most self-deceiving women, she _scarcely_ doubtedshe would have greater influence over him--namely, the time when, manand wife, they would be one flesh. But where there is not already a fardeeper unity than marriage can give, marriage itself can do little tobring two souls together--may do much to drive them asunder. 

She began to put him in training, as she thought, for the help he was togive her with her loved poor. "What a silly!" exclaims a common-mindedgirl-reader. "That was not the way to land her fish!" But let those whoare content to have fishy husbands, net or hook and land them as theycan; a woman has more in herself than any husband can give her, thoughhe may take much from her. Lord Gartley had no real conception of heroutlook on life, and regarded all her endeavor as born of the desire toperfect his voice and singing. With such teaching he must, he imagined, soon become her worthy equal. He had no notion of the sort of thinggenius is. Few have. They think of it as something supreme in itself, whereas it is altogether dependent on truth in the inward parts. It maylast for a time separated from truth, but it dies its life, not livesit. Its utterance depends on enthusiasm; all enthusiasm depends on loveand nobility of purpose; and love and nobility depend upon truth--thatis, live truth. Not millions of years, without an utter regeneration ofnature, could make such a man as Gartley sing like Hester. His facultieswere in the power of decay, therefore of the things that pass; Hesterwas of the powers that give life, and keep things going and growing. Shesang because of the song that was in her soul. Her music came out of herbeing, not out of her brain and her throat. If such a one as Gartley cansing, there is no reason why he should be kept singing. In all the artsthe man who does not reach to higher things falls away from the thingshe has. The love of money will ruin poet, painter, or musician. 

For Hester the days now passed in pleasure. I fear the closer contactwith lord Gartley, different he was in her thought from what he was inhis own best, influenced at least the _rate_ of her growth towardsthe upper regions. We cannot be heart and soul and self in the companyof the evil--and the untrue is the evil, however beheld as an angel oflight in the mirage of our loving eyes, without sad loss. Her prayerswere not so fervent, her aspirations not so strong. I see again the curlon the lip of a certain kind of girl-reader! Her judgment here is butfoolishness. She is much too low in the creation yet, be she ashigh-born and beautiful as a heathen goddess, to understand the thingsof which I am writing. But she has got to understand them--they are notmine--and the understanding may come in dread pain, and dire dismay. Hester was one of those who in their chambers are not alone, but withhim who seeth in secret; and not to get so near to God in her chamber--I can but speak in human figure--did not argue well for the newrelationship. But the Lord is mindful of his own. He does not forgetbecause we forget. Horror and pain may come, but not because heforgets--nay, just because he does not forget. That is a thing God neverdoes. 

There are many women who would have bewitched Gartley more, yet greatwas his delight in the presence and converse of Hester, and he yieldedhimself with pleasing grace. Inclined to rebel at times when weariedwith her demands on his attention and endeavour, he yet condescended tothem with something of the playfulness with which one would humour achild: he would have a sweet revenge by and by! His turn would comesoon, and he would have to instruct her in many things she was nowignorant of! She had never moved in his great world: he must teach herits laws, instruct her how to shine, how to make the most of herself, how to do honour to his choice! He had but the vaguest idea of the_folly_ that possessed her. He thought of her relation to the poorbut as a passing--indeed a past phase of a hitherto objectless life. Anything beyond a little easy benevolence would be impossible to thewife of lord Gartley! That she should contemplate the pursuit of herformer objects with even greater freedom and devotion than before, wouldhave seemed to him a thing utterly incredible. And Hester would havebeen equally staggered to find he had so failed to understand her afterthe way she had opened her heart to him. To imagine that for anythingshe would forsake the work she had been sent to do! So things went on_upon a mutual misunderstanding_--to make a bull for my purpose--eachin the common meaning of the word getting more and more in love withthe other every day, while in reality they were separating farther andfarther, in as much as each one was revelling in thoughts that werealien to the other. An occasional blasting doubt would cross the mindof Hester, but she banished it like an evil spectre. 

Miss Vavasor continued the most pleasant and unexacting of guests. Herperfect breeding, sustained by a quiet temper and kindly disposition, was easily, by simple hearts, taken for the sweetness it only simulated. To people like Miss Vavasor does the thought never occur--what if thething they find it so necessary to simulate should actually in itself beindispensable? What if their necessity of simulating it comes of itsabsolute necessity!

She found the company of the major agreeable in the slow time she hadfor her nephew's sake to pass with such primitive people, and was gladof what she might otherwise have counted barely endurable. For Mr. Raymount, he would not leave what he counted his work for any goddess increation: Hester had got her fixedness of purpose through him, and itsdirection through her mother. But it was well he did not give MissVavasor much of his company: if they had been alone together for aquarter of an hour, they would have parted sworn foes, hating each otheralmost as much as is possible without having loved. So the major, instead of putting a stop to the unworthy alliance, found himselfactually furthering the affair, doing his part with the lady on whom thesuccess of the enemy depended. He was still now and then tempted tobreak through and have a hideous revenge; but, with no great sense ofpersonal dignity to restrain him, he was really a man of honour andbehaved like one, curbing himself with no little severity. 

So the time went on till after the twelfth night, when Miss Vavasor tookher leave for a round of visits, and lord Gartley went up to town, withintention thereafter to pay a visit to his property, such as it was. Hewould return to Yrndale in three weeks or a month, when the finalarrangements for the marriage would be made. 

A correspondence naturally commenced, and Hester, unwarned by formerexperience, received his first letter joyfully. But, the letter read, lo, there was the same disappointment as of old! And as the firstletter, so the last and all between. In Hester's presence, shesuggesting and leading, he would utter what seemed to indicate thepresence of what she would have in him; but alone in his room, withoutguide to his thoughts, without the stimulus of her presence or the senseof her moral atmosphere, the best things he could write were poorenough; they had no bones in them, and no other fire than that which thethought of Hester's loveliness could supply. So his letters were notinspiriting. They absorbed her atmosphere and after each followed aperiod of mental asphyxy. Had they been those of a person indifferent toher, she would have called them stupid, thrown them down, and thought nomore of them. As it was, I doubt if she read many of them twice over. But all would be well, she said to herself, when they met again. It washer absence that oppressed him, poor fellow! He was out of spirits, andcould not write! He had not the faculty for writing that some had! Herfather had told her of men that were excellent talkers, but set themdown pen in hand and not a thought would come! Was it not to his praiserather than blame? Was not the presence of a man's own kind the bestinspirer of his speech? It was his loving human nature--she would havepersuaded herself, but never quite succeeded--that made utterance in aletter impossible to him. Yet she _would_ have liked a littlegenuine, definite response to the things she wrote! He seemed to havenothing to say from himself! He would assent and echo, but any responsewas always such as to make her doubt whether she had written plainly, invariably suggesting things of this world and not of the unseen, theworld of thought and being. And when she mentioned work he alwaysreplied as if she meant an undefined something called _doing good_. He never doubted the failure of that foolish concert of ladies andgentlemen given to the riff-raff of London, had taught her that whetherman be equal in the sight of God or not, any attempt on the part oftheir natural superiors to treat them as such could not but bedisastrous. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

CALAMITY. 

One afternoon the post brought side by side with a letter from lordGartley, one in a strange-looking cramped hand, which Mrs. Raymountrecognized. 

"What can Sarah be writing about?" she said, a sudden foreboding of evilcrossing her mind. 

"The water-rate perhaps, " answered Hester, opening her own letter as shewithdrew to read it. For she did not like to read Gartley's lettersbefore her mother--not from shyness, but from shame: she would haveliked ill to have her learn how poor her Gartley's utterances were uponpaper. But ere she was six slow steps away, she turned at a cry from hermother. 

"Good heavens, what can it be? Something has happened to him!" said Mrs. Raymount. 

Her face was white almost as the paper she held. Hester put her armsround her. 

"Mother! mother! what is it?" she cried. "Anything about Corney?"

"I thought something would come to stop it all. We were too happy!" shemoaned, and began to tremble. 

"Come to papa, mamma dear, " said Hester, frightened, but quiet. Shestood as if fixed to the ground. Mr. Raymount's letters had been carriedto him in the study, and one of them had put him into like perturbation. He was pacing up and down the room almost as white as his wife, but hispallor was that of rage. 

"The scoundrel!" he groaned, and seizing a chair hurled it against thewall. "I had the suspicion he was a mean dog! Now all the world willknow it--and that he is my son! What have I done--what has my wife done, that we should give being to a vile hound like this? What is there inher or in me--?"

There he paused, for he remembered: far back in the family some fivegenerations or so, one had been hanged for forgery. 

He threw himself in a chair, and wept with rage and shame. He had foryears been writing of family and social duties; here was hisillustration! His books were his words; here was his deed! How should heever show himself again! He would leave the country! Damn the property!The rascal should never succeed to it! Mark should have it--if he lived!But he hoped he would die! He would like to poison them all, and go withthem out of the disgrace--all but the dog that had brought it on them!Hester marry an earl! Not if the truth would prevent it! Her engagementmust at once be broken! Lord Gartley marry the sister of a thief!

While he was thus raging a knock came to the door, and a maid entered. 

"Please, sir, " she said, "Miss Raymount says will you come to mis'ess:she's taken bad!"

This brought him to himself. The horrible fate was hers too! He must goto her. How could she have heard the vile news? She must have heard it!what else could make her ill! He followed the maid to the lawn. It was acold morning of January sunshine. There stood his wife in his daughter'sarms, trembling from head to foot, and apparently without power ofmotion! He asked no question, took her in his arms, bore her to herroom, laid her on the bed, and sat down beside her, hardly caring if shedied, for the sooner they were all dead the better! She lay like onedead, and do what she could Hester was unable to bring her to herself. But by and by the doctor came. 

She had caught up the letter and as her father sat there, she handed itto him. The substance and manner of it were these:

"Dear mistress, it is time to let you know of the goings on here. Inever held with bearing of tales against my fellow-servants, and perhapsit's worse to bring tales against Master Cornelius, as is your own fleshand blood, but what am I to do as was left in charge, and to keep thehouse respectable? He's not been home this three nights; and you oughtto know as there is a young lady, his cousin from New Zealand, as iscome to the house a three or four times since you went away, and stayeda long time with him, though it is some time now that I ain't seen her. She is a pretty, modest-looking young lady; though I must say I wasill-pleased when Mr. Cornelius would have her stay all night; and I upand told him if she was his cousin it wasn't as if she was his sister, and it wouldn't do, and I would walk out of the house if he insisted onme making up a bed for her. Then he laughed in my face, and told me Iwas an old fool, and he was only making game of me. But that was afterhe done his best to persuade me, and I wouldn't be persuaded. I told himif neither he nor the young lady had a character to keep, I had one tolose, and I wouldn't. But I don't think he said anything to her aboutstaying all night; for she come down the stair as innocent-like as anydove, and bid me good night smiling, and they walked away together. AndI wouldn't by no means have took upon me to be a spy, nor I wouldn'thave mentioned the thing, for it's none of my business so long as nobodydoesn't abuse the house as is my charge; but he ain't been home forthree nights, and there is the feelings of a mother! and it's my part tolet her know as her son ain't slept in his own bed for three nights, andthat's a fact. So no more at present, and I hope dear mis'ess it won'tkill you to hear on it. O why did his father leave him alone in London, with none but an old woman like me, as he always did look down upon, tolook after him! Your humble servant for twenty years to command, S. H. "

 * * * * *

Mrs. Raymount had not read the half of this. It was enough to learn hehad not been home for three nights. How is it? Parents with noreasonable ground for believing their children good, nay withconsiderable ground for believing them worse than many, are yet seizedas by the awfully incredible when they hear they are going wrong. HelenRaymount concluded her boy had turned into bad ways because left inLondon, although she knew he had never taken to good ways while theywere all with him. If he had never gone right why should she wonder hehad gone wrong?

The doctor was sitting by the bedside, watching the effect of somethinghe had given her. Mr. Raymount rose and led Hester from theroom--sternly almost, as if she had been to blame for it all. 

Some people when they are angry, speak as if they were angry with theperson to whom they are in fact looking for comfort. When in trouble fewof us are masters enough of ourselves, because few of us are childrenenough of our Father in heaven, to behave like gentlemen--after thefashion of "the first stock father of gentleness. " But Hester understoodher mother and did not resent. 

"Is this all your mother knows, Hester?" said her father, pointing tothe letter in his hand. She told him her mother had read but the firstsentence or two. 

He was silent--returned to the bedside, and stood silent. The life ofhis dearest had been suddenly withered at the root, like the gourd ofJonah, and had she not learned nearly the worst!

His letter was from his wife's brother, in whose bank Cornelius was aclerk. A considerable deficit had been discovered in his accounts. Hehad not been to the bank for two days before, and no trace of him was tobe found. His uncle, from regard to the feelings of his sister, had notallowed the thing to transpire, but had requested the head of his officeto be silent: he would wait his brother-in-law's reply before taking anysteps. He feared the misguided youth had reckoned on the forbearance ofan uncle; but for the sake of his own future, if for no other reason, the thing could not be passed over!

"Passed over!" Had Gerald Raymount been a Roman with the power of lifeand death over his children, he would in his present mood have put hisson to death with his own hands. But for his wife's illness he wouldhave been already on the way to London to repay the missing money; forhis son's sake he would not cross his threshold! So at least he said tohimself. 

But something must be done. He must send some one! Who was there tosend? There was Hester! With her uncle she was a favourite! nor wouldshe dread the interview, which, as the heat of his rage yielded to acold despair, he felt would be to him an unendurable humiliation. For hehad had many arguments, not always quite friendly, with this samebrother-in-law concerning the way he brought up his children: they hadall turned out well, and here was his miserable son a felon, disgracingboth families! Yes; let Hester go! There were things a woman could dobetter than a man! Hester was no child now, but a capable woman! Whileshe was gone he could be making up his mind what to do with the wretchedboy!

He led Hester again from her mother's room to his, and gave her heruncle's letter to read. Tell her its contents he could not. He watchedher as she read--watched his own heart as it were in her bosom--saw hergrow pale, then flush, then turn pale again. At length her face settledinto a look of determination. She laid the letter on the table, and rosewith a steady troubled light in her eyes. What she was thinking of hecould not tell, but he made at once the proposal. 

"Hester, " he said, "I cannot leave your mother; you must go for me toyour uncle and do the best you can. If it were not for your mother Iwould have the rascal prosecuted; but it would break her heart. "

Hester wasted no words of reply: She had often heard him say there oughtto be no interference with public justice for private ends. 

"Yes, papa, " she answered. "I shall be ready in a moment. If I rideHotspur I shall catch the evening train. "

"There is time to take the brougham. "

"Am I to say anything to Corney, papa?" she asked, her voice tremblingover the name. 

"You have nothing to do with him, " he answered sternly. "Where is thegood of keeping a villain from being as much of a villain as he has gotit in him to be? I will sign you a blank cheque, which your uncle canfill up with the amount he has stolen. Come for it as soon as you areready. "

Hester thought as she went whether, if it had not been for thepossibility of repentance, the world would ever have been made at all. 

On her way to her room she met the major, looking for herself, to tellhim about her mother, of whose attack, as he had been out for a longwalk, he had but just heard. 

"But what did it, Hester?" he said. "I can smell in the air somethinghas gone wrong: what the deuce is it? There's always something gettingout of gear in this best of worlds?"

She would have passed him with a word in her haste, but he turned andwalked with her. 

"The individual, any individual, all the individuals, " he went on, "maycome to smash, but the world is all right, notwithstanding, and a goodserviceable machine!--by George, without a sound pinion in all thecarcass of it, or an engineer that cares there should be!"

They had met in a dark part of the corridor, and had now, at a turn init, come opposite a window. Then first the major saw Hester's face: hehad never seen her look like that!

"Is your mother in danger?" he asked, his tone changing to the gentlest, for his heart was in reality a most tender one. 

"She is very ill, " answered Hester. "The doctor has been with her nowthree hours. I am going up to London for papa. He can't leave her. "

"Going up to London--and by the night-train!" said the major to himself. "Then there has been bad news! What can they be? Money matters? No;cousin Helen is not the one to send health after money! It's somethingworse than that! I have it! That scoundrel Corney has been about somemischief--damn him! I shouldn't be surprised to hear anything bad ofhim! But what can you do, my dear?" he said aloud. "It's not fit--"

He looked up. Hester was gone. 

She put a few things together, drank a cup of tea brought to her room, went to her father and received the cheque, and was ready by the timethe brougham came to the door with a pair of horses. She would not lookat her mother again lest she might be sufficiently revived to wonderwhere she was going, but hastened down, and saw no one on the way. Oneof the servants was in the hall, and opened the carriage-door for her. The moment it closed she was on her way through the gathering dusk tothe railway station. 

While the lodge-gate was being opened, she thought she saw some one getup on the box beside the coachman, and fancied it must be a groom goingwith them. The drive was a long and anxious one; it seemed to her allthe time as if the horses could not get on. In spots the road wasslippery, and as the horses were not roughed they had to go slowly, andparts were very heavy. What might not be happening to Corney, shethought, while she was on the way to his rescue! She kept fancying onedreadful thing after another. It was like a terrible dream, only withthe assurance of reality in it. 

The carriage stopped, the door opened, and there was the major in a hugefur coat, holding out his hand to help her down. It was as great apleasure as surprise, and she showed both. 

"You didn't think I was going to let you travel alone?" he said. "Whoknows what wolf might be after my Red riding-hood! I'll go in anothercarriage of course if you wish it; but in this train I'm going toLondon. "

Hester told him she was only too glad of his escort. Careful not to seemin the least bent on the discovery of the cause of her journey, heseated himself in the farthest corner, for there was no one else in thecarriage, and pretended to go to sleep. And now first began Hester'sprivate share in the general misery of the family. In the presence ofher suffering father and mother, she put off looking into the mist thatkept gathering deeper and deeper, filled with forms undefined, aboutherself. Now these forms began to reveal themselves in shifting yetrecognizable reality. If this miserable affair should be successfullyhushed up, there was yet one must know it: she must immediately acquaintlord Gartley with what had taken place! And therewith one of the shapesin the mist settled into solidity: if the love between them had been ofan ideal character, would she have had a moment's anxiety as to how herlover would receive the painful news? But therewith her own mind wasmade up: if he but hesitated, that would be enough! Nothing could makeher marry a man who had once hesitated whether to draw back or not. Itwas impossible. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

IN LONDON. 

It was much too early to do anything when they arrived. Nor could Hestergo to her uncle's house: it was in one of the suburbs, and she wouldreach it before the household was stirring. They went therefore toAddison square. When they had roused Sarah, the major took his leave ofHester, promising to be with her in a few hours, and betook himself tohis hotel. 

As she would not be seen at the bank, with the risk of being recognizedas the sister of Cornelius and rousing speculation, she begged the majorwhen he came to be her messenger to her uncle, and tell him that she hadcome from her father, asking him where it would be convenient for him tosee her. The major undertook the commission at once, and went withoutasking a question. 

Early in the afternoon her uncle came, and behaved to her very kindly. He was chiefly a man of business, and showing neither by look nor tonethat he had sympathy with the trouble she and her parents were in, byhis very reticence revealed it. His manner was the colder that he wasstudiously avoiding the least approximation to remark on the conduct orcharacter of the youth--an abstinence which, however, had a chilling andhopeless effect upon the ardent mind of the sister. At last, when shehad given him her father's cheque, with the request that he wouldhimself fill it up with the amount of which he had been robbed, and hewith a slight deprecatory smile and shrug had taken it, she ventured toask what he was going to do in regard to her brother. 

"When I take this cheque, " answered her uncle, "it indicates that Itreat the matter as a debt discharged, and leave him entirely in yourfather's hands. He must do as he sees fit. I am sorry for you all, andfor you especially that you should have had to take an active part inthe business. I wish your father could have come up himself. My poorsister!"

"I cannot be glad my father could not come, " said Hester, "but I am gladhe did not come, for he is so angry with Cornelius that I could almostbelieve he would have insisted on your prosecuting him. You never sawsuch indignation as my father's at any wrong done by one man toanother--not to say by one like Cornelius to one like you, uncle, whohave always been so kind to him! It is a terrible blow! He will neverget over it--never! never!"

She broke down, and wept bitterly--the more bitterly that they were herfirst tears since learning the terrible fact, for she was not one whoreadily found such relief. To think of their family, of which she wastoo ready to feel proud, being thus disgraced, with one for its futurerepresentative who had not even the commonest honesty, and who, but thathis crime had been committed against an indulgent relative, wouldassuredly, for the sake of the business morals of his associates, if forno other reason, have been prosecuted for felony, was hard to bear! Butto one of Hester's deep nature and loyalty to the truth, there wereconsiderations far more sad. How was ever such a child of the darknessto come to love the light? How was one who cared so little forrighteousness, one who, in all probability, would only excuse or evenjustify his crime--if indeed he would trouble himself to do so much--howwas one like him to be brought to contrition and rectitude? There was ahope, though a poor one, in the shame he must feel at the disgrace hehad brought upon himself. But alas! if the whole thing was to be keptquiet, and the semblance allowed that he had got tired of business andleft it, how would even what regenerating power might lie in shame bebrought to bear upon him? If not brought to _open_ shame, he wouldhold his head as high as ever--be arrogant under the protection of thefact that the disgrace of his family would follow upon the exposure ofhimself. When her uncle left her, she sat motionless a long time, thinking much but hoping little. The darkness gathered deeper and deeperaround her. The ruin of her own promised history seemed imminent uponthat of her family. What sun of earthly joy could ever break throughsuch clouds! There was indeed a sun that nothing could cloud, but itseemed to shine far away. Some sorrows seem beyond the reach ofconsolation, in as much as their causes seem beyond setting right. Theycan at best, _as it seems_, only be covered over. Forgetfulnessalone seems capable of removing their sting, and from that cure everynoble mind turns away as unworthy both of itself, and of its Father inheaven. But the human heart has to go through much before it is able tohouse even a suspicion of the superabounding riches of the creating andsaving God. The foolish child thinks there can be nothing where he seesnothing; the human heart feels as if where it cannot devise help, thereis none possible to God; as if God like the heart must be content tobotch the thing up, and make, as we say, the best of it. 

But as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are his ways higherthan our ways, and his thoughts than our thoughts. 

"But what _can_ be done when--so and so?" says my reader; for, whatever generalities I utter, his hurt seems not the lessunapproachable of any help. You think, I answer, that you see all roundyour own sorrow; whereas much the greater part of the very being youcall yours, is as unknown to you as the other side of the moon. It is asimpossible you should understand it therefore, its sorrow, as that youshould understand God, who alone understands you. Be developed into thedivine idea of you; for your grief's sake let God have his way with you, and not only will all be well, but you shall say, "It is well. "

It was a sore and dreary time for Hester, alone in the room where shehad spent so many happy hours. She sat in a window, looking out upon theleafless trees and the cold gloomy old statue in the midst of them. Frost was upon every twig. A thin sad fog filled the comfortless air. There might be warm happy homes many, but such no more belonged to herworld! The fire was burning cheerfully behind her, but her eyes werefixed on the dreary square. She was hardly thinking--only lettingthoughts and feelings come and go. What a thing is life and being, whena soul has become but the room in which ghosts hold their revel; whenthe man is no longer master of himself, can no more say to this or thatthought, thou shall come, and thou shall go; but is a slave to his ownexistence, can neither cease to be, nor order his being--able only infruitless rebellion to entangle himself yet more in the net he hasknotted around him! Such is every one parted from the essential life, who has not the Power by which he lives one with him, holding pure andfree and true the soul he sent forth from the depths of his being. Irepent me of the ignorance wherein I ever said that God made man out ofnothing: there is no nothing out of which to make anything; God is allin all, and he made us out of himself. He who is parted from God has nooriginal nothingness with which to take refuge. He is a live discord, ananti-truth. He is a death fighting against life, and doomed to endlessvanity; an opposition to the very power by whose strength yet in him heopposes; a world of contradictions, not greedy after harmony, but greedyfor lack of harmony--his being an abyss of positive negation. Not suchwas Hester, and although her thoughts now came and went without her, they did not come and go without God; and a truth from the depths of herown true being was on its way to console her. 

How would her lover receive the news?--that was the agitating question;what would he thereupon do?

She could not at once write to acquaint him with the grief and disgracethat had fallen upon them, for she did not know where precisely he was:his movements were not fixed; and she dreaded the falling of such aletter as she would have to write into any hands except his own. 

But another, and far stronger reason against writing to him, made itselfpresently clear to her mind: if she wrote, she could not know how hereceived her sad story; and if his mind required making up, which waswhat she feared, he would have time for it! This would not do! She mustcommunicate the dread defiling fact with her own lips! She must see howhe took it! Like Hamlet with the king at the play, "If he but blench, Iknow my course!" she said. If he showed the slightest change towardsher, the least tendency to regard his relation to her as anentanglement, to regret that he had involved himself with the sister ofa thief, marry her he should not! That was settled as the earth'scourse! If he was not to be her earthly refuge in this trouble as in anyother, she would none of him! If it should break her heart she wouldnone of him! But break her heart it would not! There were worse evilsthan losing a lover! There was losing a true man--and that he would notbe if she lost him! The behaviour of Cornelius had perhaps made her morecapable of doubt; possibly her righteous anger with him inclined her toimagine grounds of anger with another; but probably this feeling ofuncertainty with regard to her lover had been prepared for by thingsthat had passed between them since their engagement, but upon whichregarding herself as his wife, she had not allowed herself to dwell, turning her thought to the time when, as she imagined, she would be ableto do so much more for and with him. And now she was almost in a mood toquarrel with him! Brought to moral bay, she stood with her head high, her soul roused, and every nerve strung to defence. She had not yet castherself for defence on the care of her Father in heaven, who is jealousfor the righteousness of those who love righteousness. But he was notfar from her. 

Yet deeper into the brooding fit she sank. Weary with her journey andthe sleepless night, her brain seemed to work itself; when suddenly camethe thought that, after so long a separation, she was at last in themidst of her poor. But how was she to face them now! how hold up herhead amongst them! how utter a word of gentlest remonstrance! Who wasshe to have dared speak to them of the evil of their ways, and the badinfluence of an ill-behaved family! But how lightly they bore such illsas that which was now breaking her down with trouble and shame! Evensuch of them as were honest people, would have this cousin or thatuncle, or even a son or the husband _in_ for so many months, andthink only of when they would have him out again! Misfortune hadovertaken them! and they loved them no less. The man or the woman wasstill man or woman, mother or husband to them. Nothing could degradethem beyond the reach of their sympathies! They had no thought ofpriding themselves against them because they themselves had nottransgressed the law, neither of drawing back from them with disgust. And were there not a thousand wrong things done in business and societywhich had no depressing effect either on those who did them, or thosewhose friends did them--only because these wrongs not having yet comeunder the cognizance of law had not yet come to be considereddisgraceful? Therewith she felt nearer to her poor than ever before, andit comforted her. The bare soul of humanity comforted her. She was notmerely of the same flesh and blood with them--not even of the same souland spirit only, but of the same failing, sinning, blundering breed; andthat not alone in the general way of sin, ever and again forsaking thefountain of living water, and betaking herself to some cistern, but intheir individual sins was she not their near relative? Their shame washers: the son of her mother, the son of her father was a thief! She wasand would be more one with them than ever before! If they made less ofcrime in another, they also made less of innocence from it inthemselves! Was it not even better to do wrong, she asked herself, thanto think it a very grand thing not to do it? What merit was there inbeing what it would be contemptible not to be? The Lord Christ could getnearer to the publican than the Pharisee, to the woman that was a sinnerthan the self-righteous honest woman! The Pharisee was a good man, buthe thought it such a fine thing to be good that God did not like himnearly so well as the other who thought it a sad thing to be bad! Lether but get among her nice, honest, wicked poor ones, out of thisatmosphere of pretence and appearance, and she would breathe again! Shedropped upon her knees, and cried to her Father in heaven to make herheart clean altogether, to deliver her from everything mean andfaithless, to make her turn from any shadow of ill as thoroughly as shewould have her brother repent of the stealing that made them all soashamed. Like a woman in the wrong she drew nigh the feet of her master;she too was a sinner; her heart needed his cleansing as much as any!

And with that came another God-given thought of self-accusing. Forsuddenly she perceived that self had been leading her astray: she wastender towards those farther from her, hard towards the one nearer toher! It was easy to be indulgent towards those whose evil did not touchherself: to the son of her own mother she was severe and indignant! Ifshe condemned him, who would help his mother to give him the love ofwhich he stood in the sorer need that he was unworthy of it? Corney whomshe had nursed as a baby--who used to crow when she appeared--could itbe that she who had then loved him so dearly had ceased and was lovinghim no more? True, he had grown to be teasing and trying in every way, seeming to despise her and all women together; but was not that part ofthe evil disease that clung fast to him? If God were to do like her, howmany would be giving honour to his Son? But God knew all thedifficulties that beset men, and gave them fair play when sisters didnot: he would redeem Corney yet! But was it possible he should ever waketo see how ugly his conduct had been? It _seemed_ impossible; butsurely there were powers in God's heart that had not yet been brought tobear upon him! Perhaps this, was one of them--letting him disgracehimself! If he could but be made ashamed of himself there would be hope!And in the meantime she must get the beam out of her own eye, that shemight see to take the mote or the beam, whichever it might be, out ofCorney's! Again she fell upon her knees, and prayed God to enable her. Corney was her brother, and must for ever be her brother, were he theworst thief under the sun! God would see to their honor or disgrace;what she had to do was to be a sister! She rose determined that shewould not go home till she had done all she could to find him; that thejudgment of God should henceforth alone be hers, and the judgment of theworld nothing to her for evermore. 

Presently the fact, which had at various times cast a dim presence upher horizon without thoroughly attracting her attention, became plain toher--that she had in part been drawn towards her lover because of hissocial position. Certainly without loving him, she would never haveconsented to marry him for that, but had she not come the more readilyto love him because of that? Had it not passed him within certaindefences which would otherwise have held out? Had he not been an earl inprospect, were there not some things in him which would have morerepelled her, as not manifesting the highest order of humanity? Wouldshe, for instance, but for that, have tried so much to like his verses?Clearly she must take her place with the sinners!

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

A TALK WITH THE MAJOR. 

While she meditated thus, major Marvel made his appearance. He had beenwatching outside, saw her uncle go, and an hour after was shown to theroom where she still sat, staring out on the frosty trees of the square. 

"Why, my child, " he said, with almost paternal tenderness, "your hand isas cold as ice! Why do you sit so far from the fire?"

She rose and went to the fire with him. He put her in an easy chair, andsat down beside her. Common, pudgy, red-faced, bald-headed as he was, she come to him, and that out of regions of deepest thought, with asense of refuge. He could scarcely have understood one of herdifficulties, would doubtless have judged not a few of her scruplesnonsensical and over-driven; yet knowing this it was a comfort to her tocome from those regions back to a mere, honest, human heart--to feel ahuman soul in a human body nigh her. For the mere human is divine, though not _the_ divine, and to the mere human essential comfort. Should relations be broken between her and lord Gartley, she knew itwould delight the major; yet she was able to look upon him as a friendin whom she could trust. Unity of _opinion_ is not necessary toconfident friendship and warm love. 

As they talked, the major, seeing she was much depressed, and thinkingto draw her from troubled thought, began to tell her some of the morepersonal parts of his history, and in these she soon became sointerested that she began to ask him questions, and drew from him muchthat he would never have thought of volunteering. Before their talk wasover, she had come to regard the man as she could not have imagined itpossible she should. She had looked upon him as a man of so many andsuch redeeming qualities, that his faults must be over-looked andhimself defended from any overweighing of them; but now she felt him aman to be looked up to--almost revered. It was true that every now andthen some remark would reveal in him a less than attractive commonnessof thinking; and that his notions in religion were of the crudest, forhe regarded it as a set of doctrines--not a few of them verydishonouring to God; yet was the man in a high sense a true man. Thereis nothing shows more how hard it has been for God to redeem the worldthan the opinions still uttered concerning him and his so-called_plans_ by many who love him and try to obey him: a man may be inpossession of the most precious jewels, and yet know so little aboutthem that his description of them would never induce a jeweller topurchase them, but on the contrary make him regard the man as a fool, deceived with bits of coloured glass for rubies and sapphires. MajorMarvel was not of such. He knew nothing of the slang of the Pharisees, knew little of the language of either the saints or the prophets, had, like most Christians, many worldly ways of looking at things, and yet Ithink our Lord would have said there was no guile in him. 

With her new insight into the man's character came to Hester thequestion whether she would not be justified in taking him into herconfidence with regard to Cornelius. She had received no injunctions tosecrecy from her father: neither he nor her mother ever thought of sucha thing with her; they knew she was to be trusted as they werethemselves to be trusted. Her father had taken no step towards anyeffort for the rescue of his son, and she would sorely need help in whatshe must herself try to do. She could say nothing to the major aboutlord Gartley, or the influence her brother's behaviour might have on herfuture: that would not be fair either to Gartley or to the major; butmight she not ask him to help her to find Corney? She was certain hewould be prudent and keep quiet whatever ought to be kept quiet; whileon the other hand her father had spoken as if he would have nothing ofit all concealed. She told him the whole story, hiding nothing that sheknew. Hardly could she restrain her tears as she spoke, but she endedwithout having shed one. The major had said nothing, betrayed nothing, only listened intently. 

"My dear Hester, " he said solemnly, after a few moments' pause, "themysteries of creation are beyond me!"

Hester thought the remark irrelevant, but waited. "It's such a mixture!"he went on. "There is your mother, the loveliest woman except yourselfGod ever made! Then comes Cornelius--a--well!--Then comes yourself! andthen little Mark! a child--I will not say too good to live--Godforbid!--but too good for any of the common uses of this world! I declareto you I am terrified when left alone with him, and keep wishing forsomebody to come into the room!"

"What about him terrifies you?" asked Hester, amused at the idea, inspite of the gnawing unrest at her heart. 

"To answer you, " replied the major, "I must think a bit! Let me see! Letme see! Yes! it must be that! I am ashamed to confess it, but to a saintone must speak the truth: I believe in my heart it is simply fear lest Ishould find I must give up everything and do as I know he is thinking Iought. "

"And what is that?"

"Turn a saint like him. "

"And why should you be afraid of that?"

"Well, you see, I'm not the stuff that saints--good saints, I mean, aremade of; and rather than not be a good one, if I once set about it, Iwould, saving your presence, be the devil himself. "

Hester laughed, yet with some self-accusation. 

"I think, " she said softly, "one day you will be as good a saint as lovecan wish you to be. "

"Give me time; give me time, I beg, " cried the major, wiping hisforehead, and evidently in some perturbation. "I would not willinglybegin anything I should disgrace, for that would be to disgrace myself, and I never had any will to that, though the old ladies of our villageused to say I was born without any shame. But the main cause of myunpopularity was that I hated humbug--and I do hate humbug, cousinHester, and shall hate it till I die--and so want to steer clear of it. "

"I hate it, I hope, as much as you do, major Marvel, " responded Hester. "But, whatever it may be mixed up with, what is true, you know, cannotbe humbug, and what is not true cannot be anything else than humbug. "

"Yes, yes! but how is one to know what is true, my dear? There are somany differing claims to the quality!"

"I have been told, and I believe it with all my heart, " replied Hester, "that the only way to know what is true is to do what is true. "

"But you must know what is true before you can begin to do what istrue. "

"Everybody knows something that is true to do--that is, something heought to lose no time in setting about. The true thing to any man is thething that must not be let alone but done. It is much easier to knowwhat is true to do than what is true to think. But those who do the onewill come to know the other--and none else, I believe. "

The major was silent, and sat looking very thoughtful. At last he rose. 

"Is there anything you want me to do in this sad affair, cousin Hester?"he said. 

"I want your help to find my brother. "

"Why should you want to find him? You cannot do him any good!"

"Who can tell that? If Christ came to seek and save his lost, we oughtto seek and save our lost. "

"Young men don't go wrong for the mere sake of going wrong: you may findhim in such a position as will make it impossible for you to haveanything to do with him. "

"You know that line of Spenser's. --

 Entire affection hateth nicer hands'?"

asked Hester. 

"No, I don't know it; and I don't know that I understand it now you tellit me, " replied the major, just a little crossly, for he did not likepoetry; it was one of his bugbear humbugs. "But one thing is plain: youmust not expose yourself to what in such a search would be unavoidable. "

The care of men over some women would not seldom be ludicrous but forthe sad suggested contrast of their carelessness over others. 

"Answer me one question, dear major Marvel, " said Hester: "Which is inmost danger from disease--the healthy or the sickly?"

"That's a question for the doctor, " he answered cautiously; "and I don'tbelieve he knows anything about it either. What it has to do with thematter in hand I cannot think. "

Hester saw it was not for her now to pursue the argument. And one wouldalmost imagine it scarce needed pursuing! For who shall walk safe in thehaunts of evil but those upon whom, being pure, evil has no hold? Theworld's notions of purity are simply childish--because it is not itselfpure. You might well suppose its cherished ones on the brink of allcorruption, so much afraid does it seem of having them tainted _beforetheir time_. Sorry would one be, but for the sake of those for whomChrist died, that any woman should be pained with the sight of evil, butthe true woman may, even like God himself, know all evil and remain justas lovely, as clean, as angelic and worshipful as any child in thesimplest country home. The idea of a woman like Hester being _in anysense_ defiled by knowing what her Lord knows while she fills up whatis left behind of the sufferings of Christ for her to suffer for thesake of his world, is contemptible. As wrong melts away and vanishes inthe heart of Christ, so does the impurity she encounters vanish in theheart of the pure woman: it is there burned up. 

"I hardly see what is to be done, " said the major, after a moment'ssilence. "What do you say to an advertisement in _The Times_, tothe effect that, if C. R. Will return to his family, all will beforgiven?"

"That I must not, dare not do. There is surely some other way of findingpersons without going to the police!"

"What do you think your father would like done?"

"I do not know; but as I am Corney's sister, I will venture as a sistermay. I think my father will be pleased in the end, but I will risk hisdispleasure for the sake of my brother. If my father were to cast himoff, would you say I was bound to cast him off?"

"I dare say nothing where you are sure, Hester. My only anxiety would bewhether you thoroughly knew what you were about. "

"If one were able to look upon the question of life or death as a merecandle-flame in the sun of duty, would she not at least be more likelyto do right than wrong?"

"If the question were put about a soldier I should feel surer how toanswer you, " replied the major. "But you are so much better than I--yougo upon such different tactics, that we can hardly, I fear, bring ourtroops right in front of each other. --I will do what I can foryou--though I greatly fear your brother will never prove worth thetrouble. "

"People have repented who have gone as far wrong as Corney, " saidHester, with the tears in her voice it not in her eyes. 

"True!" responded the major; "but I don't believe he has characterenough to repent of anything. He will be fertile enough in excuse! But Iwill do what I can to find out where he is. "

Hester heartily thanked him, and he took his leave. 

Her very estrangement from him, the thought of her mother's misery andthe self-condemnation that must overtake her father if he did nothing, urged her to find Cornelius. But if she found him, what would come ofit? Was he likely to go home with her? How would he be received if hedid go home? and if not, what was she to do with or for him? Was he tokeep the money so vilely appropriated? And what was he to do when it wasspent? If want would drive him home, the sooner he came to it thebetter! We pity the prodigal with his swine, but then first a ray ofhope begins to break through the darkness of his fate. 

To do nothing was nearly unendurable, and she saw nothing to do. Shecould only wait, and it took all the patience and submission she couldfind. She wrote to her father, told him what there was to tell, andended her letter with a message to her mother:--"Tell darling mother, "she said, "that what a sister can do, up to the strength God gives her, shall be done for my brother. Major Marvel is doing his best to findhim. "

Next day she heard from her father that her mother was slowlyrecovering; and on the following day that her letter was a great comfortto her; but beyond this he made no remark. Even his silence however wassomething of a relief to Hester. 

In the meantime she was not idle. Hers was not the nature even in griefto sit still. The moment she had dispatched her letter, she set out tovisit her poor friends. On her way she went into Mrs. Baldwin's shop andhad a little talk with her, in the course of which she asked if she hadever heard anything more of the Frankses. Mrs. Baldwin replied that shehad once or twice heard of their being seen in the way of theirprofession; but feared they were not getting on. Hester was sorry, buthad many more she knew better to think of. 

There was much rejoicing at her return. But there were changes--newfaces where she had left friends, and not the best news of some whoremained. One or two were in prison of whom when she left she was ingreat hope. One or two were getting on better in the sense of thisworld, but she could see nothing in themselves to make her glad of their"good luck. " One who had signed the pledge some time before she went, had broken out fearfully, and all but killed his wife. One of whom shehad been hopeful, had disappeared--it was supposed with another man'swife. In spite of their sufferings the evil one seemed as busy amongthem as among the world's elect. 

The little ones came about her again, but with less confidence, bothbecause she had been away, and because they had grown more than they hadimproved. But soon things were nearly on the old footing with them. 

Every day she went among them. Certain of the women--chiefly those whohad suffered most with least fault--were as warmly her friends asbefore. Amongst them was just one who had some experience of theChristian life, and she had begun to learn long before Hester came toknow her: she did not seem, however, to have gained any influence evenwith those who lived in the same house; only who can trace the slowworking of leaven?

CHAPTER XXVII. 

RENCONTRES. 

There was no news of Cornelius. In vain the detective to whom the majorhad made liberal promises continued his inquiries. There was a rumour ofa young woman in whose company he had lately been seen, but she too haddisappeared from public sight. 

Sarah did her best to make Hester comfortable, and behaved the betterthat she was humbled by the consciousness of having made a bad job ofher caretaking with Cornelius. 

One afternoon--it had rained, but the sun was now shining, and Hester'sheart felt lighter as she took deep breaths of the clean-washed air--sheturned into a passage to visit the wife of a book-binder who had beenlong laid up with rheumatism so severe as to render him quite unable towork. 

They had therefore been on the borders of want, and for Hester it wasone of those happy cases in which she felt at full liberty to help withmoney. The part of the house occupied by them was pretty decent, but therest of it was in bad repair and occupied by yet poorer people, of noneof whom she knew much. 

It was in fact a little way beyond what she had come to count her limit. 

She knocked at the door. It was opened by the parish doctor. 

"You cannot come in, Miss Raymount, " he said. "We have a very bad caseof small-pox here. You good ladies must make up your minds to keep awayfrom these parts for a while. Their bodies are in more danger than theirsouls now. "

"That may very well be, " replied Hester. "My foot may be in more dangerthan my head, but I can better afford to lose the one than the other. "

The doctor did not see the point, and thought there was none. 

"You will only carry the infection, " he said. 

"I will take every precaution, " answered Hester. "I always take more, Iam certain, than it can be possible for you to take. Why should not Ialso do my part to help them through?"

"While the parish is in my care, " answered the doctor, "I must object towhatever increases the risk of infection. It is hard while we are doingall we can to stamp out the disease, to have you, with the best ofmotives I admit, carrying it from one house to another. How are we tokeep it out of the West End, if you ladies carry the seeds of it?"

The hard-worked man spoke with some heat. 

"So the poor brothers are to be left for fear of hurting the rich ones?"

"That's not fair--you know it is not!" said the doctor. "We are set hereto fight the disease, and fight it we must. "

"And I am set here to fight something worse, " returned Hester with asmile. 

The doctor came out and shut the door. 

"I must beg of you to go away, " he said. "I shall be compelled tomention in my report how you and other ladies add to our difficulties. "

He slipped in again and closed the door. Hester turned and went down thestair, now on her part a little angry. She knew it was no use thinkingwhen she was angry, for when the anger was gone she almost alwaysthought otherwise. The first thing was to get rid of the anger. Instinctively she sat down and began to sing; it was not the first timeshe had sat and sung in a dirty staircase. It was not a wise thing todo, but her anger prevented her from seeing its impropriety. 

In great cities the children are like flies, gathering swiftly as fromout of the unseen: in a moment the stair below was half-filled withthem. The tenants above opened their doors and came down. Others came infrom the street and were pushed up by those who came behind them. Thestair and entrance were presently filled with people, all shabby, andalmost all dirty--men and women, young and old, good and bad, listeningto the voice of the singing lady, as she was called in the. Neighborhood. 

By this time the doctor had finished his visit at the bookbinder's, andappeared on the stair above. He had heard the singing, and thought itwas in the street; now he learnt it was actually in the house, and hadfilled it with people! It was no wonder, especially when he saw who thesinger was, that he should lose his temper. Through the few women andchildren above where Hester sat, he made his way towards the crowd offaces below. When he reached her he seized her arm from behind and beganto raise at once and push her down the stair. He, too, was an enthusiastin his way. Some of the faces below grew red with anger, and their eyesflamed at the doctor. A loud murmur arose, and several began to forcetheir way up to rescue her, as they would one of their own from thepolice. But Hester, the moment she saw who it was that had laid hold ofher, rose and began to descend the stair, closely followed by thedoctor. It was not easy; and the annoyance of a good many in the crowd, some because Hester was their friend, others because the doctor hadstopped the singing, gave a disorderly and indeed rather threateninglook to the assemblage. 

As she reached the door she saw, on the opposite side of the crowdedpassage, the pale face and glittering eyes of Mr. Blaney looking at herover the heads between. The little man was mounted on a box at the doorof a shop whose trade seemed to be in withered vegetables and salt fish, and had already had the pint which, according to his brother-in-law, wasmore than he could stand. 

"Sarves you right, miss, " he cried, when he saw who was the centre ofthe commotion; "sarves you right! You turned me out o' your house forsingin', an' I don't see why you should come a singin' an' a misbehavin'of yourself in ourn! Jest you bring her out here, pleeceman, an' let megive her a bit o' my mind. Oh, don't you be afeared, I won't hurt her!Not in all my life did I ever once hurt a woman--bless 'em! But it'stime the gentry swells knowed as how we're yuman bein's as well astheirselves. We don't like, no more'n they would theirselves, havin' ourfeelin's hurt for the sake o' what they calls bein' done good to. Comeyou along down over here, miss!"

The crowd had been gathering from both ends of the passage, for highwords draw yet faster than sweet singing, and the place was so full thatit was hardly possible to get out of it. The doctor was almost wishinghe had let ill alone, for he was now anxious about Hester. Some of therougher ones began pushing. The vindictive little man kept bawling, hismouth screwed into the middle of his cheek. From one of the crossentrances of the passage came the pulse of a fresh tide of would-bespectators, causing the crowd to sway hither and thither. All at onceHester spied a face she knew, considerably changed as it was since lastshe had seen it. 

"Now we shall have help!" she said to her companion, making common causewith him notwithstanding his antagonism. "--Mr. Franks!"

The athlete was not so far off that she needed to call very loud. Heheard and started with eager interest. He knew the voice, sent his eyeslooking and presently found her who called him. With his great leanmuscular arms he sent the crowd right and left like water, and reachedher in a moment. 

"Come! come! don't you hurt her!" shouted Mr. Blaney from the top of hisbox. "She ain't nothing to you. She's a old friend o' mine, an' I ain'ta goin' to see her hurt. "

"You shut up!" bawled Franks, "or I'll finish the pancake you was meantfor. "

Then turning to Hester, who had begun to be a little afraid he too hadbeen drinking, he pulled off his fur cap, and making the lowest andpolitest of stage bows, said briefly, "Miss Raymount--at your service, miss!"

"I am very glad to see you again, Mr. Franks, " said Hester. "Do youthink you could get us out of the crowd?"

"Easy, miss. I'll _carry_ you out of it like a baby, miss, ifyou'll let me. "

"No, no; that will hardly be necessary, " returned Hester, with a smile. 

"Go on before, and make a way for us, " said the doctor, with anauthority he had no right to assume. 

"There is not the least occasion for you to trouble yourself about mefarther, " said Hester. "I am perfectly safe with this man. I know himvery well. I am sorry to have vexed you. "

Franks looked up sharply at the doctor, as if to see whether he daredacknowledge a claim to the apology; then turning to Hester, --

"Nobody 'ain't ha' been finding fault with you, miss?" he said--a littleominously. 

"Not more than I deserved, " replied Hester. "But come, Franks! lead theway, or all Bloomsbury will be here, and then the police! I shouldn'tlike to be shut up for offending Mr. Blaney!"

Those near them heard and laughed. She took Franks's arm. Room wasspeedily made before them, and in a minute they were out of the crowd, and in one of the main thoroughfares. 

But as if everybody she knew was going to appear, who should meet themface to face as they turned into Steevens's Road, with a fringe of thecrowd still at their heels, but lord Gartley! He had written from town, and Mrs. Raymount had let him know that Hester was in London, for shesaw that the sooner she had an opportunity of telling him what hadhappened the better. His lordship went at once to Addison square, andhad just left the house disappointed when he met Hester leaning onFranks's arm. 

"Miss Raymount!" he exclaimed almost haughtily. 

"My lord!" she returned, with unmistakable haughtiness, drawing herselfup, and looking him in the face, hers glowing. 

"Who would have expected to see you here?" he said. 

"Apparently yourself, my lord!"

He tried to laugh. 

"Come then; I will see you home, " he said. 

"Thank you, my lord. Come, Franks. "

As she spoke she looked round, but Franks was gone. Finding she had metone of her own family, as he supposed, he had quietly withdrawn: themoment he was no longer wanted, he grew ashamed, and felt shabby. But helingered round a corner near, to be certain she was going to be takencare of, till seeing them walk away together he was satisfied, and wentwith a sigh. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

IN THE HOUSE. 

The two were silent on their way, but from different causes. LordGartley was uneasy at finding Hester in such a position--led into it byher unreflecting sympathies, no doubt, so unbefitting the presentcentury of the world's history! He had gathered from the looks and wordsof the following remnants of the crowd that she had been involved insome street-quarrel--trying to atone it no doubt, or to separate thecombatants. For a woman of her refinement, she had the strangestproclivity for low company!

Hester was silent, thinking how to begin her communication aboutCornelius. Uncomfortable from the contretemps, as well as from what shehad now to do, and irritated at the tone in which his lordship hadexpressed the surprise he could not help feeling at sight of her soaccompanied and attended, she had felt for a moment as if the best thingwould be to break with him at once. But she was too just, had she nothad too much regard for him, to do so. She felt, however, for that onemoment very plainly, that the relation between them was far from theideal. Another thing was yet clearer: if he could feel such surprise andannoyance at the circumstances in which he had just met her, it would bewell to come to a clearer understanding at once concerning herlife-ideal and projects. But she would make up her mind to nothing tillshe saw how he was going to carry himself now his surprise had had timeto pass off: perhaps it would not be necessary to tell him anythingabout Corney! they might part upon other grounds! In the one case itwould be she, in the other it would be he that broke off the engagement:she would rather it were his doing than hers! No doubt she would standbetter in the eyes of the world if she dismissed him; but that was anaspect of the affair she would never have deigned to heed had itpresented itself. 

These thoughts, with what of ratiocination was in them, hardly passedthrough her mind; it was filled, rather, with a confused mass of tangledthought and feeling, which tossed about in it like the nets of a fishingfleet rolled together by a storm. 

Not before they reached the house did lord Gartley speak, and Hesterbegan to wonder if he might not already have heard of Cornelius. It wasplain he was troubled; plain too he was only waiting for the covertureof the house to speak. It should be easy, oh, very easy for him to getrid of her. He need not be anxious about that!

It was doubtless shock upon shock to the sensitive nature of hislordship to find, when they reached the house, that, instead of ringingthe bell, she took a latch-key from her pocket, opened the door herself, and herself closed it behind them. It was just as a bachelor might enterhis chambers! It did not occur to him that it was just such as hisbachelor that ought not to have the key, and such as Hester that oughtto have it, to let them come and go as the angels. She led the way upthe stair. Not a movement of life was audible in the house! Thestillness was painful. 

"Did no one come up with you?" he asked. 

"No one but major Marvel, " she answered, and opened the door of thedrawing-room. 

As she opened it, she woke to the consciousness that she was very cross, and in a mood to make her unfair to Gartley: the moment she had closedit, she turned to him and said, "Forgive me, Gartley; I am in trouble; we are all in trouble. When Ihave told you about it, I shall be more at ease. "

Without preamble, or any attempt to influence the impression of thedreadful news, she began her story, softening the communication only bymaking it as the knowledge had come to her--telling first her mother'sdistress at Sarah's letter, then the contents of that letter, and thenthose of her uncle's. She could not have done it with greater fairnessto her friend: his practised self-control had opportunity for perfectoperation. But the result was more to her satisfaction than she couldhave dared to hope. He held out his hand with a smile, and said, "I am very sorry. What is there I can do?"

She looked up in his eyes. They were looking down kindly and lovingly. 

"Then--then--, " she said, "you don't--I mean there's no--I mean, youdon't feel differently towards me?"

"Towards you, my angel!" exclaimed Gartley, and held out his arms. 

She threw herself into them, and clung to him. It was the first timeeither of them had shown anything approaching to _abandon_. Gartley's heart swelled with delight, translating her confidence intohis power. He was no longer the second person in the compact, but hadtaken the place belonging to the male contracting party! For he had beenpainfully conscious now and then that he played but second fiddle. 

They sat down and talked the whole thing over. 

Now that Hester was at peace she began to look at it from Gartley'spoint of view. 

"I am so sorry for you!" she said. "It is very sad you should have tomarry into a family so disgraced. What _will_ your aunt say?"

"My aunt will treat the affair like the sensible woman she is, " repliedthe earl. "But there is no fear of disgrace; the thing will never beknown. Besides, where is the family that hasn't one or more such loosefishes about in its pond? The fault was committed inside the family too, and that makes a great difference. It is not as if he'd been betting, and couldn't pay up!"

From the heaven of her delight Hester fell prone. Was this the way heralmost husband looked at these things? But, poor fellow! how could hehelp looking at them so? Was it not thus he had been from earliestchildhood taught to look at them? The greater was his need of all shecould do for him! He was so easy to teach anything! What she saw clearas day it could not be hard to communicate to one who loved as he loved!She would say nothing now--would let him see no sign of disappointmentin her!

"If he don't improve, " continued his lordship, "we must get him out ofthe country. In the meantime he will go home, and not a suspicion willbe roused. What else should he do, with such a property to look after?"

"My father will not see it so, " answered Hester. "I doubt if he willever speak to him again. Certainly he will not except he show somerepentance. "

"Has your father refused to have him home?"

"He has not had the chance. Nobody knows what has become of him. "

"He'll have to condone, or compromise, or compound, or what do they callit, for the sake of his family--for your sake, and my sake, my darling!He can't be so vindictive as expose his own son! We won't think moreabout it! Let us talk of ourselves!"

"If only we could find him!" returned Hester. 

"Depend upon it he is not where you would like to find him. Men don'tcome to grief without help! We must wait till he turns up. "

Far as this was from her purpose, Hester was not inclined to argue thepoint: she could not expect him or any one out of their own family to bemuch interested in the fate of Cornelius. They began to talk about otherthings; and if they were not the things Hester would most readily havetalked about, neither were they the things lord Gartley had entered thehouse intending to talk about. He too had been almost angry, only bynature he was cool and even good-tempered. To find Hester, the momentshe came back to London, and now in the near prospect of marriage withhimself, yielding afresh to a diseased fancy of doing good; to come uponher in the street of a low neighbourhood, followed by a low crowd, supported and championed by a low fellow--well, it was not agreeable!His high breeding made him mind it less than a middle-class man of likecharacter would have done; but with his cold dislike to all that waspoor and miserable, he could not fail to find it annoying, and hadentered the house intending to exact a promise for the future--not thefuture after marriage, for a change then went without saying. 

But when he had heard her trouble, and saw how deeply it affected her, he knew this was not the time to say what he had meant; and there wasthe less occasion now that he was near to take care of her!

He had risen to go, and was about to take a loving farewell, whenHester, suddenly remembering, drew back, with almost a guilty look. 

"Oh, Gartley!" she said, "I thought not to have let you come near me!Not that _I_ am afraid of anything! But you came upon me sounexpectedly! It is all very well for one's self, but one ought to heedwhat other people may think!"

"What _can_ you mean, Hester?" exclaimed Gartley, and would havelaid his hand on her arm, but again she drew back. 

"There was small-pox in the house I had just left when you met me, " shesaid. 

He started back and stood speechless--manifesting therein no morecowardice than everyone in his circle would have justified: was it notreasonable and right he should be afraid? was it not a humiliation to becreated subject to such a loathsome disease? The disgrace of fearinganything except doing wrong, few human beings are capable of conceiving, fewer still of actually believing. 

"Has it never occurred to you what you are doing in going to suchplaces, Hester?" he faltered. "It is a treachery against every socialclaim. I am sorry to use such hard words, but--really--I--I--cannot helpbeing a little surprised at you! I thought you had more--more--sense!"

"I am sorry to have frightened you. "

"Frightened!" repeated Gartley, with an attempt at a smile, which closedin a yet more anxious look, "--you do indeed frighten me! The wholeworld would agree you give me good cause to be frightened. I shouldnever have thought _you_ capable of showing such a lack ofprinciple. Don't imagine I am thinking of myself; _you_ are in mostdanger! Still, you may carry the infection without taking it yourself!"

"I didn't know it was there when I went to the house--only I should havegone all the same, " said Hester. "But if seeing you so suddenly had notmade me forget, I should have had a bath as soon as I got home. I_am_ sorry I let you come near me!"

"One has no right either to take or carry infection, " insisted lordGartley, perhaps a little glad of the height upon which an opportunityof finding fault set him for the first time above her. "But there is notime to talk about it now. I hope you will use what preventives you can. It is very wrong to trifle with such things!"

"Indeed it is!" answered Hester; "and I say again I am sorry I forgot. You see how it was--don't you? It was you made me forget!"

But his lordship was by no means now in a smiling mood. He bade her asomewhat severe good night, then hesitated, and thinking it hardlysignified now, and he must not look too much afraid, held out his hand. But Hester drew back a third time, saying, "No, no; you must not, " andwith solemn bow he turned and went, his mind full of conflictingfeelings and perplexing thoughts:--What a glorious creature shewas!--and what a dangerous! He recalled the story of the young womanbrought up on poisons, whom no man could come near but at the risk ofhis life. What a spirit she had! but what a pity it was so ill-directed!It was horrible to think of her going into such abominable places--andall alone too! How ill she had been trained!--in such utter disregard ofsocial obligation and the laws of nature! It was preposterous! He littlethought what risks he ran when he fell in love with _her_! If hegot off now without an attack he would be lucky! But--good heavens! ifshe were to take it herself! "I wonder when she was last vaccinated!" hesaid. "I was last year; I daresay I'm all right! But if she were to die, or lose her complexion, I should kill myself! I know I should!" Wouldhonor compel him to marry her if she were horribly pock-marked? Thosedens ought to be rooted out! Philanthropy was gone mad! It was strictrepression that was wanted! To sympathize with people like that was onlyto encourage them! Vice was like hysterics--the more kindness you showedthe worse grew the patient! They took it all as their right! And themore you gave, the more they demanded--never showing any gratitude sofar as he knew!

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE MAJOR AND THE SMALL-POX. 

His lordship was scarcely gone when the major came. So closely did theappearance of the one follow on the disappearance of the other, thatthere was ground for suspecting the major had seen his lordship enterthe house, and had been waiting and watching till he was gone. But shewas not yet to be seen: she had no fear of the worst small-pox could doto her, yet was taking what measures appeared advisable for herprotection. Her fearlessness came from no fancied absence of danger, butfrom an utter disbelief in chance. The same and only faith that wouldhave enabled him to face the man-eating tiger, enabled her to face thesmall-pox; if she did die by going into such places, it was all right. 

For aught I know there may be a region whose dwellers are so littlecapable of being individually cared for, that they are left to theaction of mere general laws as sufficient for what for the time can bedone for them. Such may well to themselves seem to be blown about by allthe winds of chaos and the limbo--which winds they call chance? Eventhen and there it is God who has ordered all the generals of theircondition, and when they are sick of it, will help them out of it. Onething is sure--that God is doing his best for _every_ man. 

The major sat down and waited. 

"I am at my wits' end!" he said, when she entered the room. "I can'tfind the fellow! That detective's a muff! He ain't got a trace of himyet! I must put on another!--Don't you think you had better go home? Iwill do what can be done, you may be sure!"

"I _am_ sure, " answered Hester. "But mamma is better; so long as Iam away papa will not leave her; and she would rather have papa than adozen of me. "

"But it must be so dreary for you--here alone all day!" he said, with atouch of malice. 

"I go about among my people, " she answered. 

"Ah! ah!" he returned. "Then I hope you will be careful what houses yougo into, for I hear the small-pox is in the neighborhood. "

"I have just come from a house where it is now, " she answered. The majorrose in haste. "--But, " she went on, "I have changed all my clothes, andhad a bath since. "

The major sat down again. 

"My dear young lady!" he said, the roses a little ashy on hischeek-bones, "do you know what you are about?"

"I hope I do--I _think_ I do" she answered. 

"Hope! Think!" repeated the major indignantly. 

"Well, _believe_, " said Hester. 

"Come, come!" he rejoined with rudeness, "you may hope or think orbelieve what you like, but you have no business to act but on what you_know_. "

"I suppose you never act where you do not know!" returned Hester. "Youalways _know_ you will win the battle, kill the tiger, take thesmall-pox, and be the worse for it?"

"It's all very well for you to laugh!" returned the major; "but what isto become of us if you take the small-pox! Why, my dear cousin, youmight lose every scrap of your good looks!"

"And then who on earth would care for me any more!" said Hester, withmock mournfulness, which brought a glimmer of the merry light back tothe major's face. 

"But really, Hester, " he persisted, "this is most imprudent. It is yourlife, not your beauty only you are periling!"

"Perhaps, " she answered. 

"And the lives of us all!" added the major. 

"Is the small-pox worse than a man-eating tiger?" she asked. 

"Ten times worse, " he answered. "You can fight the tiger, but you can'tfight the small-pox. You really ought _not_ to run such fearfulrisks. "

"How are they to be avoided? Every time you send for the doctor you runa risk! You can't order a clean doctor every time!"

"A joke's all very well! but it is our duty to take care of ourselves. "

"In reason, yes, " replied Hester. 

"You may think, " said the major, "that God takes special care of youbecause you are about his business--and far be it from me to say you arenot about his business or that he does not take care of you; but what isto become of me and the like of me if we take the small-pox from you?"

Hester had it on her lips to say that if he was meant to die of thesmall-pox, he might as well take it of her as of another; but she saidinstead that she was sure God took care of her, but not sure she shouldnot die of the small-pox. 

"How can you say God takes care of you if he lets you die of thesmall-pox!"

"No doubt people would die if God forgot them, but do you think peopledie because God forgets them?"

"My dear cousin Hester, if there is one thing I have a _penchant_for, it is common sense! A paradox I detest with my whole soul!"

"One word, dear major Marvel: Did God take care of Jesus?"

"Of course! of course! But he wasn't like other men, you know. "

"I don't want to fare better, that is, I don't want to have more ofGod's care than he had. "

"I don't understand you. I should think if we were sure God took as goodcare of us as of him--"

But there he stopped, for he began to have a glimmer of where she wasleading him. 

"Did he keep him what you call safe?" said Hester. "Did he not allow theworst man could do to overtake him? Was it not the very consequence ofhis obedience?"

"Then you have made up your mind to die of the small-pox?--In thatcase----"

"Only if it be God's will, " interrupted Hester. 

"To that, and that alone, have I made up my mind. If I die of thesmall-pox, it will not be because it could not be helped, or because Icaught it by chance; it will be because God allowed it as best for meand for us all. It will not be a punishment for breaking his laws: heloves none better, I believe, than those who break the laws of nature tofulfil the laws of the spirit--which is the deeper nature, 'the naturenaturing nature, ' as I read the other day: of course it sounds nonsenseto anyone who does not understand it. "

"That's your humble servant, " said the major. "I haven't a notion whatyou or the author you quote means, though I don't doubt both of you meanwell, and that you are a most courageous and indeed heroic young woman. For all that it is time your friends interfered; and I am going to writeby the next post to let your father know how you are misbehavingyourself. "

"They will not believe me quite so bad as I fear you will represent me. "

"I don't know. I must write anyhow. "

"That they may order me home to give them the small-pox? Wouldn't it bebetter to wait and be sure I had not taken it already? Your letter, too, might carry the infection. I think you had better not write. "

"You persist in making fun of it! I say again it is not a thing to bejoked about, " remarked the major, looking red. 

"I think, " returned Hester, "whoever lives in terror of infection hadbetter take it and have done with it. I know I would rather die thanlive in the fear of death. It is the meanest of slaveries. At least, tolive a slave to one's fears is next worst to living a slave to one'slikings. Do as you please, major Marvel, but I give you warning that ifyou interpose--I will not say _interfere_--because you do it allfor kindness--but if you interpose, I will never ask you to help meagain; I will never let you know what I am doing, or come to you foradvice, lest, instead of assisting me, you should set about preventingme from doing what I may have to do. "

She held out her hand to him, adding with a smile:

"Is it for good-bye, or a compact?"

"But just look at it from my point of view, " said the major, disturbedby the appeal. "What will your father say if he finds me aiding andabetting?"

"You did not come up at my father's request, or from the least desire onhis part to have me looked after. You were not put in charge of me, andhave no right to suppose me doing anything my parents would not like. They never objected to my going among my friends as I thought fit. Possibly they had more faith in my good sense, knowing me better thanmajor Marvel. "

"But when one sees you doing the thing that is plainly wrong----"

"If it be so plainly wrong, how is it that I who am really anxious to doright, should not see it wrong? Why should you think me less likely toknow what is right than you, major Marvel?"

"I give in, " said the major, "and will abide by the consequences. "

"But you shall not needlessly put yourself in danger. You must not cometo me except I send for you. If you hear anything of Corney, write, please. "

"You don't imagine, " cried the major, firing up, "that I am going toturn tail where you advance? I'm not going to run from the small-pox anymore than you. So long as he don't get on my back to hunt other people, I don't care. By George! you women have more courage ten times than wemen!"

"What we've got to do we just go and do, without thinking about danger. I believe it is often the best wisdom to be blind and let God be oureyes as well as our shield. But would it be right of you, not called tothe work, to put yourself in danger because you would not be out where Iam in? I could admire of course, but never quite justify sir PhilipSidney in putting off his cuisses because his general had not got hison. "

"You're fit for a field-marshal, my dear!" said the majorenthusiastically--adding, as he kissed her hand, "I will think over whatyou have said, and at least not betray you without warning. "

"That is enough for the present, " returned Hester, shaking hands withhim warmly. 

The major went away hardly knowing whither, so filled was he withadmiration of "cousin Helen's girl. "

"By Jove!" he said to himself, "it's a confounded good thing I didn'tmarry Helen; she would never have had a girl like that if I had! Thingsare always best. The world needs a few such in it--even if they befools--though I suspect they will turn out the wise ones, and we thefools for taking such care of our precious selves!"

But the major was by no means a selfish man. He was pretty much mixed, like the rest of us. Only, if we do not make up our minds not to bemixed with the one thing, we shall by and by be but little mixed withthe other. 

That same evening he sent her word that one answering the description ofCornelius had been descried in the neighborhood of Addison square. 

CHAPTER XL. 

DOWN AND DOWN. 

Down the hill and down!--to the shores of the salt sea, where theflowing life is dammed into a stagnant lake, a dead sea, growing moreand more bitter with separation and lack of outlet. Mrs. Franks had cometo feel the comforting of her husband a hopeless thing, and had all butceased to attempt it. He grew more hopeless for the lack of what shethought moved him no more, and when she ceased to comfort him, thefountain of her own hope began to fail; in comforting him she hadcomforted herself. The boys, whose merriment even was always of a sombrekind, got more gloomy, but had not begun to quarrel; for that evil, asinterfering with their profession, the father had so sternly crushedthat they had less than the usual tendency to it. 

They had reached at last the point of being unable to pay for theirlodging. They were indeed a fort-night's rent behind. Their landlady wasnot willing to be hard upon them, but what could a poor woman do, shesaid. The day was come when they must go forth like Abraham without ahome, but not like Abraham with a tent and the world before them to setit up in, not like Abraham with camels and asses to help them along. Theweakly wife had to carry the sickly baby, who, with many ups and downs, had been slowly pining away. The father went laden with the largerportion of the goods yet remaining to them, and led the Serpent of thePrairies, with the drum hanging from his neck, by the hand. The otherboys followed, bearing the small stock of implements belonging to theirart. 

They had delayed their departure till it was more than dusk, for Frankscould not help a vague feeling of blame for the condition of his family, and shrank from being seen of men's eyes; every one they met must knowthey had not a place to lay their heads! The world was like a sea beforethem--a prospect of ceaseless motion through the night, with the hope ofan occasional rest on a doorstep or the edge of the curb-stone when thepoliceman's back was turned. They set out to go nowhither--to tramp onand on. Is it any wonder--does it imply wickedness beyond that lack oftrust in God which is at the root of all wickedness, if the thought ofending their troubles by death crossed his mind, and from verytenderness kept returning? At the last gasp, as it seemed, in the closeand ever closer siege of misfortune, he was almost ready, like the Jewsof Masada, to conquer by self-destruction. But ever and again the sadeyes of his wife turned him from the thought, and he would plod on, thinking, as near as possible, about nothing. 

At length as they wandered they came to a part where seemed to be onlysmall houses and mews. Presently they found themselves in a little lanewith no thoroughfare, at the back of some stables, and had to returnalong the rough-paved, neglected way. Such was the quiet and apparentseclusion of the spot, that it struck Franks they had better find itsmost sheltered corner, in which to sit down and rest awhile, possiblysleep. Scarcely would policeman, he thought, enter such a forsakenplace! The same moment they heard the measured tread of the enemy on theother side of the stables. Instinctively, hurriedly, they looked aroundfor some place of concealment, and spied, at the end of a blank wall, belonging apparently to some kind of warehouse, a narrow path betweenthat and the wall of the next property. Careless to what it led, anxiousonly to escape the annoyance of the policeman, they turned quickly intoit. Scarcely had they done so when the Serpent, whose hand his fatherhad let go, disappeared with a little cry, and a whimper ascendedthrough the darkness. 

"Hold your n'ise, you rascal!" said his father sharply, but under hisbreath; "the bobby will hear you, and have us all to the lock-up!"

Not a sound more was heard. Neither did the boy reappear. 

"Good heavens, John!" cried the mother in an agonized whisper, "thechild has fallen down a sewer! Oh, my God! he is gone for ever!"

"Hold your n'ise, " said Franks again, "an' let's all go down a'ter him!It's better down anywheres than up where there ain't nothing to eat an'nowheres to lie down in. "

"'Tain't a bad place, " cried a little voice in a whisper broken withrepressed sobs. "'Tain't a bad place, I don't think, only I broken oneo' my two legs; it won't move to fetch of me up again. "

"Thank God in heaven, the child's alive!" cried the mother. "--You ain'tmuch hurt, are you, Moxy?"

"Rather, mother!"

By this time the steps of the policeman, to which the father had beenlistening with more anxiety than to the words of wife or child, werealmost beyond hearing. Franks turned, and going down a few steps foundhis child, where he half lay, half sat upon them. But when he liftedhim, he gave a low cry of pain. It was impossible to see where or howmuch he was hurt. The father sat down and took him on his knees. 

"You'd better come an' sit here, wife, " he said in a low dull voice. "There ain't no one a sittin' up for us. The b'y's a bit hurt, an' hereyou'll be out o' the wind at least. "

They all got as far down the stair as its room would permit--the elderboys with their heads hardly below the level of the wind. But by and byone of them crept down past his mother, feebly soothing the whimperingbaby, and began to feel what sort of a place they were in. 

"Here's a door, father!" he said. 

"Well, what o' that?" returned his father. "'Taint no door open to us orthe likes on us. There ain't no open door for the likes of us but thedoor o' the grave. "

"Perhaps this is it, father, " said Moxy. 

"If it be, " answered his father with bitterness, "we'll find it open, I'll be bound. "

The boy's hand had come upon a latch; he lifted it, and pushed. 

"Father, " he cried with a gasp, "_it is open_!"

"Get in then, " said his father roughly, giving him a push with his foot. 

"I daren't. It's so dark!" he answered. 

"Here, you come an' take the Sarpint, " returned the father, with faintlyreviving hope, "an' I'll see what sort of a place it is. If it's anyplace at all, it's better than bein' i' the air all night at thisfreezin' time!"

So saying he gave Moxy to his bigger brother and went to learn what kindof a place they had got to. Ready as he had been a moment before for thegrave, he was careful in stepping into the unknown dark. Feeling withfoot and hand, he went in. He trod upon an earthen floor, and the placehad a musty smell: it might be a church vault, he thought. In and in hewent, with sliding foot on the soundless floor, and sliding hand alongthe cold wall--on and on, round two corners, past a closed door, andback to that by which he had entered, where, as at the grave's mouth, sat his family in sad silence, waiting his return. 

"Wife, " he said, "we can't do better than to take the only thing that'soffered. The floor's firm, an' it's out o' the air. It's some sort of acellar--p'r'aps at the bottom of a church. It do look as if it wur leftopen jest for us!--You _used_ to talk about _him_ above, wife!"

He took her by the hand and led the way into the darkness, the boysfollowing, one of them with a hold of his mother, and his arm round theother, who was carrying Moxy. Franks closed the door behind them, andthey had gained a refuge. Feeling about, one of the boys came upon alarge packing-case; having laid it down against the inner wall, Frankssat, and made his wife lie upon it, with her head on his knees, and tookMoxy again in his arms, wrapt in one of their three thin blankets. Theboys stretched themselves on the ground, and were soon fast asleep. Thebaby moaned by fits all the night long. 

In about an hour Franks, who for long did not sleep, heard the door opensoftly and stealthily, and seemed aware of a presence besides themselvesin the place. He concluded some other poor creature had discovered thesame shelter; or, if they had got into a church-vault, it might be somewandering ghost; he was too weary for further speculation, or anyuneasiness. When the slow light crept through the chinks of the door, hefound they were quite alone. 

It was a large dry cellar, empty save for the old packing-case. Theymust use great caution, and do their best to keep their hold of thislast retreat! Misfortune had driven them into the earth; it would befortune to stay there. 

When his wife woke, he told her what he had been thinking. He and theboys would creep out before it was light, and return after dark. Shemust not put even a finger out of the cellar-door all day. He laid Moxydown beside her, woke the two elder boys, and went out with them. 

They were so careful that for many days they continued undiscovered. Franks and the boys went and returned, and gained bread enough to keepthem alive, but it may well seem a wonder they did not perish with cold. It is amazing what even the delicate sometimes go through without morethan a little hastening on the road the healthiest are going as well. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

DIFFERENCE. 

About noon the next day, lord Gartley called. Whether he had got overhis fright, or thought the danger now less imminent, or was vexed thathe had _appeared_ to be afraid, I do not know. Hester was very gladto see him again. 

"I think I am a safe companion to-day, " she said. "I have not been outof the house yet. But till the bad time is over among my people, we hadbetter be content not to meet, I think. "

Lord Gartley mentally gasped. He stood for a moment speechless, gathering his thoughts, which almost refused to be gathered. 

"Do I understand you, Hester?" he said. "It would trouble me more than Ican tell to find I do. "

"I fear I understand you, Gartley!" said Hester. "Is it possible youwould have me abandon my friends to the small-pox, as a hireling hissheep to the wolf?"

"There are those whose business it is to look after them. "

"I am one of those, " returned Hester. 

"Well, " answered his lordship, "for the sake of argument we will allowit _has_ been your business; but how can you imagine it yourbusiness any longer?"

Indignation, a fire always ready "laid" in Hester's bosom, but seldomyet lighted by lord Gartley, burst into flame, and she spoke as he hadnever heard her speak before. 

"I am aware, my lord, " she said, "that I must by and by have new dutiesto perform, but I have yet to learn that they must annihilate the old. The claims of love cannot surely obliterate those of friendship! The newshould make the old better, not sweep it away. "

"But, my dear girl, the thing is preposterous!" exclaimed his lordship. "Don't you see you will enter on a new life! In the most ordinary caseseven, the duties of a wife are distinct from those of an unmarriedwoman. "

"But the duties of neither can supersede those of a human being. If theposition of a wife is higher than that of an unmarried woman, it mustenable her to do yet better the things that were her duty as a humanbeing before. "

"But if it be impossible she should do the same things?"

"Whatever is impossible settles its own question. I trust I shall neverdesire to attempt the impossible. "

"You have begun to attempt it now. "

"I do not understand you. "

"It is impossible you should perform the duties of the station you areabout to occupy, and continue to do as you are doing now. The attemptwuld be absurd. "

"I have not tried it yet. "

"But I know what your duties will be, and I assure you, my dear Hester, you will find the thing cannot be done. "

"You set me thinking of more things than I can manage all at once, " shereplied in a troubled way. "I must think. "

"The more you think, the better satisfied you will be of what I say. AllI want of you is to think; for I am certain if you do, your good sensewill convince you I am right. "

He paused a moment. Hester did not speak. He resumed:

"Just think, " he said, "what it would be to have you coming home to goout again straight from one of these kennels of the small-pox! The ideais horrible! Wherever you were suspected of being present, the housewould be shunned like the gates of death. "

"In such circumstances I should not go out. "

"The suspicion of it would be enough. And in your absence, as certainlyas in your presence, though not so fatally, you would be neglecting yourduty to society. "

"Then, " said Hester, "the portion of society that is healthy, wealthy, and--merry, has stronger claims than the portion that is poor and sickand in prison!"

Lord Gartley was for a moment bewildered--not from any feeling of theforce of what she said, but from inability to take it in. He had to turnhimself about two or three times mentally before he could bring himselfto believe she actually meant that those to whom she alluded were to beregarded as a portion of the same society that ruled his life. Hethought another moment, then said:

"There are the sick in every class: you would have those of your own tovisit. Why not leave others to visit those of theirs?"

"Then of course you would have no objection to my visiting a duchess inthe small-pox?"

Lord Gartley was on the point of saying that duchesses never took thesmallpox, but he did not, afraid Hester might know to the contrary. 

"There could be no occasion for that, " he said. "She would haveeverything she could want. "

"And the others are in lack of everything! To desert them would be todesert the Lord. He will count it so. "

"Well, certainly, " said his lordship, returning on the track, "therewould be less objection in the case of the duchess, in as much as everypossible precaution would in her house be taken against the spread ofthe disease. It would be horribly selfish to think only of the personaffected!"

"You show the more need that the poor should not be deserted of the richin their bitter necessity! Who among them is able to take the rightprecautions against the spread of the disease? And if it spread amongthem, there is no security against its reaching those at last who takeevery possible care of themselves and none of their neighbours. You donot imagine, because I trust in God, and do not fear what the small-poxcan do to me, I would therefore neglect any necessary preventive! Thatwould be to tempt God: means as well as results are his. They are a wayof giving us a share in his work. "

"If I should have imagined such neglect possible, would not yesterday gofar to justify me?" said lord Gartley. 

"You are ungenerous, " returned Hester. "You know I was then takenunprepared! The smallpox had but just appeared--at least I had not heardof it before. "

"Then you mean to give up society for the sake of nursing the poor?"

"Only upon occasion, when there should be a necessity--such as anoutbreak of infectious disease. "

"And how, pray, should I account for your absence--not to mention theimpossibility of doing my part without you? I should have to becontinually telling stories; for if people came to know the fact, theywould avoid me too as if I were the pest itself!"

It was to Hester as if a wall rose suddenly across the path hithertostretching before her in long perspective. It became all but clear toher that he and she had been going on without any real understanding ofeach other's views in life. Her expectations tumbled about her like ahouse of cards. If he wanted to marry her, full of designs and aims inwhich she did not share, and she was going to marry him, expectingsympathies and helps which he had not the slightest inclination to giveher, where was the hope for either of anything worth calling success?She sat silent. She wanted to be alone that she might think. It would beeasier to write than talk further! But she must have more certainty asto what was in his mind. 

"Do you mean then, Gartley, " she said, "that when I am your wife, ifever I am, I shall have to give up all the friendships to which I havehitherto devoted so much of my life?"

Her tone was dominated by the desire to be calm, and get at his realfeeling. Gartley mistook it, and supposed her at length betraying theweakness hitherto so successfully concealed. He concluded he had only tobe firm now to render future discussion of the matter unnecessary. 

"I would not for a moment act the tyrant, or say you must never go intosuch houses again. Your own good sense, the innumerable engagements youwill have, the endless calls upon your time and accomplishments, willguide you--and I am certain guide you right, as to what attention youcan spare to the claims of benevolence. But just please allow me oneremark: in the circle to which you will in future belong, nothing isconsidered more out of place than any affectation of enthusiasm. I donot care to determine whether your way or theirs is the right one; all Iwant to say is, that as the one thing to be avoided is peculiarity, youwould do better not to speak of these persons, whatever regard you mayhave for their spiritual welfare, as _your friends_. One cannothave so many friends--not to mention that a unity of taste and feelingis necessary to that much-abused word _friendship_. You know wellenough such persons cannot be your friends. "

This was more than Hester could bear. She broke out with a vehemence forwhich she was afterwards sorry, though nowise ashamed of it. 

"They _are_ my friends. There are twenty of them would do more forme than you would. "

Lord Gartley rose. He was hurt. "Hester, " he said, "you think so littleof me or my anxiety about your best interests, that I cannot but supposeit will be a relief to you if I go. "

She answered not a word--did not even look up, and his lordship walkedgently but unhesitatingly from the room. 

"It will bring her to her senses!" he said to himself. "--How grand shelooked!"

Long after he was gone, Hester sat motionless, thinking, thinking. Whatshe had vaguely foreboded--she knew now she had foreboded it all thetime--at least she thought she knew it--was come! They were not, neverhad been, never could be at one about anything! He was a mere man ofthis world, without relation to the world of truth! To be tied to himfor life would be to be tied indeed! And yet she loved him--would gladlydie for him--not to give him his own way--for that she would not evenmarry him; but to save him from it--to save him from himself, and givehim God instead--that would be worth dying for, even if it were theannihilation unbelievers took it for! To marry him, swell his worldlytriumphs, help gild the chains of his slavery was not to be thought of!It was one thing to die that a fellow-creature might have all thingsgood! another to live a living death that he might persist in the prideof life! She could not throw God's life to the service of the stupidSatan! It was a sad breakdown to the hopes that had clustered aboutGartley!

But did she not deserve it?

Therewith began a self-searching which did not cease until it hadprostrated her in sorrow and shame before him whose charity is the onlypledge of ours. 

Was it then all over between them? Might he not bethink himself, andcome again, and say he was sorry he had so left her? He might indeed;but would that make any difference to her? Had he not beyond a doubtdisclosed his real way of thinking and feeling? If he could speak thusnow, after they had talked so much, what spark of hope was there inmarriage?

To forget her friends that she might go into _society_ a countess!The thought was as contemptible as poverty-stricken. She would leavesuch ambition to women that devoured novels and studied the peerage! Oneloving look from human eyes was more to her than the admiration of theworld! She would go back to her mother as soon as she had found her poorCorney, and seen her people through the smallpox! If only the house washer own, that she might turn it into a hospital! She would make it ahome to which any one sick or sad, any cast out of the world, anybetrayed by seeming friends, might flee for shelter! She would be morethan ever the sister and helper of her own--cling faster than ever tothe skirts of the Lord's garment, that the virtue going out of him mightflow through her to them! She would be like Christ, a gulf into whichwrong should flow and vanish--a sun radiating an uncompromising love!

How easy is the thought, in certain moods, of the loveliest, mostunselfish devotion! How hard is the doing of the thought in the face ofa thousand unlovely difficulties! Hester knew this, but, God helping, was determined not to withdraw hand or foot or heart. She rose, andhaving prepared herself, set out to visit her people. First of all shewould go to the bookbinder's, and see how his wife was attended to. 

The doctor not being there, she was readily admitted. The poor husband, unable to help, sat a picture of misery by the scanty fire. A neighbor, not yet quite recovered from the disease herself, had taken on her theduties of nurse. Having given her what instructions she thought it leastimprobable she might carry out, and told her to send for anything shewanted, she rose to take her leave. 

"Won't you sing to her a bit, miss, before you go?" said the husbandbeseechingly. "It'll do her more good than all the doctor's stuff. "

"I don't think she's well enough, " said Hester. 

"Not to get all the good on it, I daresay, miss, " rejoined the man; "butshe'll hear it like in a dream, an' she'll think it's the angels asingin'; an' that'll do her good, for she do like all them creaturs!"

Hester yielded and sang, thinking all the time how the ways of theopen-eyed God look to us like things in a dream, because we are only inthe night of his great day, asleep before the brightness of his greatwaking thoughts. The woman had been tossing and moaning in an undefineddiscomfort, but as she sang she grew still, and when she ceased lay asif asleep. 

"Thank you, miss, " said the man. "You can do more than the doctor, as Itold you! When he comes, he always wakes her up; you make her sleeptrue!"

CHAPTER XLII. 

DEEP CALLETH UNTO DEEP. 

In the meantime yet worse trouble had come upon the poor Frankses. Abouta week after they had taken possession of the cellar, little Moxy, theSerpent of the Prairies, who had been weakly ever since his fall downthe steps, by which he had hurt his head and been sadly shaken, becameseriously ill, and grew worse and worse. For some days they were notmuch alarmed, for the child had often been ailing--oftener of late sincethey had not been faring so well; and even when they were they dared notget a doctor to him for fear of being turned out, and having to go tothe workhouse. 

By this time they had contrived to make the cellar a little morecomfortable. They managed to get some straw, and with two or three oldsacks made a bed for the mother and the baby and Moxy on thepacking-case. They got also some pieces of matting, and contrived to putup a screen betwixt it and the rickety door. By the exercise of theirart they had gained enough to keep them in food, but never enough to payfor the poorest lodging. They counted themselves, however, better off bymuch than if they had been crowded with all sorts in such lodging as alittle more might have enabled them to procure. 

The parents loved Moxy more tenderly than either of his brothers, and itwas with sore hearts they saw him getting worse. The sickness was a mildsmallpox--so mild that they did not recognize it, yet more than Moxycould bear, and he was gradually sinking. When this became clear to themother, then indeed she felt the hand of God heavy upon her. 

Religiously brought up, she had through the ordinary troubles of amarried life sought help from the God in whom her mother hadbelieved:--we do not worship our fathers and mothers like theChinese--though I do not envy the man who can scorn them for it--butthey are, if at all decent parents, our first mediators with the greatfather, whom we can worse spare than any baby his mother;--but withevery fresh attack of misery, every step further down on the stair oflife, she thought she had lost her last remnant of hope, and knew thatup to that time she had hoped, while past seasons of failure looked liketimes of blessed prosperity. No man, however little he may recognize thehope in him, knows what it would be to be altogether hopeless. Now Moxywas about to be taken from them, and no deeper misery seemed, to theirimagination, possible! Nothing seemed left them--not even the desire ofdeliverance. How little hope there is in the commoner phases ofreligion! The message grounded on the uprising of the crucified man, hasas yet yielded but little victory over the sorrows of the grave, butsmall anticipation of the world to come; not a little hope ofdeliverance from a hell, but scarce a foretaste of a blessed time athand when the heart shall exult and the flesh be glad. In general thereis at best but a sad looking forward to a region scarcely less shadowyand far more dreary than the elysium of the pagan poets. When Christcometh, shall he find faith in the earth--even among those who thinkthey believe that he is risen indeed? Margaret Franks, in the cellar ofher poverty, the grave yawning below it for her Moxy, felt as if therewas no heaven at all, only a sky. 

But a strange necessity was at hand to compel the mother to rouse afreshall the latent hope and faith and prayer that were in her. 

By an inexplicable insight the child seemed to know that he was dying. For, one morning, after having tossed about all the night long, hesuddenly cried out in tone most pitiful, "Mother, don't put me in a hole. "

As far as any of them knew, he had never seen a funeral--at least toknow what it was--had never heard anything about death or burial: hisfather had a horror of the subject!

The words went like a knife to the heart of the mother. She sat silent, neither able to speak, not knowing what to answer. 

Again came the pitiful cry, "Mother, don't put me in a hole. "

Most mothers would have sought to soothe the child, their own heartsbreaking the while, with the assurance that no one should put him intoany hole, or anywhere he did not want to go. But this mother could notlie in the face of death, nor had it ever occurred to her that no_person_ is ever put into a hole, though many a body. 

Before she could answer, a third time came the cry, this time indespairing though suppressed agony, --

"Mother, don't let them put me in a hole. "

The mother gave a cry like the child's, and her heart within her becamelike water. 

"Oh, God!" she gasped, and could say no more. 

But with the prayer--for what is a prayer but a calling on the name ofthe Lord?--came to her a little calm, and she was able to speak. Shebent over him and kissed his forehead. 

"My darling Moxy, mother loves you, " she said. 

What that had to do with it she did not ask herself. The child looked upin her face with dim eyes. 

"Pray to the heavenly father, Moxy, " she went on--and there stopped, thinking what she should tell him to ask for. "Tell him, " she resumed, "that you don't want to be put in a hole, and tell him that mother doesnot want you to be put in a hole, for she loves you with all her heart. "

"Don't put me in the hole, " said Moxy, now using the definite article. 

"Jesus Christ was put in the hole, " said the voice of the next elder boyfrom behind his mother. He had come in softly, and she had neither seennor heard him. It was Sunday, and he had strolled into a church ormeeting-house--does it matter which?--and had heard the wonderful storyof hope. It was remarkable though that he had taken it up as he did, forhe went on to add, "but he didn't mind it much, and soon got out again. "

"Ah, yes, Moxy!" said the poor mother, "Jesus died for our sins, and youmust ask him to take you up to heaven. "

But Moxy did not know anything about sins, and just as little aboutheaven. What he wanted was an assurance that he would not be put in thehole. And the mother, now a little calmer, thought she saw what sheought to say. 

"It ain't your soul, it's only your body, Moxy, they put in the hole, "she said. 

"I don't want to be put in the hole, " Moxy almost screamed. "I don'twant my head cut off!"

The poor mother was at her wits' end. 

But here the child fell into a troubled sleep, and for some hours asilence as of the grave filled the dreary cellar. 

The moment he woke the same cry came from his fevered lips, "Don't putme in the hole, " and at intervals, growing longer as he grew weaker, thecry came all the day. 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

DELIVERANCE. 

Hester had been to church, and had then visited some of her people, carrying them words of comfort and hope. They received them in a way ather hand, but none of them, had they gone, would have found them atchurch. How seldom is the man in the pulpit able to make people feelthat the things he is talking about are things at all! Neither when theheavens are black with clouds and rain, nor when the sun rises gloriousin a blue perfection, do many care to sit down and be taught astronomy!But Hester was a live gospel to them--and most when she sang. Even thename of the Saviour uttered in her singing tone and with the expressionshe then gave it, came nearer to them than when she spoke it. The verybrooding of the voice on a word, seems to hatch something of what is init. She often felt, however, as if some new, other kind of messengersthan she or such as she, must one day be sent them; for there seemed agulf between their thoughts and hers, such as neither they nor she couldpass. 

In fact they _could not_ think the things she thought, and had novocabulary or phrases or imagery whereby to express their own thinkings. God does not hurry such: have we enough of hope for them, or patiencewith them? I suspect their teachers must arise among themselves. Theytoo must have an elect of their own kind, of like passions withthemselves, to lift them up, and perhaps shame those that cannot reachthem. Our teaching to them is no teaching at all; it does not reachtheir ignorance; perhaps they require a teaching that to our ignorancewould seem no teaching at all, or even bad teaching. How many things arethere in the world in which the wisest of us can ill descry the hand ofGod! Who not knowing could read the lily in its bulb, the great oak inthe pebble-like acorn? God's beginnings do not _look_ like hisendings, but they _are_ like; the oak _is_ in the acorn, thoughwe cannot see it. The ranting preacher, uttering huge untruths, may yetwake vital verities in chaotic minds--convey to a heart some saving fact, rudely wrapped in husks of lies even against God himself. 

Mr. Christopher, thrown at one time into daily relations with a goodsort of man, had tried all he could to rouse him to a sense of hishigher duties and spiritual privileges, but entirely without success. Apreacher came round, whose gospel was largely composed of hell-fire andmalediction, with frequent allusion to the love of a most unlovely God, as represented by him. This preacher woke up the man. "And then, " saidChristopher, "I was able to be of service to him, and get him on. Hespeedily outgrew the lies his prophet had taught him, and became adevout Christian; while the man who had been the means of rousing himwas tried for bigamy, convicted and punished. "

This Sunday Hester, in her dejection and sadness about Gartley, overwhom--not her loss of him--she mourned deeply, felt more than ever, ifnot that she could not reach her people, yet how little she was able totouch them, and there came upon her a hopelessness that was heavy, sinking into the very roots of her life, and making existence itselfappear a dull and undesirable thing. Hitherto life had seemed a goodthing, worth holding up as a heave-offering to him who made it; now shehad to learn to take life itself from the hand of God as his will, infaith that he would prove it a good gift. She had to learn that in_all_ drearinesses, of the flesh or spirit, even in those that seemto come of having nothing to do, or from being unable to do what wethink we have to do, the refuge is the same--he who is the root andcrown of life. Who would receive comfort from anything but love? Whowould build on anything but the eternal? Who would lean on that whichhas in itself no persistence? Even the closest human loves have theironly endurance, only hope of perfection, in the eternal perfect love ofwhich they are the rainbow-refractions. I cannot love son or daughter asI would, save loving them as the children of the eternal God, in whomhis spirit dwells and works, making them altogether lovely, and me moreand more love-capable. That they are mine is not enough ground forenough love--will not serve as operative reason to the height of thelove my own soul demands from itself for them. But they are mine becausethey are his, and he is the demander and enabler of love. 

The day was a close, foggy, cold, dreary day. The service at church hadnot seemed interesting. She laid the blame on herself, and neither onprayers nor lessons nor psalms nor preacher, though in truth some ofthese might have been better; the heart seemed to have gone out of theworld--as if not Baal but God had gone to sleep, and his children hadwaked before him and found the dismal gray of the world's morning fullof discomfortable ghosts. She tried her New Testament; but Jesus tooseemed far away--nothing left but the story about him--as if he hadforgotten his promise, and was no longer in the world. She tried some ofher favourite poems: each and all were infected with the samedisease--with common-place nothingness. They seemed all made up--words!words! words! Nothing was left her in the valley but the shadow, and thelast weapon, All-prayer. She fell upon her knees and cried to God forlife. "My heart is dead within me, " she said, and poured out her lackinto the hearing of him from whom she had come that she might havehimself, and so be. She did not dwell upon her sorrows; even they hadsunk and all but vanished in the gray mass of lost interest. 

The modern representatives of Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar would comfortus with the assurance that all such depression has physical causes:right or wrong, what does their comfort profit! Consolation in beingtold that we are slaves! What noble nature would be content to be curedof sadness by a dose of medicine? There is in the heart a convictionthat the soul ought to be supreme over the body and its laws; that theremust be a faith which conquers the body with all its tyrants; and thatno soul is right until it has that faith--until it is in closest, mostimmediate understanding with its own unchangeable root, God himself. Such faith may not at once remove the physical cause, if such there be, but it will be more potent still; in the presence of both the cause andthe effect, its very atmosphere will be a peace tremulous with unborngladness. This gained, the medicine, the regimen, or the change of airmay be resorted to without sense of degradation, with cheerful hope andsome indifference. Such is perhaps the final victory of faith. Faith, insuch circumstances, must be of the purest, and may be of the strongest. In few other circumstances can it have such an opportunity--can it riseto equal height. It may be its final lesson, and deepest. God is in itjust in his seeming to be not in it--that we may choose him in thedarkness of the feeling, stretch out the hand to him when we cannot seehim, verify him in the vagueness of the dream, call to him in theabsence of impulse, obey him in the weakness of the will. 

Even in her prayers Hester could not get near him. It seemed as if hisear were turned away from her cry. She sank into a kind of lethargicstupor. I think, in order to convey to us the spiritual help we need, itis sometimes necessary--just as, according to the psalmist, "he givethto his beloved in their sleep"--to cast us into a sort of mentalquiescence, that the noise of the winds and waters of the questioningintellect and roused feelings may not interfere with the impression themaster would make upon our beings. But Hester's lethargy lasted long, and was not so removed. She rose from her knees in a kind of despair, almost ready to think that either there was no God, or he would not hearher. An inaccessible God was worse than no God at all! In either caseshe would rather cease!

It had been dark for hours, but she had lighted no candle, and sat inbodily as in spiritual darkness. She was in her bedroom, which was onthe second floor, at the back of the house, looking out on the top ofthe gallery that led to the great room. She had no fire. One was burningaway unheeded in the drawing-room below. She was too miserable to carewhether she was cold or warm. When she had got some light in her body, then she would go and get warm!

What time it was she did not know. She had been summoned to the lastmeal of the day, but had forgotten the summons. It must have been aboutten o'clock. The streets were silent, the square deserted--as usual. Theevening was raw and cold, one to drive everybody in-doors that had doorsto go in at. 

Through the cold and darkness came a shriek that chilled her withhorror. Yet it seemed as if she had been expecting it--as if the cloudof misery that had all day been gathering deeper and deeper above andaround her, had at length reached its fullness, and burst in thelightning of that shriek. It was followed by another and yet another. Whence did they come? Not from the street, for all beside was still;even the roar of London was hushed! And there was a certain something inthe sound of them that assured her that they rose in the house. WasSarah being murdered? She was half-way down the stairs before thethought that sent her was plain to herself. 

The house seemed unnaturally still. At the top of the kitchen stairs shecalled aloud to Sarah--as loud, that is, as a certain tremor in herthroat would permit. There came no reply. Down she went to face theworst: she was a woman of true courage--that is, a woman whom no amountof apprehension could deter when she knew she ought to seek the danger. 

In the kitchen stood Sarah, motionless, frozen with fear. A candle wasin her hand, just lighted. Hester's voice seemed to break her trance. 

She started, stared, and fell a trembling. She made her drink somewater, and then she came to herself. 

"It's in the coal-cellar, miss!" she gasped. "I was that minute going tofetch a scuttleful! There's something buried in them coals as sure as myname's Sarah!"

"Nonsense!" returned Hester. "Who could scream like that from under thecoals? Come; we'll go and see what it is. "

"Laws, miss! don't you go near it now. It's too late to do anything. Either it's the woman's sperrit as they say was murdered there, or it'sa new one. "

"And you would let her be killed without interfering?"

"Oh, miss, all's over by this time!" persisted Sarah, with white lipstrembling. 

"Then you are ready to go to bed with a murderer in the house?" saidHester. 

"He's done his business now, an' 'll go away. "

"Give me the candle. I will go alone. "

"You'll be murdered, miss--as sure's you're alive!"

Hester took the light from her, and went towards the coal-cellar. Theold woman sank on a chair. 

I have already alluded to the subterranean portion of the house, whichextended under the great room. A long vault, corresponding to thegallery above, led to these cellars. It was rather a frightful place togo into in search of the source of a shriek. Its darkness was scarcelyaffected by the candle she carried; it seemed only to blind herself. Shetried holding it above her head, and then she could see a little. Theblack tunnel stretched on and on, like a tunnel in a feverish dream, along way before the cellars began to open from it. She advanced, Icannot say fearless, but therefore only the more brave. She felt as ifleaving life and safety behind, but her imagination was not much awake, and her mental condition made her almost inclined to welcome death. Shereached at last the coal-cellar, the first that opened from the passage, and looked in. The coal-heap was low, and the place looked large andvery black. She sent her keenest gaze through the darkness, but couldsee nothing; went in and moved about until she had thrown light intoevery corner: no one was there. She was on the point of returning whenshe bethought herself there were other cellars--one the wine-cellar, which was locked: she would go and see if Sarah knew anything about thekey of it. But just as she left the coal-cellar, she heard a moan, followed by a succession of low sobs. Her heart began to beat violently, but she stopped to listen. The light of her candle fell upon anotherdoor, a pace or two from where she stood. She went to it, laid her earagainst it, and listened. The sobs continued a while, ceased, and leftall silent. Then clear and sweet, but strange and wild, as if from someregion unearthly, came the voice of a child: she could hear distinctlywhat it said. 

"Mother, " it rang out, "you _may_ put me in the hole. "

And the silence fell deep as before. 

Hester stood for a moment horrified. Her excited imagination suggestedsome deed of superstitious cruelty in the garden of the house adjoining. Nor were the sobs and cries altogether against such supposition. Sherecovered herself instantly, and ran back to the kitchen. 

"You have the keys of the cellars--have you not, Sarah?" she said. 

"Yes, miss, I fancy so. "

"Where does the door beyond the coal-cellar lead out to?"

"Not out to nowhere, miss. That's a large cellar as we never use. Iain't been into it since the first day, when they put some of thepacking-cases there. "

"Give me the key, " said Hester. "Something is going on there we ought toknow about. "

"Then pray send for the police, miss!" answered Sarah, trembling. "Itain't for you to go into such places--on no account!"

"What! not in our own house?"

"It's the police's business, miss!"

"Then the police are their brothers' keepers, and not you and me, Sarah?"

"It's the wicked as is in it, I fear, miss. "

"It's those that weep anyhow, and they're our business, if it's only toweep with them. Quick! show me which is the key. "

Sarah sought the key in the bunch, and noting the coolness with whichher young mistress took it, gathered courage from hers to follow, alittle way behind. 

When Hester reached the door, she carefully examined it, that she mightdo what she had to do as quickly as possible. There were bolts and barsupon it, but not one of them was fastened; it was secured only by thebolt of the lock. She set the candle on the floor, and put in the key asquietly as she could. It turned without much difficulty, and the doorfell partly open with a groan of the rusted hinge. She caught up herlight, and went in. 

It was a large, dark, empty place. For a few moments she could seenothing. But presently she spied, somewhere in the dark, a group offaces, looking white through the circumfluent blackness, the eyes ofthem fixed in amaze, if not in terror, upon herself. She advancedtowards them, and almost immediately recognized one of them--thenanother; but what with the dimness, the ghostliness, and the strangenessof it all, felt as if surrounded by the veiling shadows of a dream. Butwhose was that pallid little face whose eyes were not upon her with therest? It stared straight on into the dark, as if it had no more to dowith the light! She drew nearer to it. The eyes of the other facesfollowed her. 

When the eyes of the mother saw the face of her Moxy who died in thedark, she threw herself in a passion of tears and cries upon her dead. But the man knelt upon his knees, and when Hester turned in pain fromthe agony of the mother, she saw him with lifted hands of supplicationat her feet. A torrent of divine love and passionate pity filled herheart, breaking from its deepest God-haunted caves. She stooped andkissed the man upon his upturned forehead. 

Many are called but few chosen. Hester was the disciple of him who couldhave cured the leper with a word, but for reasons of his own, not far toseek by such souls as Hester's, laid his hands upon him, sorely defilinghimself in the eyes of the self-respecting bystanders. The leper himselfwould never have dreamed of his touching him. 

Franks burst out crying like the veriest child. All at once in thedepths of hell the wings of a great angel were spread out over him andhis! No more starvation and cold for his poor wife and the baby! Theboys would have plenty now! If only Moxy--but he was gone where theangels came from--and theirs was a hard life! Surely the God his wifetalked about must have sent her to them! Did he think they had borneenough now? Only he had borne it so ill! Thus thought Franks, indislocated fashion, and remained kneeling. 

Hester was now kneeling also, with her arms round her whose arms wereabout the body of her child. She did not speak to her, did not attempt aword of comfort, but wept with her: she too had loved little Moxy! shetoo had heard his dying words--glowing with reproof to her faithlessnesswho cried out like a baby when her father left her for a moment in thedark! In the midst of her loneliness and seeming desertion, God hadthese people already in the house for her help! The back-door of everytomb opens on a hill-top. 

With awe-struck faces the boys looked on. They too could now see Moxy'sface. They had loved Moxy--loved him more than they knew yet. 

The woman at length raised her head, and looked at Hester. 

"Oh, miss, it's Moxy!" she said, and burst into a fresh passion ofgrief. 

"The dear child!" said Hester. 

"Oh, miss! who's to look after him now?"

"There will be plenty to look after him. You don't think he who provideda woman like you for his mother before he sent him here, would send himthere without having somebody ready to look after him?"

"Well, miss, it wouldn't be like him--I don't think!"

"It would _not_ be like him, " responded Hester, withself-accusation. 

Then she asked them a few questions about their history since last shesaw them, and how it was they had sunk so low, receiving answers moresatisfactory than her knowledge had allowed her to hope. 

"But oh miss!" exclaimed Mrs. Franks, bethinking herself, "you ought notto ha' been here so long: the little angel there died o' the small-pox, as I know too well, an' it's no end o' catching!"

"Never mind me, " replied Hester; "I'm not afraid. But, " she added, rising, "we must get you out of this immediately. "

"Oh, miss! where would you send us?" said Mrs. Franks in alarm. "There'snobody as 'll take us in! An' it would break both our twohearts--Franks's an' mine--to be parted at such a moment, when us two'sthe father an' mother o' Moxy. An' they'd take Moxy from us, an' put himin the hole he was so afeared of!"

"You don't think I would leave my own flesh and blood in the cellar!"answered Hester. "I will go and make arrangement for you above and beback presently. "

"Oh thank you, miss!" said the woman, as Hester sat down the candlebeside them. "I do want to look on the face of my blessed boy as long asI can! He will be taken from me altogether soon!"

"Mrs. Franks, " rejoined Hester, "you musn't talk like a heathen. "

"I didn't know as I was saying anything wrong, miss!"

"Don't you know, " said Hester, smiling through tears, "that Jesus diedand rose again that we might be delivered from death? Don't you knowit's he and not Death has got your Moxy? He will take care of him foryou till you are ready to have him again. If you love Moxy more thanJesus loves him, then you are more like God than Jesus was!"

"Oh, miss, don't talk to me like that! The child was born of my ownbody?"

"And both you and he were born of God's own soul: if you know how tolove he loves ten times better. "

"You know how to love anyhow, miss! the Lord love you! An angel o' mercyyou been to me an' mine. "

"Good-bye then for a few minutes, " said Hester. "I am only going toprepare a place for you. "

Only as she said the words did she remember who had said them beforeher. And as she went through the dark tunnel she sang with a voice thatseemed to beat at the gates of heaven, "Thou didst not leave his soul inhell. "

Mrs. Franks threw herself again beside her child, but her tears were notso bitter now; she and hers were no longer forsaken! She also read herNew Testament, and the last words of Hester had struck her as well asthe speaker of them:

"And she'll come again and receive us to herself!" she said. "--An'Christ'll receive my poor Moxy to himself! If he wasn't, as they say, aChristian, it was only as he hadn't time--so young, an' all the hardwork he had to do--with his precious face a grinnin' like an angelbetween the feet of him, a helpin' of his father to make a livin' for usall! That would be no reason why he as did the will o' _his_ fathershouldn't take to him. If ever there was a child o' God's makin' it wasthat child! I feel as if God must ha' made him right off, like!"

Thoughts like these kept flowing through the mind of the bereaved motheras she lay with her arm over the body of her child--ever lovely to her, now more lovely than ever. The small-pox had not been severe--onlysevere enough to take a feeble life from the midst of privation, and theexpression of his face was lovely. He lay like the sacrifice that sealeda new covenant between his mother and her father in heaven. We have yetlearned but little of the blessed power of death. We call it an evil! Itis a holy, friendly thing. We are not left shivering all the world'snight in a stately portico with no house behind it; death is the door tothe temple-house, whose God is not seated aloft in motionless state, butwalks about among his children, receiving his pilgrim sons in his arms, and washing the sore feet of the weary ones. Either God is altogethersuch as Christ, or the Christian religion is a lie. 

Not a word passed between husband and wife. Their hearts were too fullfor speech, but their hands found and held each the other. It was thestrangest concurrence of sorrow and relief! The two boys sat on theground with their arms about each other. So they waited. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

ON THE WAY UP. 

Hearing only the sounds of a peaceful talk, Sarah had ventured nearenough to the door to hear something of what was said, and set at restby finding that the cause of her terror was but a poor family that hadsought refuge in the cellar, she woke up to better, and was ready tohelp. More than sufficiently afraid of robbers and murderers, she wasnot afraid of infection: "What should an old woman like me do taking thesmall-pox! I've had it bad enough once already!" She was ratherstaggered, however, when she found what Hester's plan for the intruderswas. 

Nothing more, since the night of the concert, had been done to make thegreat room habitable by the family. It had been well cleaned out andthat was all. Now and then a fire was lighted in it, and the childrenplayed in it as before, but it had never been really in use. What betterplace, thought Hester, could there be for a small-pox ward! Thither shewould convey her friends rescued from the slimy embrace of Londonpoverty. 

She told Sarah to light a great fire as speedily as possible, while shesettled what could be done about beds. Almost all in the house wereold-fashioned wooden ones, hard to take down, heavy to move, and hard toput up again: with only herself and Sarah it would take a long time! Forsafety too it would be better to hire iron beds which would be easilypurified--only it was Sunday night, and late! But she knew the littlebroker in Steevens's Road: she would go to him and see if he had anybeds, and if he would help her to put them up at once!

The raw night made her rejoice the more that she had got hold of thepoor creatures drowning in the social swamp. It was a consolation, strong even against such heavy sorrows and disappointments as housed inher heart to know that virtue was going out of her for rescue andredemption. 

She had to ring the bell a good many times before the door opened, forthe broker and his small household had retired for the night: it was noweleven o'clock. He was not well pleased at being taken from his warm bedto go out and work--on such a night too! He grounded what objection hemade, however, on its being Sunday, and more than hinted his surprisethat Hester would ask him to do such a thing. She told him it was forsome who had nowhere to lay their heads, and in her turn more thanhinted that he could hardly know what Sunday meant if he did not thinkit right to do any number of good deeds on it. The man assented to herargument, and went to look out the two beds she wanted. But what inreality influenced him was dislike to offending a customer; customersare the divinities of tradesmen, as society is the divinity of society:in her, men and women worship themselves. Having got the two bedsteadsextracted piecemeal from the disorganized heaps in his back shop, he andHester together proceeded to carry them home--and I cannot help wishinglord Gartley had come upon her at the work--no very light job, for shewent three times, and bore good weights. It was long after midnightbefore the beds were ready--and a meal of coffee, and toast, and breadand butter, spread in the great room. Then at last Hester went back tothe cellar. 

"Now, come, " she said, and taking up the baby, which had just weightenough to lie and let her know how light it was, led the way. 

Franks rose from the edge of the packing-case, on which lay the body ofMoxy, with his mother yet kneeling beside it, and put his arm round hiswife to raise her. She yielded, and he led her away after their hostess, the boys following hand in hand. But when they reached the cellar door, the mother gave a heart-broken cry, and turning ran and threw herselfagain beside her child. They all followed her. 

"I can't! I can't!" she said. "I can't leave my Moxy lyin' here allalone! He ain't used to it. He's never once slep' alone since he wasborn. I can't bear to think o' that lovely look o' his lost on the darknight--not a soul to look down an' see it! Oh, Moxy! was your mothera-leavin' of you all alone!"

"What makes you think there will not be a soul to see it?" said Hester. "The darkness may be full of eyes! And the night itself is only theblack pupil of the Father's eye. --But we're not going to leave thedarling here. We'll take him too, of course, and find him a good placeto lie in. "

The mother was satisfied, and the little procession passed through thedark way, and up the stair. 

The boys looked pleased at sight of the comforts that waited them, but alittle awed with the great lofty room. Over the face of Franks, notwithstanding his little Serpent of the Prairies had crept awaythrough the long tangled grass of the universe, passed a gleam of joymingled with gratitude: much was now begun to be set to rights betweenhim and the high government. But the mother was with the little bodylying alone in the cellar. Suddenly with a wild gesture she made for thedoor. 

"Oh, miss!" she cried, "the rats! the rats!" and would have darted fromthe room. 

"Stop, stop, dear Mrs. Franks!" cried Hester. "Here! take the baby;Sarah and I are going immediately to bring him away, and lay him whereyou can see him when you please. "

Again she was satisfied. She took the baby, and sat down beside herhusband. 

I have mentioned a low pitched room under the great one: in this Hesterhad told Sarah to place a table covered with white: they would lay thebody there in such fashion as would be a sweet remembrance to themother: she went now to see whether this was done. But on the way shemet Sarah coming up with ashy face. 

"Oh, miss!" she said, "the body mustn't be left a minute: there's awhole army of rats in the house already! As I was covering the tablewith a blanket before I put on the sheet, there got up all at oncebehind the wainscot the most uprageous hurry-scurry o' them horridcreaturs. They'll be in wherever it is--you may take your bible-oath!Once when I was--"

Hester interrupted her. 

"Come, " she said, and led the way. 

She looked first into the low room to see that it was properly prepared, and was leaving it again, when she heard a strange sound behind thewainscot as it seemed. 

"There, miss!" said Sarah. 

Hester made up her mind at once that little Moxy should not be leftalone. Her heart trembled a little at the thought, but she comfortedherself that Sarah would not be far off, and that the father and motherof the child would be immediately over her head. The same instant shewas ashamed of having found this comfort first, for was he notinfinitely nearer to her who is lord of life and death?

They went to the cellar. 

"But how, " said Hester on the way, "can the Frankses have got into theplace?"

"There is a back door to it, of course!" answered Sarah. "The first loadof coals came in that way, but master wouldn't have it used: he didn'tlike a door to his house he never set eyes on, he said. "

"But how could it have been open to let them in?" said Hester. 

When they reached the cellar, she took the candle and went to look atthe door. It was pushed to, but not locked, and had no fastening upon itexcept the lock, in which was the key. She turned the key, and taking itout, put it in her pocket. 

Then they carried up the little body, washed it, dressed it in white, and laid it straight in its beauty--symbol--passing, like allsymbols--of a peace divinely more profound--the little hands folded onthe breast under the well-contented face, repeating the calm expressionof that conquest over the fear of death, that submission to be "put inthe hole, " with which the child-spirit passed into wide spaces. Theylighted six candles, three at the head and three at the feet, that themother might see the face of her child, and because light not darknessbefits death. To Hester they symbolized the forms of light that sat, oneat the head and one at the foot of the place where the body of Jesus hadlain. Then they went to fetch the mother. 

She was washing the things they had used for supper. The boys werealready in bed. Franks was staring into the fire: the poor fellow hadnot even looked at one for some time. Hester asked them to go and seewhere she had laid Moxy, and they went with her. The beauty of Death'scourtly state comforted them. 

"But I can't leave him alone!" said the mother "--all night too!--hewouldn't like it! I know he won't wake up no more; only, you know, miss--"

"Yes, I know very well, " replied Hester. 

"I'm ready, " said Franks. 

"No, no!" returned Hester. "You are worn out and must go to bed, both ofyou: I will stay with the beautiful thing, and see that no harm comes toit. "

After some persuasion the mother consented, and in a little while thehouse was quiet. Hester threw a fur cloak round her, and sat down in thechair Sarah had placed for her beside the dead. 

When she had sat some time, the exceeding stillness of the form besideher began to fill her heart with a gentle awe. The stillness was sopersistent that the awe gradually grew to dismay, and fear, inexplicable, unreasonable fear, of which she was ashamed, began toinvade her. She knew at once that she must betake her to the Truth forrefuge. It is little use telling one's self that one's fear is silly. Itcomes upon no pretence of wisdom or logic; proved devoid of both, itwill not therefore budge a jot. She prayed to the Father, awake with herin the stillness; and then began to think about the dead Christ. Wouldthe women who waited for the dawn because they had no light by which tominister, have been afraid to watch by that body all the night long? Oh, to have seen it come to life! move and wake and rise with the informingGod! Every dead thing belonged to Christ, not to something called Death!This dead thing was his. It was dead as he had been dead, and nootherwise! There was nothing dreadful in watching by it, any more thanin sitting beside the cradle of a child yet unborn! In the name ofChrist she would fear nothing! He had abolished death!

Thus thinking, she lay back in her chair, closed her eyes, and thankingGod for having sent her relief in these his children to help, fell fastasleep. 

She started suddenly awake, seeming to have been roused by the openingof a door. The fringe of a departing dream lay yet upon her eyes: wasthe door of the tomb in which she had lain so long burst from itshinges? was the day of the great resurrection come? Swiftly her sensessettled themselves, and she saw plainly and remembered clearly. Yetcould she be really awake? for in the wall opposite stood the form of aman! She neither cried out nor fainted, but sat gazing. She was not evenafraid, only dumb with wonder. The man did not look fearful. A smile sheseemed to have seen before broke gradually from his lips and spread overhis face. The next moment he stepped from the wall and came towards her. 

Then sight and memory came together: in that wall was a door, said tolead into the next house: for the first time she saw it open!

The man came nearer and nearer: it was Christopher! She rose, and heldout her hand. 

"You are surprised to see me!" he said, "--and well you may be! Am I inyour house?--And this watch! what does it mean? I seem to recognize thesweet face! I must have seen you and it together before!--Yes! it isMoxy!"

"You are right, Mr. Christopher, " she answered. "Dear little Moxy diedof the small-pox in our cellar. He was just gone when I found themthere. "

"Is it wise of you to expose yourself so much to the infection?" saidthe doctor. 

"Is it worthy of you to ask such a question?" returned Hester. "We haveour work to do; life or death is the care of him who sets the work. "

The doctor bent his head low, lower, and lower still, before her. Nothing moves a man more than to recognize in another the principleswhich are to himself a necessity of his being and history. 

"I put the question to know on what grounds you based your action, " hereplied, "and I am answered. "

"Tell me then, " said Hester, "how you came to be here. It seemed to mysleepy eyes as if an angel had melted his own door through the wall! Areyou free of ordinary hindrances?" She asked almost in seriousness; for, with the lovely dead before her, in the middle of the night, rousedsuddenly from a sleep into which she had fallen with her thoughts fullof the shining resurrection of the Lord, she would have believed him atonce if he had told her that for the service of the Lord's poor he wasenabled to pass where he pleased. He smiled with a wonderful sweetnessas he made answer:

"I hope you are not one of those who so little believe that the worldand its ways belong to God, that they want to have his presence provedby something out of the usual way--something not so good; for surely theway He chooses to work almost always, must be a better way than that inwhich he only works now and then because of a special necessity!"

By these words Hester perceived she was in the presence of one whounderstood the things of which he spoke. 

"I came here in the simplest way in the world, " he went on, "though I amno less surprised than you to find myself in your presence. "

"The thing is to me a marvel, " said Hester. 

"It shall not be such a moment longer. I was called to see a patient. When I went to return as I came, I found the door by which I had enteredlocked. I then remembered that I had passed a door on the stair, andwent back to try it. It was bolted on the side to the stair. I withdrewthe bolts, opened the door gently, and beheld one of the most impressivesights I ever saw. Shall I tell you what I saw?"

"Do, " answered Hester. 

"I saw, " said Christopher with solemnity, "the light shining in thedarkness, and the darkness comprehending it not--six candles, and onlythe up-turned face of the dead, and the down-turned face of thesleeping! I seemed to look into the heart of things, and see the wholewaste universe waiting for the sonship, for the redemption of the body, the visible life of men! I saw that love, trying to watch by death, hadfailed, because the thing that is not needs not to be watched. I saw allthis and more. I think I must have unconsciously pushed the door againstthe wall, for somehow I made a noise with it, and you woke. "

Hester's face alone showed that she understood him. She turned andlooked at Moxy to calm the emotion to which she would not give scope. 

Christopher stood silent, as if brooding on what he had seen. She couldnot ask him to sit down, but she must understand how he had got into thehouse. Where was his patient? "In the next house, of course!" sheconcluded. But the thing wanted looking into! That door must be securedon their side? Their next midnight visitor might not be so welcome asthis, whose heart burned to the same labour as her own! "But what wereally want, " she thought, "is to have more not fewer of our doors open, if they be but the right ones for the angels to come and go!"

"I never saw that door open before, " she said, "and none of us knewwhere it led. We took it for granted it was into the next house, but theold lady was so cross, --"

Here she checked herself; for if Mr. Christopher had just come from thathouse, he might be a friend of the old lady's!

"It goes into no lady's house, so far as I understand, " saidChristopher. "The stair leads to a garret--I should fancy over our headshere--much higher up, though. "

"Would you show me how you came in?" said Hester. 

"With pleasure, " he answered, and taking one of the candles, led theway. 

"I would not let the young woman leave her husband to show me out, " hewent on. "When I found myself a prisoner, I thought I would try thisdoor before periling the sleep of a patient in the small-pox. You seemto have it all round you here!"

Through the door so long mysterious Hester stepped on a narrow, steepstair. Christopher turned downward, and trod softly. At the bottom hepassed through a door admitting them to a small cellar, a mere recess. Thence they issued into that so lately occupied by the Frankses. Christopher went to the door Hester had locked, and said, "This is where I came in. I suppose one of your people must have lockedit. "

"I locked it myself, " replied Hester, and told him in brief the story ofthe evening. 

"I see!" said Christopher; "we must have passed through just after youhad taken them away. "

"And now the question remains, " said Hester, "--who can it be in ourhouse without our knowledge? The stair is plainly in our house. "

"Beyond a doubt, " said Christopher. "But how strange it is you shouldknow your own house so imperfectly! I fancy the young couple, having gotinto some difficulty, found entrance the same way the Frankses did; onlythey went farther and fared better!--to the top of the house, I mean. They've managed to make themselves pretty comfortable too! There issomething peculiar about them--I can hardly say what in a word. "

"Could I not go up with you to-morrow and see them!" said Hester. 

"That would hardly do, I fear. I could be of no farther use to them werethey to suppose I had betrayed them. You have a perfect right to knowwhat is going on in your house, but I would rather not appear in thediscovery. One thing is plain, you must either go to them, or unlock thecellar-door. You will be taken with the young woman. She is a capablecreature--an excellent nurse. Shall I go out this way?"

"Will you come to-morrow?" said Hester. "I am alone, and cannot askanybody to help me because of the small-pox; and I shall want help forthe funeral. You do not think me troublesome?"

"Not in the least. It is all in the way of my business. I will managefor you. "

"Come then; I will show you the way out. This is no. 18, Addison square. You need not come in the cellar-way next time. "

"If I were you, " said Christopher, stopping at the foot of the kitchenstair, "I would leave the key in that cellar-door. The poor young womanwould be terrified to find they were prisoners. "

She turned immediately and went back, he following, and replaced thekey. 

"Now let us fasten up the door I came in by, " said Christopher. "I havegot a screw in my pocket, and I never go without my tool-knife. "

This was soon done, and he went. 

What a strange night it had been for Hester--more like some unbelievableromance! For the time she had forgotten her own troubles! Ah, if she hadbeen of one mind with lord Gartley, those poor creatures would be nowmoaning in darkness by the dead body of their child, or out with it intheir arms in the streets, or parted asunder in the casual wards of someworkhouse! Certainly God could have sent them other help than hers, butwhere would _she_ be then--a fellow-worker with his lordship, andnot with God--one who did it not to _him_! Woe for the wife whosehusband has no regard to her deepest desires, her highestaspirations!--who loves her so that he would be the god of her idolatry, not the friend and helper of her heart, soul, and mind! Many of Hester'sown thoughts were revealed to her that night by the side of the deadMoxy. It became clear to her that she had been led astray, in part bythe desire to rescue one to whom God had not sent her, in part by thepleasure of being loved and worshipped, and in part by worldly ambition. Surer sign would God have sent her had he intended she should giveherself to Gartley! Would God have her give herself to one who wouldrender it impossible for her to make life more abundant to others?Marriage might be the absorbing duty of some women, but was itnecessarily hers? Certainly not with such a man? Might not the duties ofsome callings be incompatible with marriage? Did not the providence ofthe world ordain that not a few should go unmarried? The children of themarried would be but ill cared for were there only the married to carefor them! It was one thing to die for a man--another to enslave God'schild to the will of one who did not know him! Was a husband to take theplace of Christ, and order her life for her? Was man enough for woman?Did she not need God? It came to that! Was he or God to be her master?It grew clearer and clearer as she watched by the dead. There was, therecould be no relation of life over which the Lord of life was notsupreme! That this or that good woman could do this or that faithless ormean thing, was nothing to her! What might be unavoidable to one lessinstructed, would be sin in her! The other might heed the sufferings andconfusions that resulted; but for her must remain a fearful looking forof judgment and fiery indignation!

When the morning came and she heard Sarah stirring, she sent her to takeher place, and went to get a little rest. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

MORE YET. 

But she could not sleep. She rose, went back to the room where the deadMoxy lay, and sent Sarah to get breakfast ready. Then came upon her anurgent desire to know the people who had come, like swallows, to tenant, without leave asked, the space overhead. She undid the screw, opened thedoor, and stole gently up the stair, steep, narrow and straight, whichran the height of the two rooms between two walls. A long way up shecame to another door, and peeping through a chink in it, saw that itadmitted to the small orchestra high in the end-wall of the great room. Probably then the stair and the room below had been an arrangement forthe musicians. 

Going higher yet, till she all but reached the roof, the stair broughther to a door. She knocked. No sound of approaching foot followed, butafter some little delay it was opened by a young woman, with her fingeron her lip, and something of a scared look in her eye. She had expectedto see the doctor, and started and trembled at sight of Hester. Therewas little light where she stood, but Hester could not help feeling asif she had not merely seen her somewhere before. She came out on thelanding and shut the door behind her. 

"He is very ill, " she said; "and he hears a strange voice even in hissleep. A strange voice is dreadful to him. "

Her voice was not strange, and the moment she spoke it seemed to lightup her face: Hester, with a pang she could scarcely have accounted for, recognized Amy Amber. 

"Amy!" she said. 

"Oh, Miss Raymount!" cried Amy joyfully, "is it indeed you? Are you comeat last? I thought I was never to see you any more!"

"You bewilder me, " said Hester. "How do you come to be here? I don'tunderstand. "

"_He_ brought me here. "

"_Who_ brought you here?"

"Why, miss!" exclaimed Amy, as if hearing the most unexpected ofquestions, "who should it be?"

"I have not the slightest idea, " returned Hester. 

But the same instant a feeling strangely mingled of alarm, discomfort, indignation, and relief crossed her mind. 

Through her whiteness Amy turned whiter still, and she turned a littleaway, like a person offended. 

"There is but one, miss!" she said coldly. "Who should it be but him?"

"Speak his name, " said Hester almost sternly. "This is no time forhide-and-seek. Tell me whom you mean. "

"Are you angry with me?" faltered Amy. "Oh, Miss Raymount, I don't thinkI deserve it!"

"Speak out, child! Why should I be angry with you?"

"Do you know what it is?--Oh, I hardly know what I am saying! He isdying! he is dying!"

She sank on the floor, and covered her face with her hands. Hester stooda moment and looked at her weeping, her heart filled with sad dismay, mingled with a kind of wan hope. Then softly and quickly she opened thedoor of the room and went in. 

Amy started to her feet, but too late to prevent her, and followedtrembling, afraid to speak, but relieved to find that Hester moved sonoiselessly. 

It was a great room, but the roof came down to the floor nearly allround. It was lighted only with a skylight. In the farthest corner was ascreen. Hester crept gently towards it, and Amy after her, notattempting to stop her. She came to the screen and peeped behind it. There lay a young man in a troubled sleep, his face swollen and red andblotched with the small-pox; but through the disfigurement sherecognized her brother. Her eyes filled with tears; she turned away, andstole out again as softly as she came in. Amy had been looking up at heranxiously; when she saw the tenderness of her look, she gathered courageand followed her. Outside, Hester stopped, and Amy again closed thedoor. 

"You _will_ forgive him, won't you, miss?" she said pitifully, "What do you want me to forgive him for, Amy?" asked Hester, suppressingher tears. 

"I don't know, miss. You seemed angry with him. I don't know what tomake of it. Sometimes I feel certain it must have been his illnesscoming on that made him weak in his head and talk foolishness; andsometimes I wonder whether he has really been doing anything wrong. "

"He must have been doing something wrong, else how should _you_ behere, Amy?" said Hester with hasty judgment. 

"He never told me, miss: or of course I would have done what I could toprevent it, " answered Amy, bewildered. "We were so happy, miss, tillthen! and we've never had a moment's peace since! That's why we camehere--to be where nobody would find us. I wonder how he came to know theplace!"

"Do _you_ not know where you are then, Amy?"

"No, miss; not in the least. I only know where to buy the things weneed. He has not been out once since we came. "

"You are in our house, Amy. What will my father say!--How long haveyou--have you been--"

Something in her heart or her throat prevented Hester from finishing thesentence. 

"How long have I been married to him, miss? You surely know that as wellas I do, miss!"

"My poor Amy! Did he make you believe we knew about it?"

Amy gave a cry, but after her old way instantly crammed her handkerchiefinto her mouth, and uttered no further smallest sound. 

"Alas!" said Hester, "I fear he has been more wicked than we know! But, Amy, he has done something besides very wrong. "

Amy covered her face with her apron, through which Hester could see hersoundless sobs. 

"I have been doing what I could to find him, " continued Hester, "andhere he was close to me all the time! But it adds greatly to my miseryto find you with him, Amy!"

"Indeed, miss, I may have been silly; but how was I to suspect he wasnot telling me the truth? I loved him too much for that! I told him Iwould not marry him without he had his father's leave. And he pretendedhe had got it, and read me such a beautiful letter from his mother! Oh, miss, it breaks my heart to think of it!"

A new fear came upon Hester: had he deceived the poor girl with apretended marriage? Was he bad through and through? What her fatherwould say to a marriage, was hard to think; what he would say to adeception, she knew! That he would like such a marriage, she could illimagine; but might not the sense of escape from an alternative reconcilehim to it?

Such thoughts passed swiftly through her mind as she stood half turnedfrom Amy, looking down the deep stair that sank like a precipice beforeher. She heard nothing, but Amy started and turned to the door. She wasfollowing her, when Amy said, in a voice almost of terror, "Please, miss, do not let him see you till I have told him you arehere. "

"Certainly not, " answered Hester, and drew back, --"if you think thesight of me would hurt him!"

"Thank you, miss; I am sure it would, " whispered Amy. "He is frightenedof you. "

"Frightened of me!" said Hester to herself, repeating Amy's phrase, whenshe had gone in, leaving her at the head of the stair. "I should havethought he only disliked me! I wonder if he would have loved me alittle, if he had not been afraid of me! Perhaps I could have made himif I had tried. It is easier then to wake fear than love!"

It may be very well for a nature like Corney's to fear a father: feardoes come in for some good where love is wanting: but I doubt if fear ofa sister can be of any good. 

"If he couldn't love me, " thought Hester, "it would have been better hehadn't been afraid of me. Now comes the time when it renders me unableto help him!"

When first it began to dawn upon Hester that there was in her a certainhardness of character distinct in its nature from that unbendingdevotion to the right which is imperative--belonging in truth to theregion of her weakness--that self which fears for itself, and is ofdeath, not of life. But she was one of those who, when they discover athing in them that is wrong, take refuge in the immediate endeavour toset it right--with the conviction that God is on their side to helpthem: for wherein, if not therein, is he God our Saviour?

She went down to the house, to get everything she could think of to makethe place more comfortable: it would be long before the patient could bemoved. In particular she sought out a warm fur cloak for Amy. Poor Amy!she was but the shadow of her former self, but a shadow very pretty andpleasant to look on. Hester's heart was sore to think of such a bright, good honest creature married to a man like her brother. But she was surehowever credulous she might have been, she had done nothing to beashamed of. Where there was blame it must all be Corney's!

It was with feelings still strangely mingled of hope and dismay, that, having carried everything she could at the time up the stair, she gaveherself to the comfort of her other guests. 

Left alone in London, Corney had gone idly ranging about the house whenanother man would have been reading, or doing something with his hands. Curious in correspondent proportion to his secrecy, for the qualities gotogether, the moment he happened to cast his eyes on the door in thewainscot of the low room, no one being in the house to interfere withhim, he proceeded to open it. He little thought then what his discoverywould be to him, for at that time he had done nothing to make him fearhis fellow-men. But he kept the secret after his kind. 

Contriving often to meet Amy, he had grown rapidly more and more fond ofher--became indeed as much in love with her as was possible to him; andthough the love of such a man can never be of a lofty kind, it may yetbe the best thing in him, and the most redemptive power upon him. Without a notion of denying himself anything he desired and couldpossibly have, he determined she should be his, but from fear as well astortuosity, avoided the direct way of gaining her: the straight linewould not, he judged, be the shortest: his father would never, or onlyafter unendurable delay, consent to his marriage with a girl like Amy!How things might have gone had he not found her even unable to receive athought that would have been dishonorable to him, and had he not come topride himself on her simplicity and purity, I cannot say; but hecontrived to persuade her to a private marriage--contrived also toprevent her from communicating with her sister. 

His desire to please her, his passion for showing off, and thepreparations his design seemed to render necessary, soon brought himinto straits for money. He could not ask his father, who would haveinsisted on knowing how it was that he found his salary insufficient, seeing he was at no expense for maintenance, having only to buy hisclothes. He went on and on, hiding his eyes from the approach of the"armed man, " till he was in his grasp, and positively in want of ashilling. Then he borrowed, and went on borrowing small sums from thoseabout him, till he was ashamed to borrow more. The next thing was to_borrow_ a trifle of what was passing through his hands. He wasmerely borrowing, and of his own uncle! It was a shame his uncle shouldhave so much and leave him in such straits!--be rolling in wealth andpay him such a contemptible salary! It was the height of injustice! Ofcourse he would replace it long before any one knew! Thus by degrees thepoor weak creature, deluding himself with excuses, slipped into theconsciousness of being a rogue. There are some, I suspect, who fall intovice from being so satisfied with themselves that they scorn to think itpossible they should ever do wrong. 

He went on taking and taking until at last he was obliged to confess tohimself that there was no possibility of making restoration before thetime when his _borrowing_ must be embezzlement. Then in a kind ofcold despair he laid hold upon a large sum and left the bank anunconvicted felon. What story he told Amy, to whom he was by this timemarried, I do not know; but once convinced of the necessity forconcealment, she was as careful as himself. He brought her to theirrefuge by the back way. She went and came only through the cellar, andknew no other entrance. When they found that, through Amy's leaving thedoor unfastened when she went to buy, there being no way of securing itfrom the outside, others had taken refuge in the cellar, they dared not, for fear of attracting attention to themselves, warn them off thepremises. 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

AMY AND CORNEY. 

The Frankses remained at rest until the funeral was over, and thenHester would have father and sons go out to follow their calling, whilethe mother and she did what could be done for the ailing baby, who couldnot linger long behind Moxy. 

Hester had a little money of her own--not much, but enough to restore todecency, with the help of the wife's fingers, the wardrobe of thefamily. For the present she would not let them leave the house; she musthave them in better condition first, and with a little money in theirpockets of their own earning. And the very first day, though they wentout with heavy hearts, and could hardly have played with much spirit, they brought home more money than any day for weeks before. And Franksas he walked home weary, took some comfort that his Moxy was not withhim to trouble his mother with his white face and drawn look. 

The same day lord Gartley called, but was informed by Sarah, who openedthe door but a chink, that the small-pox was in the house, and that shecould admit no one but the doctor. To his exclamation she made answerthat her young mistress was perfectly well, but could and would seenobody--was in attendance upon the sick. So his lordship was compelledto go without seeing her, not without a haunting doubt that he was beingplayed upon, and she did not want to see him. 

As had happened more than once before, soon after he was gone the majormade his appearance. To him Sarah gave the same answer, adding by hermistress's directions, that in the meantime there was no occasion toprosecute inquiry about Mr. Cornelius, for it was all--as Sarah putit--explained, and her mistress would write to him. 

But what was Hester to tell her father and mother? Until she knew withcertainty the fact of her marriage, she shrank from mentioning Amy; andat present it was impossible to find out anything from Cornelius. Shemerely wrote, therefore, that she had found him, but very ill; that shewould take the best care of him she could, and as soon as he was able tobe moved, bring him home to be nursed by his mother. 

The great room was for the mean time given over to the Frankses. Thewife kept everything tidy, and they managed things their own way. Hestermade inquiry now and then, to be sure they were having everything theywanted, but left them to provide for themselves. 

She did her best to help Amy without letting her brother suspect herpresence, and by degrees she got the room more comfortable for them. Corney had indeed taken a good many things from the house to makehabitable the waste expanse, but had been careful not to take anythingSarah would miss. 

He was covered with the terrible eruption, and if he survived, whichagain and again seemed doubtful, would probably be much changed, for Amycould not keep his hands from his face: in trifles the lack ofself-restraint is manifested, and its consequences are sometimesgrievous. 

Hitherto Hester had not let her parents quite know how ill he was--forwhat may seem a far-fetched reason--not to save them from anxiety, butto save her mother from hearing his father say, the best thing he coulddo would be to die. Nor was she mistaken: many a time had her fathersaid so to himself. It was simply impossible, he said, that he shouldever again speak to him or in any way treat him as a son. He had by hisvile conduct ceased to be a son, and he was nowise bound to do anythingmore for him; though, from mere compassion, he would keep him fromstarving till he got some employment to which no character wasnecessary. 

He began at last to recover, but it was long before he could be treatedotherwise than as a child--so feeble was he, and so unreasonable. Thefirst time he saw and knew Hester, he closed his eyes and turned awayhis head as if he would have no more of that apparition. She retired;but, watching, presently saw him, in his own sly way, looking throughhalf closed lids to know whether she was gone. When he saw Amy whereHester had stood, his face beamed up. "Amy, " he said, "come here;" andwhen she went, he took her hand and laid it on his cheek, little knowingwhat a disfigured cheek it was. 

"Thank God!" said Hester to herself: she had never seen him look sosweet or loving or lovable, despite his disfigurement. 

She took care not to show herself again till he should be a littleaccustomed to the idea of her presence. 

The more she saw of Amy the better she liked her. She treated herpatient with so much good sense, showed such a readiness to subordinateher ignorance to the wisdom of others, and such a careful obedience tothe directions of the doctor, that she rose every day in Hester'sopinion, as well as found a yet deeper place in her heart. 

His lordship wrote, making an apology for anything he had said, fromanxiety about one whom he loved to distraction, in which he might havepresumed on the closeness of their relation to each other. He wouldgladly talk the whole matter over with her as soon as she gave himleave. For his part he had not a moment's doubt that her good sense, relieved from the immediate pressure of her feelings, which were inthemselves but too divine for the needs of this world, would convinceher of the reasonableness of all he had sought to urge upon her. As soonas she was able, and judged it safe to admit a visitor, his aunt wouldbe happy to call upon her. 

For the present, as he knew she would not admit him, he would contenthimself with frequent and most anxious inquiries after her, reservingargument and expostulation for a happier, and, he hoped, not verydistant time. 

Hester smiled a curious smile at the prospect of a call from MissVavasor: was she actually going to plead her nephew's cause?

As her brother grew better, and things became easier, the thought oflord Gartley came oftener, with something of the old feeling for the manhimself, but mingled with sadness and a strange pity. She would neverhave been able to do anything for him! It had been in her spiritualpresumption to think she could save him by the preciousness of herself-gift to him and the strength of her power over him!

If God cannot save a man by all his good gifts, not even by the gift ofa woman offered to his higher nature, but by that refused, the woman'sgiving of herself a slave to his lower nature can only make him the moreunredeemable; while the withholding of herself may do something--may atleast, as the years go on, wake in him some sense of what a fool he hadbeen. The man who would go to the dogs for lack of the woman he fancies, will go to the dogs when he has her--may possibly drag her to the dogswith him. 

Hester began to see something of this. She recalled how she had neveronce gained from him a satisfactory reply to anything she said worthsaying; she had in her foolishness supplied from her own imagination thedefective echoes of his response! Love had made her apt and able to dothis; but now that she had yielded entrance to doubt, she saw manythings otherwise than before. She loved the man enough to die for him:she would not have one moment hesitated about that; but it was quiteanother thing to marry him! It was her brother now she had to save! Hisdear, good little wife was doing all she could for him, but it wouldtake sister and mother and all to save him! She could not do so much forhim as Amy now, but by and by there would be his father to meditatewith: to that she would give her energy!

But his poor mother! would she recognize him--so terribly scarred andchanged? He might in time, being young, grow more like himself, but nowhe was not pleasant to look upon. Some men are as vain as any women, andCorney was one of those some. While pretending to despise the kindestword concerning his good looks, he had taken the greatest pleasure inthem; and the first time he saw himself in a mirror, the look of dismay, of despairing horror that came over his face was as pitiful as it wasludicrous. He had been accustomed to regard himself as one superior onmost grounds, on that of good looks in particular, to any one heknew--and now! He could not but admit that he was nothing less thanunpleasant to behold--must be so even to those who loved him! It was apain that in itself could do little to cast out the evil spirit thatpossessed him, but it was something that that evil spirit, while itremained in him, should be deprived of one source of its nourishment. Itwas a good thing that from any cause the transgressor should find hisways hard. He dashed the glass from him, and burst into tears which hedid not even try to conceal. 

It was notable that from that time he was more dejected, and lesspeevish; and this latter might not be only from returning health, for hehad always been more or less peevish at home, where he never thought ofcultivating the same conception or idea of himself as before the eyes ofthe world. Much of supposed goodness is merely a looking of the thingmen would like to be considered--originating doubtless sometimes in anadmiration of, perhaps in a vague wish to be that thing, butunaccompanied of desire or strength enough to rouse the smallestendeavour after being it. Still Hester found it difficult to bear withhis remaining peevishness and bad temper, knowing what he had made ofhimself, and that he knew she must know it; but at such hard moments shehad the good sense to leave him to the soothing ministrations of hiswife. Amy never set herself against him: first of all she would show himthat she understood what was troubling him: then would say somethingsympathetic, or petting, or coaxing, and always had her way with him. She had the great advantage that not yet had he once quarrelled withher. 

That gave a ground of hope for her influence with him that his sisterhad long lost. God had made Amy so that she had less trouble fromselfishness than all but a few people. Hester, more than Amy, felt herown rights, and was ready to be indignant. She would have far moretrouble than Amy in getting rid of the self-asserting self in her, whichcloses the door against heaven's divinest gifts. In Hester it was nodoubt associated with a loftier nature, and the harder victory wouldhave its greater reward, but until finally conquered it must continue toobstruct her walk in the true way. So Hester learned from the sweetnessof Amy, as Amy from the unbending principle of Hester. 

She at last made up her mind that she would take Cornelius home withoutgiving her father the opportunity of saying he should not come. Shewould presume that he must go home after such an illness: the result shewould wait! The meeting could in no case be a happy one, but if he werenot altogether repulsed, if the mean devil in him was not thoroughlyroused by the harshness of his father, she would think much had beengained!

With gentle watchfulness she regarded Amy, and was more and moresatisfied that, whatever might be wrong, she had had a share in it notas one who did, but as one who endured wrong. The sweetness and devotionwith which she seemed to live only for her husband was to Hester, whofound it impossible to take such a position even in imagination towardsGartley, in her tenderer moments almost a rebuke. But she could notbelieve that had Amy known before she married him what kind of personCornelius was, she would have given herself to him. She did not thinkhow nearly the man she had once accepted stood on the same level ofmanhood. But Amy was the wife of Cornelius, and that made an eternaldifference. Her duty was as plain as Hester's--and the same--to do thebest for him!

When he was able to be moved, Hester brought them into the house, andplaced them in a comfortable room. She then moved the Frankses into theroom they had left, making it over to them, subject to her father'spleasure, for a time at least. With their own entrance through thecellar, they were to live there after their own fashion, and followtheir own calling, only they were to let Hester know if they foundthemselves in any difficulty. And now for the first time in her life shewished she had some means of her own, that she might act with freedom. She had seen hope of freedom in marriage, but now she wished it inindependence. 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

MISS VAVASOR. 

About three weeks after lord Gartley's call, during which he had left agood many cards in Addison square, Hester received the following letterfrom Miss Vavasor: "My dear Miss Raymount, I am very anxious to see you, but fear it is hardly safe to go to you yet. You with your heavenlyspirit do not regard such things, but I am not so much in love with thefuture as to risk my poor present for it. Neither would I willingly bethe bearer of infection into my own circle: I am not so selfish as to becareless about that. But communicate with you somehow I must, and thatfor your own sake as well as Gartley's who is pining away for lack ofthe sunlight of your eyes. I throw myself entirely on your judgment. Ifyou tell me you consider yourself out of quarantine, I will come to youat once; if you do not, will you propose something, for meet we must. "

Hester pondered well before returning an answer. She could hardly say, she replied, that there was no danger, for her brother, who had beenill, was yet in the house, too weak for the journey to Yrndale. Shewould rather suggest, therefore, that they should meet in some quietcorner of one of the parks. She need hardly add she would take everyprecaution against carrying infection. 

The proposal proved acceptable to Miss Vavasor. She wrote suggestingtime and place. Hester agreed, and they met. 

Hester appeared on foot, having had to dismiss her cab at the gate; MissVavasor, who had remained seated in her carriage; got down as soon asshe saw her, and having sent it away, advanced to meet her with a smile:she was perfect in skin-hospitality. 

"How long is it now, " she began, "since you saw Gartley?"

"Three weeks or a month, " replied Hester. 

"I am afraid, sadly afraid, you cannot be much of a lover, not to haveseen him for so long and look so fresh!" smiled Miss Vavasor, withgently implied reproach, and followed the words with a sigh, as if_she_ had memories of a different complexion. 

"When one has one's work to do, --" said Hester. 

"Ah, yes!" returned Miss Vavasor, not waiting for the sentence, "Iunderstand you have some peculiar ideas about work. That kind of thingis spreading very much in our circle too. I know many ladies who visitthe poor. They complain there are so few unobjectionable tracts to givethem. The custom came in with these Woman's-rights. I fear they willupset everything before long. But I hope the world will last my time. Noone can tell where such things will end. "

"No, " replied Hester. "Nothing has ever stopped yet. "

"Is that as much as to say that nothing ever will stop?"

"I think it is something like it, " said Hester. 

"We know nothing about the ends of things--only the beginnings. "

There had been an air of gentle raillery in Miss Vavasor's tone, andHester used the same, for she had no hope of coming to an understandingwith her about anything. 

"Then the sooner we do the better! I don't see else how things are to goon at all!" said Miss Vavasor, revealing the drop of Irish blood in her. 

"When the master comes he will stop a good deal, " thought Hester, butshe did not say it. She could not allude to such things without at leasta possibility of response. 

"You and Gartley had a small misunderstanding, he tells me, the lasttime you met, " continued Miss Vavasor, after a short pause. 

"I think not, " answered Hester; "at least I fancy I understood him verywell. "

"My dear Miss Raymount, you must not be offended with me. I am an oldwoman, and have had to compose differences that had got in the way oftheir happiness between goodness knows how many couples. I am notboasting when I say I have had considerable experience in that sort ofthing. "

"I do not doubt it, " said Hester. "What I do doubt is, that you have hadany experience of the sort necessary to set things right between lordGartley and myself. The fact is, for I will be perfectly open with you, that I saw then--for the first time plainly, that to marry him would beto lose my liberty. "

"Not more, my dear, than every woman does who marries at all. I presumeyou will allow marriage and its duties to be the natural calling of awoman?"

"Certainly. "

"Then she ought not to complain of the loss of her liberty. "

"Not of so much as is naturally involved in _marriage_, I allow. "

"Then why draw back from your engagement to Gartley?"

"Because he requires me to turn away at once, and before any necessityshows itself, from the exercise of a higher calling yet. "

"I am not aware of any higher calling. "

"I am. God has given me gifts to use for my fellows, and use them I musttill he, not man, stops me. That is my calling. "

"But you know that of necessity a woman must give up many things whenshe accepts the position of a wife, and possibly the duties of amother. "

"The natural claims upon a wife or mother I would heartily acknowledge. "

"Then of course to the duties of a wife belong the claims Society hasupon her as a wife. "

"So far as I yet know what is meant in your circle by such claims, Icount them the merest usurpations: I will never subject myself tosuch--never put myself in a position where I should be expected to obeya code of laws not merely opposed to the work for which I was made, butto all the laws of the relations to each other of human beings as humanbeings. "

"I do not quite understand you, " said Miss Vavasor. 

"Well, for instance, " returned Hester, willing to give the question ageneral bearing, "a mother in your class, according at least to muchthat I have heard, considers the duties she owes to society, duties thatconsist in what looks to me the merest dissipation and killing of time, as paramount even to those of a mother. Because of those 'traditions ofmen, ' or fancies of fashionable women rather, she justifies herself inleaving her children in the nursery to the care of other women--thevulgarest sometimes. "

"Not knowingly, " said Miss Vavasor. "We are all liable to mistakes. "

"But certainly, " insisted Hester, "without taking the pains necessary toknow for themselves the characters of those to whom they trust thechildren God has given to their charge; whereas to abandon them to thecare of angels themselves would be to go against the laws of nature andthe calling of God. "

Miss Vavasor began to think it scarcely desirable to bring a woman ofsuch levelling opinions into their quiet circle: she would be preachingnext that women were wicked who did not nurse their own brats! But shewould be faithful to Gartley!

"To set up as reformers would be to have the whole hive about our ears, "she said. 

"That may be, " replied Hester, "but it does not apply to me. I keep thebeam out of my own eye which I have no hope of pulling out of myneighhour's. I do not belong to your set. "

"But you are about to belong to it, I hope. "

"I hope not. "

"You are engaged to marry my nephew. "

"Not irrevocably, I trust. "

"You should have thought of all that before you gave your consent. Gartley thought you understood. Certainly our circle is not one forsaints. "

"Honest women would be good enough for me. But I thought I had done andsaid more than was necessary to make Gartley understand my ideas of whatwas required of me in life, and I thought he sympathized with me so farat least that he would be what help to me he could. Now I find insteadof this, that he never believed I meant what I said, but all the timeintended to put a stop to the aspiration of my life the moment he had itin his power to do so. "

"Ah, my dear young lady, you do not know what love is!" said MissVavasor, and sighed again as if _she_ knew what love was. And intruth she had been in love at least once in her youth, but had yieldedwithout word of remonstrance when her parents objected to her marryingthree hundred a year, and a curacy of _fifty_. She saw it wasreasonable: what fellowship can light have with darkness, or love withstarvation? "A woman really in love, " she went on, "is ready to give upeverything, yes, my dear, _everything_ for the man she loves. Shewho is not equal to that, does not know what love is. "

"Suppose he should prove unworthy of her?"

"That would be nothing, positively nothing. If she had once learned tolove him she would see no fault in him. "

"_Whatever_ faults he might have?"

"Whatever faults: love has no second thoughts. "

"Suppose he were to show himself regardless of her best welfare--caringfor her only as an adjunct to his display?"

"If she loved him, I only say _if she loved him_, she would beproud to follow in his triumph. His glory is hers. "

"Whether it be real or not?"

"If he counts it so. A woman who loves gives herself to her husband tobe moulded by him. "

"I fear that is the way men think of us, " said Hester, sadly; "and nodoubt there are women whose behaviour would justify them in it. With allmy heart I say a woman ought to be ready to die for the man she loves;that is a matter of course; she cannot really love him if she would not;but that she should fall in with all his thoughts, feelings, andjudgments whatever, even such as in others she would most heartilydespise; that she should act as if her husband and not God made her, andhis whims, instead of the lovely will of him who created man and woman, were to be to her the bonds of her being--that surely no woman couldgrant who had not first lost her reason. "

"You won't lose yours for love at least, " concluded Miss Vavasor, whocould not help admiring her ability, though she despised the directionit took. "I see, " she said to herself, "she is one of the strong-mindedwho think themselves superior to any man. Gartley will be well rid ofher--that is my conviction! I think I have done nearly all he couldrequire of me. "

"I tell you honestly, " continued Hester, "I love lord Gartley so wellthat I would gladly yield my life to do him any worthy good. "--"It iseasy to talk, " said Miss Vavasor to herself. --"Not that that is sayingmuch, " Hester went on, "for I would do that to redeem any human creaturefrom the misery of living without God. I would even marry lordGartley--I think I would, after what has passed--if only I knew that hewould not try to prevent me from being the woman I ought to be and haveto be;--perhaps I would--I am not clear about it just at this moment:never, if I were married to him, would I be so governed by him that heshould do that! But who would knowingly marry for strife and debate? Whowould deliberately add to the difficulties of being what she ought tobe, what she desired, and was determined, with God's help, to be! I forone will not take an enemy into the house of my life. I will not make ita hypocrisy to say, 'Lead us not into temptation. ' I grant you a wifemust love her husband grandly'--passionately, if you like the word; butthere is one to be loved immeasurably more grandly, yea_passionately_, if the word means anything true and good inlove--he whose love creates love. Can you for a moment imagine, when thequestion came between my Lord and my husband, I would hesitate?"

"'Tis a pity you were not born in the middle ages, " said Miss Vavasor, smiling, but with a touch of gentle scorn in the superiority of hertone; "you would certainly have been canonized!"

"But now I am sadly out of date--am I not?" returned Hester, trying tosmile also. 

"I could no more consent to live in God's world without minding what hetold me, than I would marry a man merely because he admired me. "

"Heavens, " exclaimed Miss Vavasor to what she called herself, "what anextravagant young woman! She won't do for us! You'll have to let herfly, my dear boy!"

What she said to Hester was, "Don't you think, my dear, all that sounds a little--just a littleextravagant? You know as well as I do--you have just confessed it--thatthe kind of thing is out of date--does not belong to the world ofto-day. And when a thing is once of the past, it cannot be called back, do what you will. Nothing will ever bring in that kind of thing again. It is all very well to go to church and that sort of thing; I should bethe last to encourage the atheism that is getting so frightfully common, but really it seems to me such extravagant notions about religion as youhave been brought up in must have not a little to do with the presentsad state of affairs--must in fact go far to make atheists. Civilizationwill never endure to be priest-ridden. "

"It is my turn now, " said Hester, "to say that I scarcely understandyou. Do you take God for a priest? Do you object to atheism, and yetregard obedience to God as an invention of the priests? Was Jesus Christa priest? or did he say what was not true when he said that whoeverloved any one else more than him was not worthy of him? Or do youconfess it true, yet say it is of no consequence? If you do not careabout what he wants of you, I simply tell you that I care about nothingelse; and if ever I should change, I hope he will soon teach mebetter--whatever sorrow may be necessary for me to that end. I desirenot to care a straw about anything he does not care about. "

"It is very plain, at least, " said Miss Vavasor, "that you do not lovemy nephew as he deserves to be loved--or as any woman ought to love theman to whom she has given her consent to be his wife! You have verydifferent ideas from such as were taught in my girlhood concerning theduties of wives! A woman, I used to be told, was to fashion herself uponher husband, fit her life to his life, her thoughts to his thoughts, hertastes to his tastes. "

Absurd indeed would have seemed, to any one really knowing the two, theidea of a woman like Hester fitting herself into the mould of such a manas lord Gartley!--for what must be done with the quantity of her thatwould be left over after his lordship's mould was filled! The notion ofsqueezing a large, divine being, like Hester, into the shape of such apoor, small, mean, worldly, time-serving fellow, would have been soconvincingly ludicrous as to show at once the theory on which it wasfounded for the absurdity it was. Instead of walking on together insimple equality, in mutual honour and devotion, each helping the otherto be better still, to have the woman, large and noble, come coweringafter her pigmy lord, as if he were the god of her life, instead of aSatan doing his best to damn her to his own meanness!--it is a contrastthat needs no argument! Not the less if the woman be married to such aman, will it be her highest glory, by the patience of Christ, by thesacrifice of self, yea of everything save the will of God, to win theman, if he may by any means be won, from the misery of his self-seekingto a noble shame of what he now delights in. 

"You are right, " said Hester; "I do not love lord Gartley sufficientlyfor that! Thank you, Miss Vavasor, you have helped me to the thoroughconviction that there could never have been any real union between us. Can a woman love with truest wifely love a man who has no care that sheshould attain to the perfect growth of her nature? _He_ would havebeen quite content I should remain for ever the poor creature Iam--would never by word, or wish, or prayer, have sought to raise meabove myself! The man I shall love as I could love must be a greater manthan lord Gartley! He is not fit to make any woman love him so. If shewere so much less than he as to have to look up to him, she would be toosmall to have any devotion in her. No! I will be a woman and not acountess!--I wish you good morning, Miss Vavasor. "

"If I am not to help him, " she said to herself, "what is there in reasonwhy I should marry him? His love, no doubt, is the best thing he has togive, but a poor thing is his best, and save as an advantage for servinghim, not worth the having. " What her love to him would have been threemonths after marrying him, I am glad to have no occasion to imagine. 

She held out her hand. Miss Vavasor drew herself up, and looked a coldannihilation into her eyes. The warm blood rose from Hester's heart toher brain. Quietly she returned her gaze, nor blenched a moment. Shefelt as if she were looking a far off idea in the face--as if she weretelling her what a poor miserable creature of money and manners, ambitions and expediencies she thought her. Miss Vavasor, unused tohaving such a full strong virgin look fixed fearless, without defiance, but with utter disapproval, upon her, quailed--only a little, but as shehad never in her life quailed before. She forced her gaze, and Hesterfelt that to withdraw her eyes would give her a false sense of victory. She therefore continued her look, but had no need to force it, for sheknew she was the stronger. It seemed minutes where only seconds passed. She smiled at last and said, "I am glad you are not going to be my aunt, Miss Vavasor. "

"Thank goodness, no!" cried Miss Vavasor, with a slightly hystericallaugh. 

Notwithstanding her educated self-command, she felt cowed before themajesty of Hester, for woman was face to face with woman, and the truthwas stronger than the lie. Had she then yielded to the motions withinher, she would, and it would have been but the second time in her life, have broken into undignified objurgation. She had to go back to hernephew and confess that she had utterly failed where she had expected, if not an easy victory, yet the more a triumphant one! She had to tellhim that his lady was the most peculiar, most unreasonable young womanshe had ever had to deal with; and that she was not only unsuited tohim, but quite unworthy of him! He would conclude she had managed thematter ill, and said things she ought not to have said! It was very hardthat she, who desired only to set things right, looking for no advantageto herself--she who was recognized as a power in her own circle, shouldhave been so ignominiously foiled in the noble endeavour, havingsacrificed herself, to sacrifice also another upon the altar of herbeloved earldom! She could not reconcile herself to the thought. It didnot occur to her that there was a power here concerned altogetherdifferent from any she had before encountered--namely a soul possessedby truth and clad in the armour of righteousness. Of conscience thatdealt with the qualities of things, nor cared what had been decreedconcerning them by a class claiming for itself the apex of the world, she had scarce even a shadowy idea; for never in her life had sheherself acted from any insight into primary quality. When therefore shehad to do with a girl who did not acknowledge the jurisdiction of thelaw to which she bowed as supreme, she was out of her element--had got, as it seemed to her, into water too shoal to swim in; whereas, in fact, she had got into water too deep to wade in, and did not know how toswim. 

She turned and walked away, attempting a show of dignity, but showingonly that Brummagem thing, haughtiness--an adornment the possessor alonedoes not recognize as a counterfeit. Then Hester turned too, and walkedin the opposite direction, feeling that one supposed portion of herhistory was but an episode, and at an end. 

She did not know that, both coming and going, she was attended at a neardistance by a tall, portly gentleman of ruddy complexion and militarybearing. He had beheld her interview--by no means overheard herconversation--with Miss Vavasor, and had seen with delight theunmistakable symptoms of serious difference which at last appeared, andculminated in their parting. He did not venture to approach her, butwhen she got into a cab, took a Hansom and followed her to the entranceof the square, where he got down, his heart beating with exultant hopethat "the rascal ass of a nobleman" had been dismissed. 

All the time since he came to London with Hester, he had, as far aspossible to him, kept guard over her, and had known a good deal more ofher goings and comings than she was aware of--this with an unselfishnessof devotion that took from him the least suspicion of its being a thingunwarrantable. He was like the dog which, not allowed to accompany hismaster, follows him at a distance, ready to interfere at any moment whensuch interference may be desirable. She had let him know that she hadfound her brother, that he was very ill, and that she was helping tonurse him; but she had not yet summoned him. In severe obedience toorders, therefore, he did not even now call. Next day, however, he founda summons waiting him at his club, and made haste to obey it. 

She had thought it better to prepare him for what she was about to askof him, therefore mentioned in her note that in a day or two she wasgoing to Yrndale with her brother and his wife. 

"Whew!" exclaimed the major when he read it, "wife! this complicatesmatters! I was sure he had not gone to the dogs--no dog but a cur wouldreceive him--without help!--Marriage and embezzlement! Poor devil! if hewere not such a confounded ape I should pity him! But the small-pox anda wife may perhaps do something for him!"

When he reached the house, Hester received him warmly, and at once madeher request that he would go down with them. It would be such a reliefto her if he would, she said. He expressed entire readiness, but thoughtshe had better not say he was coming, as in the circumstances he couldhardly be welcome. They soon made their arrangements, and he left heryet more confirmed in a respect such as he had never till now felt. Andthis was the major's share in the good that flowed from Hester'ssufferings: the one most deficient thing in him was reverence, and inthis he was now having a strong lesson. 

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

MR. CHRISTOPHER. 

On the Sunday evening, the last before she was to leave for Yrndale, Hester had gone to see a poor woman in a house she had not been inbefore, and was walking up the dismal stair, dark and dirty, when sheheard a moaning from a room the door of which was a little open. Shepeeped in, and saw on a low bed a poor woman, old, yellow, and wrinkled, apparently at the point of death. Her throat was bare, and she saw themuscles of it knotted in the struggle for life. --Is not death thevictorious struggle for life?--She was not alone; a man knelt by herbedside, his arm under the pillow to hold her head higher, and his otherhand clasping hers. 

"The darkness! the darkness!" moaned the woman. 

"You feel lonely?" said the voice of the man, low, and broken withsympathy. 

"All, all alone, " sighed the woman. 

"I can do nothing for you. I can only love you. "

"Yes, yes, " said the woman hopelessly. 

"You are slipping away from me, but my master is stronger than me, andcan help you yet. He is not far from you though you can't see him. Heloves you too, and only wants you to ask him to help you. He can curedeath as easy as any other disease. "

No reply came for a moment. Then, moulded of all-but dying breath, camethe cry, "O Christ, save me!"

Then Hester was seized with a sudden impulse: she thought afterwards thefeeling of it might be like what men and women of old had when theSpirit of God came upon them: it seemed she had not intended song whenthe sounds issuing from her mouth entered her ears. The words sheuttered were those and no more, over and over again, which the poordying woman had just spoken: "O Christ, save me!" But the song-sounds inwhich they were lapt and with which they came winged from her lips, seemed the veriest outpouring of her whole soul. They seemed to risefrom some eternal deep within her, yet not to be of her making. She wasas in the immediate presence of Christ, pleading with him for theconsolation and strength which his poor dying creature so sorely needed. 

The holy possession lasted but a minute or so, and left her dumb. Sheturned away, and passed up the stair. 

"The angels! the angels! I'm going now!" said the woman feebly. 

"The angel was praying to Christ for you, " said Christopher. "--Ohliving brother, save our dying sister!"

"O Christ, save me!" she murmured again, and they were her last words. 

Christopher laid the body gently back on the pillow. A sigh of reliefpassed from his lips, and he went from the room to give notice of thedeath. The dead or who would might bury the dead; he must go to theliving!

Inflated sentiment all this looks to the man of this world. But when theinevitable Death has him by the throat; when he lies like that poorwoman, lonely in the shadow, though his room be crowded with friends, whatever his theories about future or no future, it may be an awful hourin which less than a Christ will hardly comfort him. 

Hester's heart was full when she found the woman she went to see, andshe was able to speak as she had never spoken before. She never troubledher poor with any of the theories of salvation, which, right or wrong, are _not_ the things to be presented for men's reception--now anymore than in the days of the first teachers who knew nothing of them:they serve but to obscure the vision of the live brother in whom menmust believe to be lifted out of their evil and brought into the air oftruth and the room for growing deliverance. Hester spoke of Christ, thefriend of men, who came to save every one by giving him back to God, asone gives back to a mother the stray child who has run from her toescape obeying her. 

The woman at least listened; and then she sang to her. But she could notsing as she had sung a little while before. One cannot have or give thebest always--not at least until the soul shall be always in its highestand best moods--a condition which may perhaps be on the way to us, though I am doubtful whether the created will ever stand continuously onthe apex of conscious existence. I think part of the joy will be tocontemplate the conditions in which we are at our best: I delight tothink of twilights in heaven--the brooding on the best. Perhaps we maybe full of God always and yet not always full of the ecstasy of good, oralways able to make it pass in sweet splendours from heart to heart. 

Hester was walking homewards when, passing through a court on her way, she heard the voice of a man, which again she recognized as that of Mr. Christopher. Glancing about her she discovered that it came from a roomhalf under ground. She went to the door. There was a little crowd ofdirty children making a noise round it, and she could not well hear whatwas going on, but what she did hear was enough to let her know it wasthe voice of one pleading with his fellows not to be miserable and die, but to live and rejoice. Now for all the true liberality of Hester'sheart and brain both, she had never entered any place of worship thatdid not belong to the established church, thinking all the rest only andaltogether sectarian, and she would not be a sectary. She had not yetlearned that therein she just was a sectary--from Christ the head. Buthere was something meant only for the poor, she thought, and seeing theywould not go to church, a layman like Mr. Christopher might surely givethem of the good things he had! So she went in: she would sit near thedoor, and come out again presently!

It was a low room, and though not many were present, the air wasstifling. The doctor stood at the farther end. Some of his congregationwere decently dressed, some but sparingly washed; many wore the sameclothes they wore through the week, though probably most of these had abetter gown or suit, if that could be called _having_ which wasrepresented by a pawn-ticket. Hester could hardly say she saw among themmuch sign of listening. Most of the faces were just as vacant as thoseto be seen in the most fashionable churches, but there were one or twowhich seemed to show their owners in some kind of sympathetic relationwith the speaker, and that was a far larger proportion than was found inSodom that was destroyed, or in Nineveh that was spared. That thespeaker was in earnest there could be no manner of question. His eyeswere glowing, his face was gleaming with a light of its own; his handswere often clenched hard and his motions broken by very earnestness: itwas the bearing of one that pleaded with men, saying, "Why will ye die?"

The whole rough appearance of the man was elevated into dignity. Simplicity and self-forgetfulness were manifest in carriage andutterance. He was not self-possessed--but he was God-possessed. He keptsaying the simplest things to them. One thing she heard him tell themwas, that they were like orphan children, hungry in the street, rakingthe gutter for what they could get, while behind them stood a grand, beautiful house to which they never so much as lifted up their eyes--andthere their father lived! There he sat in a beautiful room, waiting, waiting, waiting for any one of them all who would but turn round, runin, and up the stairs to him. 

"But you will say, " something as thus he went on, --"Why does he notsend out a message to them, to tell them he is waiting there for them?How can they know without being told?--you say. But that is just what hedoes do. He is constantly sending out messengers to them to tell them tocome in. But they mostly laugh and make faces at them. _They_ won'tbe at the trouble to go up those stairs! 'It's not likely, ' they say, 'aman like that would trouble his head about such as us, even if we werehis children!' That makes me wonder how such people treat their ownchildren! But some do listen and hear and go in; and some of them comeout again, and say they find it all true. Very few believe them a bit, or mind in the least what they say. They are not miserable enough yet togo back to the father that loves them, and would be as good to them asthe bird that covers her young ones all over with her wings, or themother you see wrapping her shawl round her child in her arms. 

"Some of you are thinking with yourselves now, '_We_ wouldn't dolike that! _We_ should be only too glad to get somebody that wouldmake us comfortable without any trouble on our parts!' Ah, there's therub! These children that won't go in, they're just like you: they won'ttake any trouble about it. Why now here I am, sent to you with the verymessage! and you fancy I am only talking, as you do so often, withoutmeaning anything! I am one of those who have been into the house, andhave found my father--oh, so grand! and so good to me! And I am come outagain to tell you it is so, and that if you will go in, you will havethe same kindness I have had. All the servants of the house even willrejoice over you with music and dancing--so glad that you are come home. Is it possible you will not take the trouble to go! There are certainthings required of you when you go: perhaps you are too lazy or toodirty in your habits, to like doing them! I have known some refuse toscrape their shoes, or rub them on the door-mat when they went in, andthen complain loudly that they were refused admittance. A fine housewould such make to their father, were they allowed to run in and out asthey pleased! such a house, in fact, as would very soon drive theirfather himself out of it! for they would make it unfit for any decentperson to live in. A few months and they would have the grand beautifulhouse as wretched and mean and dirty as the houses they live in now. Such persons are those that keep grumbling that they are not rich. Theywant to loaf about, and drink, and be a nuisance to everybody, like someof the rich ones. They think it hard they should not be able to do justas they please with everything that takes their fancy, when they woulddo nothing but break and spoil it, and make it no good to anybody. Theirfather, who can do whatever he sees fit, is not one to let suchdisagreeable children work what mischief they like! He is a betterfather than that would come to! A father who lets them be dirty and rudejust as they like, is one of the worst enemies of his children. And theday is coming when, if he can't get them to mind him any other way, hewill put them where they will be ten times more miserable than ever theywere at the worst time of their lives, and make them mind. Out of thesame door whence came the messengers to ask them in, he will send dogsand bears and lions and tigers and wild cats out upon them. 

"You will, I daresay, some of you, say, 'Ah, we know what you mean; butyou see that's not the sort of thing we care for, so you needn't go onabout it. ' I know it is not the sort of thing you care for, else youmight have been in a very different condition by this time. And I knowthe kind of thing you do care for--low, dirty things: you are like achild, if such there could be, that preferred mud and the gutter to allthe beautiful toys in the shop at the corner of Middle Row. But thoughthese things are not the things you want, they are the things you need;and the time is coming when you will say, 'Ah me! what a fool I was notto look at the precious things, and see how precious they were, and putout my hand for them when they were offered me!'"

It was something in this simple way, but more earnestly yet, andoccasionally with an energy that rose to eloquence, that the man freedhis soul of the things he had to give. After about twenty minutes, heceased, saying, "We will now sing a hymn. " Then he read a short hymn, repeating each verse before they sang it, for there was no otherhymn-book than his own. It was the simplest hymn, Hester thought, shehad ever heard. He began the singing himself to a well-known tune, butwhen he heard the voice of Hester take it up, he left the leading toher, and betaking himself to the bass, did his part there. When theyheard her voice the people all turned to look, and some began towhisper, but presently resumed the hymn. When it was ended, he prayedfor two or three minutes, not more, and sent them away. Hester beingnear the door went out with the first of them, and walked home full ofpleasure in the thought of such preaching: if only her friends couldhear such! The great difficulty was to wake in them any vaguestrecognition of a Nature from whom they came. She had been driven toconclude that the faculty for things _epouranian_ was awake in themnot an atom more than in the South-African Bushman, in whom mosttravellers have failed to discover even the notion of a power above him. But to wake the faculty in them what could be so powerful as the storyand the message of Jesus?--and Mr. Christopher had not spoken of him!She did not know that every Sunday he taught them there, and that thissermon, if such it could be called, was but one wave in the flow of ariver. The true teacher brings from his treasure things old and thingsnew; at one time tells, at another explains; and ever and anon lets hisown well of water flow to everlasting life. 

But as she thought, Hester, like the true soul she was, turned from waysand means to the questioning of herself: what of the faculty was awakein her? Had she been obedient only to that she had been taught, orobedient to the very God? This questioning again she left for betterlabour: she turned her whole soul towards God in prayer unutterable. Ofone thing she could be sure--that she had but the faintest knowledge ofhim whom to know is life eternal. 

She was near the turning that led to the square when she heard a quickfootstep behind her, and was presently overtaken by Mr. Christopher. 

"I was so glad to see you come in!" he said. "I was able to speak thebetter, for I was sure then of some sympathy in the spiritual air. It isnot easy to go on when you feel all the time a doubt whether to onepresent your words are more than mere words; or, if they have somemeaning to any, whether that meaning be not something very differentfrom your meaning. "

"I do not see, " said Hester, "how any one could misunderstand, or indeedhelp understanding what I heard you say. "

"Ah!" he returned, "the one incomprehensible thing is ignorance! Tounderstand why another does not understand seems to me beyond the powerof humanity. As God only can understand evil, while we only can be evil, so God only can understand ignorance, while we only can be ignorant. Ihave been trying now for a good many months to teach those people, and Iam not sure that a single thought has passed from my mind into one oftheirs. I sometimes think I am but beating the air. But I must tell youhow your singing comforted the poor woman at whose door you stopped thisafternoon! I saw it in her face. She thought it was the angels. And itwas one angel, for did not God send you? I trust your fellow-servantswere waiting for her: she died a minute or two after. "

They walked some distance before either spoke again. 

"I was surprised, " said Hester at length, "to find you taking theclergyman's part as well as the doctor's. "

"By no means, " returned Christopher; "I took no clergyman's part. I tookbut the part of a human being, bound to share with his fellow. Whatcould make you think so? Did I preach like one?"

"Not very, " she answered. 

"I am glad of that, " he returned, "for such a likeness would by no meansfavour my usefulness with such as those. If you see any reason why alayman, as was our Lord, should not speak to his fellows, I fear it isone I should be unable to comprehend. I do whatever seems to me adesirable action, so long as I see no reason for not doing it. As to thecustoms of society, my experience of them has resulted in mere andsimple contempt--in so far at least as they would hamper my freedom. Ihave another master; and they who obey higher rules need not regardlower judgment. If Shakspere liked my acting, should I care if Marlowedid not?"

"But if anybody and everybody be at liberty to preach, how are we tohave any assurance what kind of doctrine will be preached?"

"We must go without it. --But it is too late to object, for here are afew of us laymen preaching, and no one to hinder us. There are manyuneducated preachers who move the classes the clergy cannot touch. Theirpreaching has a far more evident effect, I know, than mine. "

"Why do you not then preach like them?"

"I would not if I could, and could not if I would: I do not believe onehalf of the things they say. "

"How can they do more good if what they say is not true?"

"I did not say they did more good--about that I cannot tell; that mayneed centuries to determine. I said they moved their people more. Andthe fundamental element of what they say is most true, only the formsthey express it in contain much that is false. "

"Will you then defend a man in speaking things that are not true?"

"If he believes them, what is he to do but speak them?" Let him speakthem in God's name. I cannot speak them because I do not believe them. If I did believe them they would take from me the heart to preach. "

"Can it be, " said Hester, "that falsehood is more powerful thantruth--and for truth too?"

"By no means. A falsehood has in itself no power but for evil. It is thespiritual truth clothed in the partially false form that is powerful. Clearer truth will follow in the wake of it, and cast the false formsout: they serve but to make a place of seeming understanding in ignorantminds, wherein the truths themselves may lie and work with their ownmight. But if what I teach be nearer the truth, let it be harder to getin, it will in the end work more truth. In the meantime I say God-speedto every man who honestly teaches what he honestly believes. Paul wasgrand when he said he would rejoice that Christ was preached, fromwhatever motive he might be preached. If you say those people, thoughcontentious, may have preached good doctrine, I answer--Possibly; forthey could not have preached much of what is called doctrine now-a-days. If they preached theories of their own, they were teachers of lies, forthey were not true men, and the theories of an untrue man cannot betrue. But they told something about Christ, and of that Paul was glad. "

Some may wonder that Hester, having got so far as she had, should needto be told such things; but she had never had occasion to think aboutthem before, though the truth wrought out in her life had rendered hercapable of seeing them the moment they were put before her. 

"You interest me much, " she said. "--Would you mind telling me how you, whose profession has to do with the bodies of men, have come to do morefor their souls?"

"I know nothing about less or more, " answered Christopher. "--You wouldfind it, I fear, a long story if I were to attempt telling it in full. Istudied medicine from guile, not therefore the less carefully, that Imight have a good ostensible reason for going about among the poor. Icount myself bound to do all I can for their bodies; and pity itselfwould, I think, when I came to go among them, have driven me to thestudy, had I been ignorant. No one who has not been among them knowstheir sufferings--borne by some of them without complaint--for the sadreason that it is of no use. To be to such if only one to whom they canspeak, is in some sort to mediate between them and a possible world ofrelief. But it was not primarily from the desire to alleviate theirsufferings that I learned what I could of medicine, but in the hope tostart them on the way towards victory over all evil. I saw that the manwho brought them physical help had a chance with them such as noclergyman had--an advantage quite as needful with them as with theheathen--to whom we are not so _immediately_ debtors. It would havebeen a sad thing for the world if the Lord of it had not sought firstthe lost sheep of the house of Israel. One awful consequence of ourmaking haste to pull out the mote out of our heathen brother's eye, while yet the beam is in our own, is that wherever our missionaries go, they are followed by a foul wave of our vices. 

"With all my guile I have not done much. But now after nearly twothousand years, such is the amount of faith I find in myself towards myLord and his Father, that sometimes I ask myself whether in very truth Ibelieve that that man did live and die as the story says: if it hastaken all this time for such a poor result, I say to myself, perhaps Imay have done something, for it must be too small to be seen; so I willtry on, helping God as the children help the father. --You know thatgrand picture, on the ceiling of the pope's chapel, of the making ofAdam?"

"Michael Angelo's?--Yes. "

"You must have noticed then how the Father is accompanied by a crowd ofyoung ones--come to help him to make Adam, I always think. The poet hasthere, consciously or not, hit upon a great truth: it is the majesty ofGod's great-heartedness, and the majesty of man's destiny, that everyman must be a fellow-worker with God, nor can ever in less attain hisend, and the conscious satisfaction of being. I want to help God with mypoor brothers. "

"How well I understand you!" said Hester. "But would you mind telling mewhat made you think of the thing first? I began because I saw howmiserable so many people were, and longed to do something to make life abetter thing for them. "

"That was not quite the way with me, " replied Christopher. "I see I musttell you something of my external, in order to explain my internalhistory. "

"No, no, pray!" returned Hester, fearing she had presumed. "I did notmean to be inquisitive. I ought not to have asked such a question; forthese things have to do with the most sacred regions of our nature. "

"I was only going to cast the less in with the greater--the outer factto explain the inner truth, " said Christopher. "I should like to tellyou about it. --And first, --you may suppose I could not have followed mywishes had I not had some money!"

"A good thing you had, then!"

"I don't know exactly, " replied the doctor in a dubious tone. "You shalljudge for yourself from my story. --I had money then--a good dealtoo--left me by my grandfather. My father died when I was a child. I amglad to say. "

"Glad to say!" repeated Hester bewildered. 

"Yes: if he had lived, how do I know he might not have done just like mygrandfather. But my mother lived, thank God. --Not that my grandfatherwas what is counted a bad man; on the contrary he stood high in theworld's opinion--was considered indeed the prince of----well, I willnot say what, for my business is not to expose him. The world hadnothing against him. 

"When he died and left me his money--I was then at school, preparing forOxford--it was necessary that I should look into the affairs of thebusiness, for it was my mother's wish that I should follow the same. Inthe course of my investigation, I came across things not a few in thebooks, all fair and square in the judgment of the trade itself, whichmade me doubtful, and which at last, unblinded by custom, I wasconfident were unfair, that is dishonest. Thereupon I began to arguewith myself: 'What is here?' I said. 'Am I to use the wages of iniquityas if they were a clean God-gift? If there has been wrong done theremust be atonement, reparation. I cannot look on this money as mine, forpart of it at least, I cannot say how much, ought not to be mine. ' Thetruth flashed upon me; I saw that my business in life must be to sendthe money out again into the channels of right. I could claim aworkman's wages for doing that. The history of the business went so farback that it was impossible to make return of more than a smallproportion of the sums rightly due; therefore something else, and that alarge something, must be done as well. 

"To be honest, however, in explaining how I came to choose the life I amnow leading, I must here confess the fact that about this time I had adisappointment of a certain kind which set me thinking, for it gave mesuch a shock that for some months I could not imagine anything to makelife worth living. Some day, if you like, I will give you a detailedaccount of how I came to the truth of the question--came to see whatalone does make the value of life. A flash came first, then a darkness, then a long dawn; by and in which it grew clearer and ever clearer, thatthere could be no real good, in the very nature of things and of good, but oneness with the will of God; that man's good lay in becoming whatthe inventor of him meant in the inventing of him--to speak after thefashion of man's making. Going on thinking about it all, and reading myNew Testament, I came to see that, if the story of Christ was true, theGod that made me was just inconceivably lovely, and that the perfection, the very flower of existence, must be to live the heir of all things, athome with the Father. Next, mingled inextricably with my resolve aboutthe money, came the perception that my fellow-beings, my brothers andsisters of the same father, must be, next to the father himself, thevery atmosphere of life; and that perfect misery must be to care onlyfor one's self. With that there woke in me such a love and pity for mypeople, my own race, my human beings, my brothers and sisters, whoevercould hear the word of the father of men, that I felt the only thingworth giving the energy of a life to, was the work that Christ gavehimself to--the delivery of men out of their lonely and mean devotion tothemselves, into the glorious liberty of the sons of God, whose joy andrejoicing is the rest of the family. Then I saw that here the claim uponmy honesty, and the highest calling of man met. I saw that were I asfree to do with my grandfather's money as it was possible for man to be, I could in no other way use it altogether worthily than in aiding togive outcome, shape and operation to the sonship and brotherhood in me. I have not yet found how best to use it all; and I will do nothing inhaste, which is the very opposite of divine, and sure to lead astray;but I keep thinking in order to find out, and it will one day berevealed to me. God who has laid the burden on me will enable me to bearit until he shows me how to unpack and disperse it. 

"First, I spent a portion in further study, and especially the study ofmedicine. I could not work miracles; I had not the faith necessary tothat, if such is now to be had; but God might be pleased I should heal alittle by the doctor's art. So doing I should do yet better, and learnhow, to spend the money upon humanity itself, repaying to the race whathad been wrongfully taken from its individuals to whom it was impossibleto restore it; and should while so doing at the same time fill up whatwas left behind for me of the labours of the Master. 

"That is my story. I am now trying to do as I have seen, workingsteadily, without haste, with much discouragement, and now and then witha great gladness and auroral hope. I have this very day got a new ideathat may have in it a true germ!"

"Will you not tell me what it is?" said Hester. 

"I don't like talking about things before at least they are begun, "answered Christopher. "And I have not much hope from money. If it werenot that I have it and cannot help it, and am bound to spend it, I wouldnot trouble myself about any scheme to which it was necessary. Isometimes feel as if it was a devil, restrained a little by beingspell-bound in mental discs. I know the feeling is wrong and faithless;for money is God's as certainly as the earth in which the crops grow, though he does not care so much about it. "

"I know what I would do if I had money!" said Hester. 

"You have given me the right to ask what--the right to ask--not theright to have an answer. "

"I would have a house of refuge to which any one might run for covert orrest or warmth or food or medicine or whatever he needed. It should haveno society or subscriptions or committee, but should be my own as myhands and my voice are mine--to use as God enabled me. I would have itlike the porch--not of Bethesda, but of heaven itself. It should comeinto use by the growth of my friendships. It should be a refuge for theneedy, from the artisan out of work to the child with a cut finger, orcold bitten feet. I would take in the weary-brained prophet, the worncurate, or the shadowy needle-woman. I would not take in drunkards orruined speculators--not at least before they were very miserable indeed. The suffering of such is the only desirable consequence of their doing, and to save from it would be to take from them their last chance. "

"It is a lovely idea, " said Christopher. "One of my hopes is to build asmall hospital for children in some lovely place, near some sad uglyone. But perhaps I cannot do it till I am old, for when I do, I mustlive among them and have them and their nurses within a moment's reach. "

"Is it not delightful to know that you can start anything when youplease?"

"Anybody with leisure can do that who is willing to begin whereeverything ought to be begun--that is, at the beginning. Nothing worthcalling good can or ever will be started full grown. The essential ofany good is life, and the very body of created life, and essential toit, being its self operant, is growth. The larger start you make, theless room you leave for life to extend itself. You fill with the deadmatter of your construction the places where assimilation ought to haveits perfect work, building by a life-process, self-extending, andsubserving the whole. Small beginnings with slow growings have time toroot themselves thoroughly--I do not mean in place nor yet in socialregard, but in wisdom. Such even prosper by failures, for their failuresare not too great to be rectified without injury to the original idea. God's beginnings are imperceptible, whether in the region of soul or ofmatter. Besides, I believe in no good done save in person--by personaloperative presence of soul, body and spirit. God is the one only person, and it is our personality alone, so far as we have any, that can workwith God's perfect personality. God can use us as tools, but to be atool of, is not to be a fellow-worker with. How the devil would havelaughed at the idea of a society for saving the world! But when he saw_one_ take it in hand, one who was in no haste even to do that, one who would only do the will of God with all his heart and soul, andcared for nothing else, then indeed he might tremble for his kingdom! Itis the individual Christians forming the church by their obedientindividuality, that have done all the good done since men for the loveof Christ began to gather together. It is individual ardour alone thatcan combine into larger flame. There is no true power but that which hasindividual roots. Neither custom nor habit nor law nor foundation is aroot. The real roots are individual conscience that hates evil, individual faith that loves and obeys God, individual heart with itskiss of charity. "

"I think I understand you; I am sure I do in part, at least, " saidHester. 

They had, almost unconsciously, walked, twice round the square, and hadnow the third time reached the house. He went in with her and saw hispatient, then took his leave to go home to his Greek Testament--for theremainder of the evening if he might. Except when some particular caserequired attention, he never went on-trying to teach with his soulweary. He would carry material aid or social comfort, but would notteach. His soul must be shining--with faith or hope or love orrepentance or compassion, when he unveiled it. "No man, " he would say, "will be lost because I do not this or that; but if I do the unfittingthing, I may block his way for him, and retard his redemption. " He wouldnot presume beyond what was given him--as if God were letting things gowrong, and he must come in to prevent them! He would not set blunted orill tempered tools to the finest work of the universe!

CHAPTER XLIX. 

AN ARRANGEMENT. 

Hester had not yet gone to see Miss Dasomma because of the small-pox. 

Second causes are God's as much as first, and Christ made use of them ashis father's way. It were a sad world indeed if God's presence were onlyinterference, that is, miracle. The roundabout common ways of things arejust as much his as the straight, miraculous ones--I incline to thinkmore his, in the sense that they are plainly the ways he prefers. In allthings that are, he is--present even in the evil we bring into theworld, to foil it and bring good out of it. We are always disbelievingin him because things do not go as we intend and desire them to go. Weforget that God has larger ends, even for us, than we can see, so hisplans do not fit ours. If God were not only to hear our prayers, as hedoes ever and always, but to answer them as we want them answered, hewould not be God our Saviour, but the ministering genius of ourdestruction. 

But now Hester thought she might visit her friend. She had much to sayto her and ask of her. First she told her of herself and lord Gartley. Miss Dasomma threw her arms about her, and broke into a flood ofcongratulation. Hester looked a little surprised, and was indeed alittle annoyed at the vehemence of her pleasure. Miss Dasomma hastenedto excuse herself. 

"My dear, " she said, "the more I saw of that man, the more I thought andthe more I heard about him, his ways, and his surroundings, the more Imarvelled you should ever have taken him for other than the most wordly, shallow, stunted creature. It was the very impossibility of yourunderstanding the mode of being of such a man that made it possible forhim to gain on you. Believe me, if you had married him, you would havebeen sick of him--forgive the vulgar phrase--yes, and hopeless of him, in six weeks. "

"There was more and better in him than you imagine, " returned Hester, hurt that her friend should think so badly of the man she loved, but byno means sure that she was wrong. 

"That may be, " answered her friend; "but I am certain also that if youhad married him, you would have done him no good. "

Then Hester went on with her tale of trouble. Her brother Cornelius hadbeen behaving very badly, she said, and had married a young womanwithout letting them know. Her father and mother were unaware of thefact as yet, and she dreaded having to communicate it to them. He hadbeen very ill with the small-pox, and she must take him home; but whatto do with his wife until she had broken the matter to them, she did notknow. She knew her father would be very angry, and until he should havegot over it a little she dared not have her home: in a word she was ather wits' end. 

"One question, excuse me if I ask, " said Miss Dasomma: "_are_ theymarried?"

"I am not sure; but I am sure she believes they are. "

Then she told her what she knew of Amy. Miss Dasomma fell a thinking. 

"Could I see her?" she said at length. 

"Surely; any time, " replied Hester, "now that Corney is so much better. "

Miss Dasomma called, and was so charmed with Amy that she proposed toHester she should stay with her. 

This was just what Hester wished but had not dared to propose. 

Now came the painful necessity not only of breaking to the young wifethat she must be parted from her husband for a while, but--which wasmuch worse--of therein revealing that he had deceived her. 

Had Cornelius not been ill and helpless, and characterless, he wouldprobably have refused to go home; but he did not venture a word ofopposition to Hester's determination. He knew she had not told Amyanything, but saw that, if he refused, she might judge it necessary totell her all. And notwithstanding his idiotic pretence of superiority, he had a kind of thorough confidence in Hester. In his sicknesssomething of the old childish feeling about her as a refuge from evilhad returned upon him, and he was now nearly ready to do and allowwhatever she pleased, trusting to her to get him out of the scrape hewas in: she could do more than any one else, he was sure!

"But now tell me, on your word of honour, " she said to him that samenight, happening to find herself alone with him, "are you really andtruly married to Amy?"

She was delighted to see him blaze up in anger. 

"Hester, you insult us both!" he said. 

"No, Cornelius, " returned Hester, "I have a right to distrust you--but Idistrust only you. Whatever may be amiss in the affair, I am certain youalone are to blame--not Amy. "

Thereupon Cornelius swore a solemn oath that Amy was as much his lawfulwife as he knew how to make her. 

"Then what is to be done with her when you go home? You cannot expectshe will be welcomed. I have not dared tell them of your marriage--onlyof your illness. The other must be by word of mouth. "

"I don't know what's to be done with her. How should _I_ know!"answered Cornelius with a return of his old manner. "I thought you wouldmanage it all for me! This cursed illness--"

"Cornelius, " said Hester, "this illness is the greatest kindness Godcould show you. "

"Well, we won't argue about that!--Sis, you must get me out of thescrape!"

Hester's heart swelled with delight at the sound of the old lovingnursery-word. She turned to him and kissed him. 

"I will do what I honestly can, Cornelius, " she said. 

"All right!" replied Corney. "What do you mean to do?"

"Not to take Amy down with us. She must wait till I have told. "

"Then my wife is to be received only on sufferance!" he cried. 

"You can hardly expect to be otherwise received yourself. You have putyour wife at no end of disadvantage by making her your wife without theknowledge of your family. For yourself, when a man has taken money nothis own; when he has torn the hearts of father and mother with anguishsuch as neither ever knew before--ah, Corney! if you had seen them as Isaw them, you would not now wonder that I tremble at the thought of yourmeeting. If you have any love for poor Amy, you will not dream ofexposing her to the first outbreak of a shocked judgment. I cannot besure what my mother might think, but my father would take her for yourevil genius! It is possible he may refuse to see yourself!"

"Then I'm not going. Better stay here and starve!"

"If so, I must at once tell Amy what you have done. I will not have theparents on whom you have brought disgrace and misery supposed guilty ofcruelty. Amy must know all about it some day, but it ought to come fromyourself--not from me. You will never be fit for honest company till forvery misery you have told your wife. "

Hester thought she must not let him fancy things were going back intothe old grooves--that his crime would become a thing of no consequence, and pass out of existence, ignored and forgotten. Evil cannot bedestroyed without repentance. 

He was silent as one who had nothing to answer. 

"So now, " said Hester, "will you, or must I, tell Amy that she cannot gohome?"

He thought for a moment. 

"I will, " he said. 

Hester left him and sent Amy to him. In a few minutes she returned. Shehad wept, but was now, though looking very sad, quite self-possessed. 

"Please, miss, " she said--but Hester interrupted her. 

"You must not call me _miss_, Amy, " she said. "You must call me_Hester_. Am I not your sister?"

A gleam of joy shot from the girl's eyes, like the sun through redclouds. 

"Then you have forgiven me!" she cried, and burst into tears. 

"No, Amy, not that! I should have had to know something to forgivefirst. You may have been foolish; everybody can't always be wise, thougheverybody must try to do right. But now we must have time to set thingsstraighter, without doing more mischief, and you mustn't mind staying alittle while with Miss Dasomma. "

"Does she know all about it, miss---Hester?" asked Amy; and as shecalled her new sister by her name, the blood rushed over her face. 

"She knows enough not to think unfairly of you, Amy. "

"And you won't be hard upon him when he hasn't me to comfort him--willyou, Hester?"

"I will think of my new sister who loves him, " replied Hester. "But youmust not think I do not love him too. And oh, Amy! you must be verycareful over him. No one can do with him what you can. You must help himto be good, for that is the chief duty of every one towards a neighbour, and particularly of a wife towards a husband. "

Amy was crying afresh, and made no answer; but there was not the mostshadowy token of resentment in her weeping. 

CHAPTER L. 

THINGS AT HOME. 

In the meantime things had been going very gloomily at Yrndale. Mrs. Raymount was better in health but hardly more cheerful. How could shebe? how get over the sadness that her boy was such? But the thing thatmost oppressed her was to see the heart of his father so turned from theyouth. What would become of them if essential discord invaded theirhome! Cornelius had not been pleasant, even she was to herself compelledto admit, since first he began to come within sight of manhood; but shehad always looked to the time when growing sense would make him castaside young-mannish ways; and this was the outcome of her cares andhopes and prayers for him! Her husband went about listless and sullen. He wrote no more. How could one thus disgraced in his family presume toteach the world anything! How could he ever hold up his head as one thathad served his generation, when this was the kind of man he was to leavebehind him for the life of the next! Cornelius's very being cast doubton all he had ever said or done!

He had been proud of his children: they were like those of any commonstock! and the shame recoiled upon himself. Bitterly he recalled thestain upon his family in generations gone by. He had never forged orstolen himself, yet the possibility had remained latent in him, else howcould he have transmitted it? Perhaps there were things in which hemight have been more honest, and so have killed the latent germ and hischild not have had it to develop! Far into the distance he saw acontinuous succession of dishonest Raymounts, nor succession only butmultiplication, till streets and prisons were swarming with them. Forhours he would sit with his hands in his pockets, scarcely daring tothink, for the misery of the thoughts that came crowding out the momentthe smallest chink was opened in their cage. He had become short, I donot say rough in his speech to his wife. He would break into suddenangry complaints against Hester for not coming home, but stop dead inthe middle, as if nothing was worth being angry about now, and turn awaywith a sigh that was almost a groan. The sight of the children was apain to him. Saffy was not one to understand much of grief beyond herown passing troubles; it was a thing for which she seemed to have littlereception; and her occasionally unsympathetic ways were, considering herage, more of a grief to her mother than was quite reasonable; she fearedshe saw in her careless glee the same root which in her brother floweredin sullen disregard. Mark was very different. The father would orderSaffy away, but the boy might come and go as he pleased, nor give himany annoyance, although he never or scarcely ever took any notice ofhim. He had been told nothing of the cause of his parents' evidentmisery. When the news came of Corney's illness, his mother told him ofthat; but he had sympathy and penetration enough to perceive that theremust be something amiss more than that: if this were all, they wouldhave told him of it when first they began to be changed! And when thenews came that he was getting better, his father did not seem the leasthappier! He would sometimes stand and gaze at his father, but thesolemn, far-off, starry look of the boy's eyes never seemed to disturbhim. He loved his father as few boys love, and yet had a certain dreadof him and discomfort in his presence, which he could not have accountedfor, and which would vanish at once when he spoke to him. He had neverrecovered the effects of being so nearly drowned, and in the readierapprehension caused by accumulated troubles his mother began to doubt ifever he would be well again. He had got a good deal thinner; his fooddid not seem to nourish him; and his being seemed slipping away from thehold of the world. He was full of dreams and fancies, all of the higherorder of things where love is the law. He did not read much that wasnew, for he soon got tired with the effort to understand; but he wouldspend happy hours alone, seeming to the ordinary eye to be doingnothing, because his doing was with the unseen. So-called religiouschildren are often peculiarly disagreeable, mainly from false notions ofthe simple thing religion in their parents and teachers; but in truthnowhere may religion be more at home than in a child. A strongconscience and a loving regard to the desires of others were Mark'schief characteristics. When such children as he die, we may well imaginethem wanted for special work in the world to which they go. If the veryhairs of our head are all numbered, and he said so who knew and is true, our children do not drop hap-hazard into the near world, neither arethey kept out of it by any care or any power of medicine: all goes byheavenliest will and loveliest ordinance. Some of us will have to beashamed of our outcry after our dead. Beloved, even for your dear faceswe can wait awhile, seeing it is His father, your father and our fatherto whom you have gone, leaving us with him still. Our day will come, andyour joy and ours, and all shall be well. 

The attachment of Mark to the major continued growing. 

"When Majie comes, " he said one of those days, "he must not go again. "

"Why, Markie?" asked his mother, almost without a meaning, for herthought was with her eldest-born, her disgrace. 

"Because, if he does, " he answered, "I shall not see much of him. "

The mother looked at the child, but said nothing. Sorrow was now theelement of her soul. Cornelius had destroyed the family heart; thefamily must soon be broken up, and vanish in devouring vacancy! Do youask where was her faith? I answer, Just where yours and mine is when wegive thanks trusting in the things for which we give thanks; when werest in what we have, in what we can do, in what people think of us, inthe thought of the friends we have at our back, or in anything whateverbut the living, outgoing power of the self-alive--the one causingpotency in the heart of our souls, and in every clothing of those souls, from nerve, muscle, and skin to atmosphere and farthest space. Theliving life is the one power, the only that can, and he who puts histrust or hope in anything else whatever is a worshipper of idols. He whodoes not believe in God must be a truster in that which is lower thanhimself. 

Mark seldom talked about his brother. Before he went away the last timehe had begun to shrink from him a little, as if with some instinct of aninward separation. He would stand a little way off and look at him as ifhe were a stranger in whom he was interested, and as if he himself weretrying to determine what mental attitude he must assume towards him. When he heard that he was ill, the tears came in his eyes, but he didnot speak. 

"Are you not sorry for Corney?" said his mother. 

"I'm sorry, " he answered, "because it must make him unhappy. He does notlike being ill. "

"_You_ don't like being ill, I'm sure Mark!" returned his mother, apprehending affectation. 

"I don't mind it much, " answered the boy, looking far away--as it seemedto his mother, towards a region to which she herself had begun to lookwith longing. The way her husband took their grief made them no more afamily, but a mere household. He brooded alone and said nothing. Theydid not share sorrow as they had shared joy. 

At last came a letter from Hester saying that in two days she hoped tostart with Corney to bring him home. The mother read the letter, andwith a faded gleam of joy on her countenance, passed it to her husband. He took it, glanced at it, threw it from him, rose, and left the room. For an hour his wife heard him pacing up and down his study; then hetook his hat and stick and went out. What he might have resolved uponhad Corney been returning in tolerable health, I do not know--possiblyto kick him out of the house for his impudence in daring to show hisface there; but even this wrathful father, who thought he did well to beangry, could not turn from his sickly child, let him be the greatestscoundrel under the all-seeing sun? But not therefore would he receiveor acknowledge him! Swine were the natural companions of the prodigal, and the sooner he was with them the better! There was truth in theremark, but hell in the spirit of it: for the heart of the father wasturned from his son. The Messiah came to turn the hearts of the fathersto their children. Strange it should ever have wanted doing! But itwants doing still. There is scarce a discernible segment of the round ofunity between many fathers and their children. 

Gerald Raymount went walking through the pine-woods on his hills. Littlesatisfaction lay in land to which such a son was to succeed! No! theland was his own! not an acre, not as much as would bury him, should therascal have! Alas! he had taken honesty as a matter of course in_his_ family. Were they not _his_ children? He had not thoughtof God as the bond of life between him and them, nor sought to nourishthe life in them. He was their father and was content with them. He hadpondered much the laws by which society proceeds and prospers, but hadnot endeavoured in his own case to carry towards perfection the relationthat first goes to the making of society: the relation between himselfand his children had been left to shift for itself. He had never knownanything of what was going on in the mind of his son. He had never askedhimself if the boy loved the truth--if he cared that things should standin him on the footing of eternal reason, or if his consciousness wasanything better than the wallowing of a happy-go-lucky satisfaction inbeing. And now he was astonished to find _his_ boy no better thanthe common sort of human animal! My reader may say he was worse, forthere is the stealing; but that is just the point in which I see himlikest the common run of men, while in his home relations he was worse. It is my conviction that such an act of open disgrace as he had beenguilty of, may be the outcome of evil more easy to cast off than thatindicated by home-habits embodying a selfishness regarded embodied infamilies, and which perhaps are as a mere matter of course. There islittle hope of the repentance and redemption of certain some until theyhave committed one or another of the many wrong things of which they aredaily, through a course of unrestrained selfishness, becoming more andmore capable. Few seem to understand that the true end is not to keeptheir children from doing what is wrong, though that is on the way toit, but to render them incapable of doing wrong. While one is capable ofdoing wrong, he is no nearer right than if that wrong were done--not sonear as if the wrong were done and repented of. Some minds are neverroused to the true nature of their selfishness until having clone somepatent wrong, the eyes of the collective human conscience are fixed withthe essence of human disapprobation and general repudiation upon them. Doubtless in the disapproving crowd are many just as capable of thewrong as they, but the deeper nature in them, God's and not yet theirsutters its disapproval, and the culprit feels it. Happy he if then atlast he begin to turn from the evil itself, so repenting! This Corneliushad not begun to do yet, but his illness, while perhaps it delayed thetime when the thought of turning should present itself, made it morelikely the thought would be entertained when it did present itself. 

The father came back from his lonely walk, in which his communion withnature had been of the smallest, as determined as before that his son, having unsonned himself, should no more be treated as a son. He couldnot refuse him shelter in his house for a time, but he should be in iton sufferance--in no right of sonship, and should be made to understandit was so!

But the heart of the mother was longing after her boy, like a human henwhose chicken had run from under her wing and come to grief. He hadsinned, he had suffered, and was in disgrace--good reasons why themother's heart should cling to the youth, why her arms should long tofold him to her bosom! The things which made his father feel he couldnot speak to him again, worked in the deeper nature of the mother inopposite fashion. In her they reached a stratum of the Divine. Was heunlovely?--she must love him the more! Was he selfish andrepellent?--she must get the nearer to him! Everything was reason to herfor love and more love. If he were but with her! She would clasp him soclose that evil should not touch him! Satan himself could not get at himwith her whole mother-being folded round him! She had been feeling oflate as if she could not get near him: now that sickness had reduced hisstrength, and shame his proud spirit, love would have room to enter andminister! The good of all evil is to make a way for love, which isessential good. Therefore evil exists, and will exist until love destroyand cast it out. Corney could not keep his mother out of his heart now!She thought there were ten things she could do for him now to one shecould have done for him before! When, oh when would he appear, that herheart might go out to meet him!

CHAPTER LI. 

THE RETURN. 

The day came. It was fine in London. The invalid was carefully wrapt upfor the journey. Hester, the major and Miss Dasomma followed the youngcouple to the station. There the latter received the poor little wife, and when the train was out of sight, took her home with her. The majorwho got into the next carriage, at every stop ran to see if anything waswanted; and when they reached the station got on the box of the carriagethe mother had sent to meet them. Thus Hester bore her lost sheephome--in little triumph and much anxiety. When they stopped at the doorno one was on the outlook for them. The hall was not lighted and thedoor was locked. The major rang the bell. Ere the door was opened Hesterhad got down and stood waiting. The major took the youth in his arms andcarried him into the dining-room, so weary that he could scarcely openhis eyes. There seemed no light in the house, except the candle the manbrought when he came to open the door. Corney begged to be put to bed. "I wish Amy was here!" he murmured. Hester and the major were talkingtogether. 

She hurried from the room and returned in a moment. 

"I was sure of it, " she whispered to the major. "There is a gloriousfire in his room, and everything ready for him. The house is my father, but the room is my mother, and my mother is God. "

The major took him again, and carried him up the stair--so thin andlight was he. The moment they were past the door of her room, out camethe mother behind them in her dressing gown, and glided pale andnoiseless as the disembodied after them. Hester looked round and sawher, but she laid her finger on her lips, and followed without a word. When they were in the room, she came to the door, looked in, and watchedthem, but did not enter. Cornelius did not open his eyes. The major laidhim down on the sofa near the fire. A gleam of it fell on his face. Themother drew a sharp quick breath and pressed her hands against herheart: there was his sin upon his face, branding him that men might knowhim. But therewith came a fresh rush from the inexhaustible fountain ofmother-love. She would have taken him into her anew, with all his sinand pain and sorrow, to clear away in herself brand and pollution, andbear him anew--even as God bears our griefs, and carries our sorrows, destroys our wrongs, taking their consequences on himself, and gives usthe new birth from above. Her whole wounded heart seemed to go out tohim in one trembling sigh, as she turned to go back to the room whereher husband sat with hopeless gaze fixed on the fire. She had butstrength to reach the side of the bed, and fell senseless upon it. Hestarted up with a sting of self-accusation: he had killed her, exactingfrom her a promise that by no word would she welcome the wanderer thatnight. For she would not have her husband imagine in his bitterness thatshe loved the erring son more than the father whose heart he had all butbroken, and had promised. She was, in truth, nearly as anxious about theone as the other, for was not the unforgivingness of the one as bad--wasit not even worse than the theft of the other. 

He lifted her, laid her on the bed, and proceeded to administer therestoratives he now knew better than any other how to employ. In alittle while he was relieved, her eyelids began to tremble. "My baby!"she murmured, and the tears began to flow. 

"Thank God!" he said, and got her to bed. 

But strange to say, for all his stern fulfilment of duty, he did notfeel fit to lie down by his wife. He would watch: she might have anotherbad turn!

From the exhaustion that followed excess of feeling, she slept. He satwatchful by the fire. She was his only friend, he said, and now she andhe were no more of one mind! Never until now had they had difference!

Hester and the major got Corney to bed, and instantly he was fastasleep. The major arranged himself to pass the night by the fire, andHester went to see what she could do for her mother. Knocking softly atthe door and receiving no answer, she peeped in: there sat her fatherand there slept her mother: she would not disturb them, but, taking hershare in the punishment of him she had brought home, retire withoutwelcome or good-night. She too was presently fast asleep. There was nognawing worm of duty undone or wrong unpardoned in her bosom to keep herawake. Sorrow is sleepy, pride and remorse are wakeful. 

CHAPTER LII. 

A HEAVENLY VISION. 

The night began differently with the two watchers. The major wastroubled in his mind at what seemed the hard-heartedness of the mother, for he loved her with a true brotherly affection. He had not seen herlooking in at the door; he did not know the cause of her appearing sowithdrawn and unmotherly: he forgot his shilling novel and his sherryand water, and brooded over the thing. He could not endure thelow-minded cub, he said to himself; he would gladly, if only the wretchwere well enough, give him a sound horse-whipping; but to see him sotreated by father and mother was more than he could bear: he began topity a lad born of parents so hard-hearted. What would have become ofhimself, he thought, if his mother had treated him so? He had never, tobe sure, committed any crime against society worse than shocking certainridiculously proper people; but if she had made much of his foibles andfaults, he might have grown to be capable of doing how could he tellwhat? who would turn out a mangy dog that was his own dog! If the fellowwere his he would know what to do with him! He did not reflect that justbecause he was not his, he did not feel the wounds that disabled fromaction. It was easy for him unhurt to think what he would do if he werehurt. Some things seem the harder to forgive the greater the love. It isbut a false seeming, thank God, and comes only of selfishness, whichmakes both the love and the hurt seem greater than they are. 

And as the major sat thinking and thinking, the story came back to himwhich his mother had so often told him and his brothers, all now gonebut himself, as they stood or sat or lay gathered round her on theSunday evenings in the nursery--about the boy that was tired of being athome, and asked his father for money to go away; and how his father gaveit him, thinking it better he should go than grumble at the best hecould give him; and how he grew very naughty, and spent his money inbuying things that were not worth having, and in eating and drinkingwith greedy, coarse, ill behaved people, till at last he had nothingleft to buy food with, and had to feed swine to earn something; and howhe fell a thinking, and would go home. It all came back to his mind justas his mother used to tell it--how the poor prodigal, ragged and dirtyand hungry, set out for home, and how his father spied him coming agreat way off, and knew him at once, and set out running to meet him, and fell on his neck and kissed him. This father would not even look atthe son that had but just escaped the jaws of death! True, the prodigalcame home repentant; but the father did not wait to know that, but ranto meet him and fell on his neck and kissed him!

As the major thus reflected, he kept coming nearer and nearer to theindividual I lurking at the keyhole of every story. Only he had to gohome, else how was his father to receive him. 

"I wonder now, " he said, "if when a man die that is counted for goinghome! I hardly think it; that is a thing the man can't help at all; hehas no hand in the doing of it. Who would come out to meet a fellowbecause he was flung down dead at his door. I fear I should find myselfin no better box than this young rascal when he comes home because hecan't help it!"

The end of it was that the major, there in the middle of the night, wentdown on his knees, and, as he had not now done since the eve of his lastbattle, tried to say the prayers his mother had taught him. Presently hefound himself saying things she had not taught him--speaking from hisheart as if one was listening, one who in the dead of the night did notsleep, but kept wide awake lest one of his children should cry. 

"It is time, " said the major to himself the next day, "that I began tothink about going home. I will try again to-night!"

In his wife's room Gerald Raymount sat on into the dead waste and middleof the night. At last, as his wife continued quietly asleep, he thoughthe would go down to his study, and find something to turn his thoughtsfrom his misery. None such had come to him as to his friend. He had beenmuch more of a religious man than the major--had his theories concerningboth the first and the second table of the law; nor had he been merely atalker, though his talk, as with all talkers, was constantly ahead ofhis deed: well is it for those whose talk is not ahead of theirendeavor! but it was the _idea_ of religion, and the thousand ideasit broods, more than religion itself, that was his delight. Hephilosophized and philosophized well of the relations between man andhis maker, of the necessity to human nature of belief in a God, of thedisastrous consequences of having none, and such like things; but havingsuch an interest is a very different thing from being in such relationswith the father that the thought of him is an immediate and everreturning joy and strength. He did not rejoice in the thought of theinheritance of the saints in light, as the inheriting of the nature ofGod, the being made partaker of the father's essential blessedness: hewas far yet from that. He was so busy understanding with his intellect, that he missed the better understanding of heart and imagination. He wasalways so pleased with the thought of a thing, that he missed the thingitself--whose _possession_, and not its thought is essential. Thuswhen the trial came, it found him no true parent. The youth of coursecould not be received either as clean-handed or as repentant; but loveis at the heart of every right way, and essential forgiveness atthe-heart of every true treatment of the sinner, even in the veryrefusal of external forgiveness. That the father should not have longedabove all things for his son's repentance; that he should not have meteven a seeming return; that he should have nourished resentment becausethe youth had sinned against _his_ family in which beauty as his hehad gloried; that he should care to devise no measures for generating asense of the evil he had done, and aiding repentance as makesforgiveness a necessary consequence; that he should, instead, ruminatehow to make him feel most poignantly his absolute scorn of him, hisloathing of his all but convict son--this made the man a kind ofpaternal Satan who sat watching by the repose of the most Christian, because most loving, most forgiving, most self-forgetting mother, stirring up in himself fresh whirlwinds of indignation at the incrediblething which had become the fact of facts, lying heaviest, stingingdeepest, seeming unchangeable. That it might prove a blessing, he wouldhave spurned as a suggestion equally degrading and absurd. "What is doneis done, " he would have said, in the mingled despair of pride and prideof despair; "and all the power of God cannot make the thing otherwise. We can hold up our heads no more for ever. My own son has not onlydisgraced but fooled me, giving men good cause to say, 'Physician, healthyself. '"

He rose, and treading softly lest he should wake the only being he_felt_ love for now, and whom he was loving less than before, forself-love and pride are antagonistic to all loves, left the room andwent to his study. The fire was not yet out; he stirred it and made itblaze, lighted his candles, took a book from a shelf, sat down, andtried to read. But it was no use; his thoughts were such that they couldhold no company with other thoughts: the world of his kind was shut out;he was a man alone, because a man unforgiving and unforgiven. His soulslid into the old groove of miserable self-reiteration whose only resultwas more friction-heat; and so the night slid away. 

The nominal morning, if not the dawn was near, when, behold, a wonder ofthe night! The door between the study and the old library opened sosoftly that he heard nothing, and ere he was aware a child in long whitegown stood by his side. He started violently. It was Mark--but asleep!He had seen his mother and father even more than usually troubled allday, and their trouble had haunted him in his sleep; it had roused himwithout waking him from his dreams, and the spirit of love had directedhis feet to the presence of his father. He stood a little way from him, his face white as his dress, not a word issuing from his mouth, silent, haunted by a smile of intense quiet, as of one who, being comforted, would comfort. There was also in the look a slight something likeidiocy, for his soul was not precisely with his body; his thoughts, though concerning his father, were elsewhere; the circumstances of hissoul and of his body were not the same; and so, being twinned, that is, divided, _twained_, he was as one beside himself. His eyes, although open, evidently saw nothing; and thus he stood for a littletime. 

There had never been tender relations between Mark and his father likethose between the boy and his mother and sister. His father was alwayskind to him, but betwixt him and his boys he had let grow a sort of hardskin. He had not come so near to them as to the feminine portion of hisfamily--shrank indeed from close relations with their spirits, thoughtsor intents. It arose, I imagine, from an excess of the masculine elementin his nature. Even when as merest children they came to be kissedbefore going to bed, he did not like the contact of their faces withhis. No woman, and perhaps not many men will understand this; but it wasalways a relief to Mr. Raymount to have the nightly ceremony over. Hethought there was nothing he would not do for their good; and I thinkhis heart must in the main have been right towards them: he could hardlylove and honour his wife as he did, and not love the children she hadgiven him. But the clothes of his affections somehow did not sit easy onhim, and there was a good deal in his behaviour to Cornelius that hadoperated unfavourably on the mind of the youth. Even Mark, although, asI have said, he loved him as few boys love a father, was yet a littleafraid of him--never went to him with confidence--never snuggled closeto him--never sat down by his side to read his book in a heaven oftwilight peace, as he would by his mother's. He would never have gone tohis father's room for refuge from sleeplessness. 

Not recognizing his condition his father was surprised and indeedannoyed as well as startled to see him: he was in no mood for such avisit. He felt also strangely afraid of the child, he could not havetold why. Wretched about one son, he was dismayed at the nocturnal visitof the other. The cause was of course his wrong condition of mind; lackof truth and its harmony in ourselves alone can make us miserable; thereis a cure for everything when that is cured. No ill in our neighbours, if we be right in ourselves, will ever seem hopeless to us; but while westand wrapped in our own selfishness, our neighbour may well seemincurable; for not only is there nothing in us to help their redemption, but there is that in ourselves, and cherished in us, which cannot beforgiven, but must be utterly destroyed. 

There was an unnatural look, at the same time pitiful and lovely, aboutthe boy, and the father sat and stared in gathering dread. He had nearlyimagined him an angel of some doom. 

Suddenly the child stretched out his hands to him, and with upcast, beseeching face, and eyes that seemed to be seeing far off, came closeto his knee. Then the father remembered how once before, when a tinychild, he had walked in his sleep, and how, suddenly wakened from it, hehad gone into a kind of fit, and had for a long time ailed from theshock. Instantly anxious that nothing of the kind should occur again, hetook the child softly in his arms, lifted him to his knees, and held himgently to his bosom. An expression of supreme delight came over theboy's face--a look of absolute contentment mingled with hope. He put histhin hands together, palm to palm, as if saying his prayers, but liftedhis countenance to that of his father. His gaze, however, though not itsdirection, was still to the infinite. And now his lips began to move, and a murmur came from them, which grew into words audible. He wasindeed praying to his father, but a father closer to him than the oneupon whose knees he sat. 

"Dear God, " said the child--and before I blame the familiarity, I mustknow that God is displeased with such address from the mouth of a child:for this was not a taught prayer he neither meant nor felt--

"Dear God!" said the child, "I don't know what to do, for papa andCorney, I am afraid, are both naughty. I would not say so to anybody butyou, God, for papa is your little boy as I am his little boy, and youknow all about it. I don't know what it is, and I think Corney must bemore to blame than my dear papa, but when he came home to-night he didnot go to papa, and papa did not go to him. They never said How do youdo, or Good-night--and Corney very ill too! and I am always wanting tocome to you, God, to see you. O God, you are our big papa! please put itall right. I don't know how, or I would tell you; but it doesn'tmatter--you would only smile at my way, and take a much better one ofyour own. But please, dear God, make papa and Corney good, and nevermind their naughtiness, only make it just nothing at all. You know theymust love one another. I will not pray a word more, for I know you willdo just what I want. Good-by, God; I'm going to bed now--down there. I'll come again soon. "

With that he slipped from his father's knee, who did not dare to detainhim, and walked from the room with slow stately step. 

By this time the heart of the strong hard man was swelling with the lovewhich, in it all along, was now awake. He could not weep, but sobbeddry, torturing sobs, that seemed as if they would kill him. But he mustsee that the boy was safe in bed, and rising he left the room. 

In the corridor he breathed more freely. Through an old window, thebright moon, shining in peace with nobody to see, threw partly on thewall and partly on the floor, a shadow-cross, the only thing to catchthe eye in the thin light. Severe protestant as Gerald Raymount was, hefound himself on his knees in the passage before the shadow--notpraying, not doing anything he knew, but under some spiritual influenceknown only to God. 

When the something had reached its height, and the passion for the timewas over--when the rush of the huge tidal wave of eternity had subsided, and his soul was clearing of the storm that had swept through it, herose from his knees and went up to Mark's room, two stories higher. Themoonlight was there too, for the boy had drawn back the window-curtainsthat from his pillow he might see the stars, and the father saw hischild's white bed glimmering like a tomb. He drew near, but through thegray darkness it was some seconds before he could rightly see the faceof his boy, and for a moment--I wonder how brief a moment is enough fora death-pang to feel eternal!--for an awful moment he felt as if he hadlost him: when he left the study he had been lifted straight to thebosom of the Father to whom he had prayed! Slow through the dusk dawnedhis face. He had not then been taken bodily!--not the less was hegone!--that was a dead face! But as he gazed in a fascination of fear, his eyes grew abler to distinguish, and he saw that he breathed. He wasastonished to find how weak was the revulsion: we know more about ourfeelings than about anything else, yet scarcely understand them at all;they play what seem to us the strangest pranks--moving all the time bylaws divine. 

The boy seemed in his usual health, and was sleepingpeacefully--dreaming pleasantly, for the ghost of a smile glinted abouthis just parted lips. Then upon the father--who was not, with all hishardness, devoid of imagination--came the wonder of watching a dreamer:what might not be going on within that brain, inaccessible as the mostdistant star?--yea far more inaccessible, for what were gravity anddistance compared with difficulties unnamed and unnamable! Nospirit-shallop has yet been found to float us across the gulf, sayrather the invisible line, that separates soul from soul. Splendrousvisions might be gliding through the soul of the sleeper--his child, born of his body and his soul--and not one of them was open to him! notone of the thoughts whose lambent smile-flame flitted about his child'slips would pass from him to him! Could they be more divided if the childwere dead, than now when he lay, in his sight indeed, yet remote inregions of separate existence?

But how much nearer to him in reality was the child when awake and aboutthe house? How much more did he know then of the thoughts, the loves, the imaginations, the desires, the aspirations that moved in the heartand brain of the child? For all that his contact with him came to, hemight as well be dead! A phantom of him moving silent about the housefill the part as well! The boy was sickly: he might be taken from himere he had made any true acquaintance with him! he was just the child todie young! He would see him again, it was to be hoped, in the otherworld, but the boy would have so few memories of him, so fewassociations with him that it would be hard to knot the new to the old!

He turned away, and went back to his room. There, with a sense ofloneliness deeper than he had ever before felt, he went down on hisknees to beg the company of the great being whose existence he had sooften defended as if it were in danger from his creatures, but whom hehad so little regarded as actually existent that he had not yet soughtrefuge with him. All the house was asleep--the major had long ended hisprayers and was slumbering by the fire--when Raymount knelt before theliving love, the source of his life, and of all the love that makes lifea good thing, and rose from his knees a humbler man. 

CHAPTER LIII. 

A SAD BEGINNING. 

Towards morning he went to bed, and slept late--heavily and unreposefully;and, alas! when he woke, there was the old feeling returned! How _could_he forgive the son that had so disgraced him!

Instead of betaking himself afresh to the living strength, he began--notdirectly to fight himself, but to try to argue himself right, persuadinghimself on philosophical grounds that it was better to forgive his son;that it was the part of a wise man, the part of one who had respect tohis own dignity, to abstain from harshness, nor drive the youth todespair: he was his own son--he must do what he could for him!--and soon! But he had little success. Anger and pride were too much for him. His breakfast was taken to him in the study, and there Hester found him, an hour after, with it untasted. He submitted to her embrace, butscarcely spoke, and asked nothing about Corney. Hester felt sadlychilled, and very hopeless. But she had begun to learn that one of theprincipal parts of faith is patience, and that the setting of wrongthings right is so far from easy that not even God can do it all atonce. But time is nothing to him who sees the end from the beginning; hedoes not grudge thousands of years of labor. The things he cares to dofor us require our co-operation, and that makes the great difficulty: weare such poor fellow-workers with him! All that seems to deny hispresence and labour only, necessitates a larger theory of that presenceand labour. Yet time lies heavy on the young especially, and Hester leftthe room with a heavy heart. 

The only way in such stubbornnesses of the spirit, when we cannot feelthat we are wrong, is to open our hearts, in silence and loneliness andprayer, to the influences from above--stronger for the right than anyfor the wrong; to seek the sweet enablings of the living light to seethings as they are--as God sees them, who never is wrong because he hasno selfishness, but is the living Love and the living Truth, withoutwhom there would be no love and no truth. To rise humbly glorious aboveour low self, to choose the yet infant self that is one with Christ, whosought never his own but the things of his father and brother, is theredemption begun, and the inheritance will follow. Mr. Raymount, likemost of us, was a long way indeed from this yet. He strove hard toreconcile the memories of the night with the feelings of themorning--strove to realize a state of mind in which a measure offorgiveness to his son blended with a measure of satisfaction to thewounded pride he called paternal dignity. How could he take his son tohis bosom as he was? he asked---but did not ask how he was to draw himto repentance! He did not think of the tender entreaty with which, bythe mouths of his prophets, God pleads with his people to come back tohim. If the father, instead of holding out his arms to the child hewould entice to his bosom, folds them on that bosom and turns hisback--expectant it may be, but giving no sign of expectancy, the childwill hardly suppose him longing to be reconciled. No doubt there aretimes when and children with whom any show of affection is not onlyuseless but injurious, tending merely to increase their self-importance, and in such case the child should not see the parent at all, but it wasthe opposite reason that made it better Cornelius should not yet see hisfather; he would have treated him so that he would only have hated him. 

For a father not to forgive is in truth far worse than for a son to needforgiveness; and such a father will of course go from bad to worse aswell as the son, except he repent. The shifty, ungenerous spirit ofcompromise awoke in Raymount. He would be very good, very gentle, verykind to every one else in the house! He would, like Ahab, walk softly;he was not ready to walk uprightly: his forgiveness he would postpone!He knew his feelings towards Corney were wearing out the heart of hiswife--but not yet would he yield! There was little Mark, however, hewould make more of him, know him better, and make the child know himbetter! I doubt if to know his father better just then would have beenfor Mark to love him more. 

He went to see how his wife was. Finding that, notwithstanding all shehad gone through the day before, she was a trifle better, he felt alittle angry and not a little annoyed: what added to his misery was acomfort to her! she was the happier for having her worthless son! In theselfishness of his misery he looked upon this as lack of sympathy withhimself. Such weakness vexed him too, in the wife to whom he had for somany years looked up with more than respect, with even unacknowledgedreverence. He did not allude to Cornelius, but said he was going for awalk, and went to find Mark--with a vague hope of consolation in thechild who had clung to him so confidently in the night. He had forgottenit was not to him _his soul_ had clung, but to the father of both. 

Mark was in the nursery, as the children's room was still called. Thetwo never quarrelled; had they been two Saffies, they would havequarrelled and made it up twenty times a day. When Mark heard hisfather's step, he bounded to meet him; and when his sweet moonlit ratherthan sunshiny face appeared at the door, the gloom on his father'syielded a little; the gleam of a momentary smile broke over it, and hesaid kindly:

"Come, Mark, I want you to go for a walk with me. "

"Yes, papa, " answered the boy. --"May Saffy come too?"

The father was not equal however to the company of two of his children, and Mark alone proceeded to get ready, while Saffy sulked in a corner. 

But he was not doing the right thing in taking him out. He ought to haveknown that the boy was not able for anything to be called a walk;neither was the weather fit for his going out. But absorbed in his owntrouble, the father did not think of his weakness; and Hester not beingby to object, away they went. Mark was delighted to be his father'scompanion, never doubted all was right that he wished, and forgot hisweakness as entirely as did his father. 

With his heart in such a state the father naturally had next to nothingto say to his boy, and they walked on in silence. The silence did notaffect Mark; he was satisfied to be with his father whether he spoke tohim or not--too blessed in the long silences between him and God todislike silence. It was no separation--so long as like speech it wasbetween them. For a long time he was growing tired without knowing it:when weariness became conscious at last, it was all at once, and poorMark found he could scarcely put one leg past the other. 

The sun had been shining when they started--beautiful though not verywarm spring-sun, but now it was clouded and rain was threatened. Theywere in the middle of a bare, lonely moor, easily reached from thehouse, but of considerable extent, and the wind had begun to blow cold. Sunk in his miserable thoughts, the more miserable that he had nowyielded even the pretence of struggle, and relapsed into unforgivingunforgivenness, the father saw nothing of his child's failing strength, but kept trudging on. All at once he became aware that the boy was notby his side. He looked round: he was nowhere visible. Alarmed, hestopped, and turning, called his name aloud. The wind was blowing theother way, and that might be the cause of his hearing no reply. Hecalled again, and this time thought he heard a feeble response. Heretraced his steps rapidly. 

Some four or five hundred yards back, he came to a hollow, where on atuft of brown heather, sat Mark, looking as white as the vapour-likemoon in the daytime. 

His anxiety relieved, the father felt annoyed, and rated the littlefellow for stopping behind. 

"I wasn't able to keep up, papa, " replied Mark. "So I thought I wouldrest a while, and meet you as you came back. "

"You ought to have told me. I shouldn't have brought you had I known youwould behave so. Come, get up, we must go home. "

"I'm very sorry, papa, but I think I can't. "

"Nonsense!"

"There's something gone wrong in my knee. "

"Try, " said his father, again frightened. Mark had never shown himselfwhimsical. 

He obeyed and rose, but with a little cry dropped on the ground. He hadsomehow injured his knee that he could not walk a step. 

His father stooped to lift him. 

"I'll carry you, Markie, " he said. 

"Oh, no, no, you must not, papa! It will tire you! Set me on that stone, and send Jacob. He carries a sack of meal, and I'm not so heavy as asack of meal. "

His father was already walking homeward with him. The next moment Markspied the waving of a dress. 

"Oh, " he cried, "there's Hessie! She will carry me!"

"You little goose!" said his father tenderly, "can she carry you betterthan I can?"

"She is not stronger than you, papa, because you are a big man; but Ithink Hessie has more carry in her. She has such strong arms!"

Hester was running, and when she came near was quite out of breath. 

She had feared how it would be when she found her father had taken Markfor a walk, and her first feeling was of anger, for she had inheritednot a little of her father's spirit: indirectly the black sheep hadroused evils in the flock unknown before. Never in her life had Hesterbeen aware of such a feeling as that with which she now hurried to meether father. When, however, she saw the boy's arms round his father'sneck, and his cheek laid against his, her anger went from her, and shewas sorry and ashamed, notwithstanding that she knew by Mark's face, ofwhich she understood every light and shade, that he was suffering much. 

"Let me take him, papa, " she said. 

The father had no intention of giving up the child. But before he knew, Mark had stretched his arms to Hester, and was out of his into hers. Instinctively trying to retain him, he hurt him, and the boy gave alittle cry. Thereupon with a new pang of pain, and a new sting ofresentment, which he knew unreasonable but could not help, he let him goand followed in distressed humiliation. 

Hester's heart was very sore because of this new grief, but she saw somehope in it. 

"He is too heavy for you, Hester, " said her father. "Surely as it is myfault, I ought to bear the penalty!"

"It's no penalty--is it, Markie?" said Hester merrily. 

"No, Hessie, " replied Mark, almost merrily. "--You don't know how strongHessie is, papa!"

"Yes, I am very strong. And you ain't heavy--are you, Markie?"

"No, " answered Mark; "I feel so light sometimes, I think I could fly;only I don't like to try for fear I couldn't. I like to think perhaps Icould. "

By and by Hester found, with all her good will, that her strength was ofthe things that can be shaken, and was obliged to yield him to herfather. It was much to his relief, for a sense of moral weakness hadinvaded him as he followed his children: he was rejected of his family, and had become a nobody in it!

When at length they reached home, Mark was put to bed, and the doctorsent for. 

CHAPTER LIV. 

MOTHER AND SON. 

In the meantime Cornelius kept his bed. The moment her husband was gone, his mother rose and hastened to her son! Here again was a discord! forthe first time since their marriage, a jarring action: the wife was gladthe husband was gone that she might do what was right without annoyinghim: with all her strength of principle, she felt too weak to go openlyagainst him, though she never dreamt of concealing what she did. Shetottered across his floor, threw herself on the bed beside him, and tookhim to her bosom. 

With his mother Corney had never pretended to the same degree as withother people, and his behaviour to her was now more genuine than to anybut his wife. He clung to her as he had never clung since his infancy;and felt that, let his father behave to him as he might, he had yet ahome. All the morning he had been fretting, in the midst of Hester'skindest attentions, that he had not his wife to do things for him as heliked them done;--and in all such things as required for theirwell-doing a fitting of self to the notions of another, Amy was indeedbefore Hester--partly, perhaps, in virtue of having been a little whilemarried. But now that Cornelius had his mother, he was more content, orrather less discontented--more agreeable in truth than she had known himsince first he went to business. She felt greatly consoled, and he sohappy with her that he began to wish that he had not a secret fromher--for the first time in his life to be sorry that he was inpossession of one. He grew even anxious that she should know it, butnone the less anxious that he should not have to tell it. 

A great part of the time when her husband supposed her asleep, she hadbeen lying wide awake, thinking of the Corney she had lost, and theCorney that had come home to her instead: she was miserable over thealtered looks of her disfigured child. The truest of mothers, with allher love for the real and indifference to outsides, can hardly beexpected to reconcile herself with ease to a new face on her child: shehas loved him in one shape, and now has to love him in another! It wasalmost as if she had received again another child--her own indeed, buttaken from her the instant he was born and never seen by hersince--whom, now she saw him, she had to learn to love in a shapedifferent from that in which she had been accustomed to imagine him. Hissad, pock-marked face had a torturing fascination for her. It was almostpure pain, yet she could not turn her eyes from it. She reproachedherself that it gave her pain, yet was almost indignant with the faceshe saw for usurping the place of her boy's beauty: through that maskshe must force her way to the real beneath it! At the same time verypity made her love with a new and deeper tenderness the poor spoiltvisage, pathetic in its ugliness. Not a word did she utter of reproach:his father would do--was doing enough for both in that way! Every fewminutes she would gaze intently in his face for a moment, and then clasphim to her heart as if seeking a shorter way to his presence thanthrough the ruined door of his countenance. 

Hester, who had never received from her half so much show of tenderness, could not help, like the elder brother in the divine tale, a littlechoking at the sight, but she soon consoled herself that the less poorCorney deserved it the more he needed it. The worst of it to Hester wasthat she could not with any confidence look on the prodigal as arepentant one; and if he was not, all this tenderness, she feared andwith reason, would do him harm, causing him to think less of his crime, and blinding him to his low moral condition. But she thought also thatGod would do what he could to keep the love of such a mother fromhurting; and it was not long before she was encouraged by a softness inCorney's look, and a humid expression in his eyes which she had neverseen before. Doubtless had he been as in former days, he would haveturned from such over flow of love as womanish gush; but disgraced, wornout, and even to his own eyes an unpleasant object, he was not so muchinclined to repel the love of the only one knowing his story who did notfeel for him more or less contempt. Sometimes in those terriblehalf-dreams in the dark of early morn when suddenly waked by conscienceto hold a _tete-a-tete_ with her, he would imagine himself walkinginto the bank, and encountering the eyes of all the men on his way tohis uncle, whom next to his father he feared--then find himself runningfor refuge to the bosom of his mother. She was true to him yet! he wouldsay: yes, he used the word! he said _true!_ Slowly, slowly, something was working on him--now in the imagined judgment of others, now in the thought of his wife, now in the devotion of his mother. Little result was there for earthly eye, but the mother's perceived orimagined a difference in him. If only she could descry something plainto tell her husband! If the ice that froze up the spring of his lovewould but begin to melt! For to whom are we to go for refuge fromourselves if not to those through whom we were born into the world, andwho are to blame for more or less of our unfitness for a truelife?--"His father _must_ forgive him!" she said to herself. Shewould go down on her knees to him. Their boy should _not_ be leftout in the cold! If he had been guilty, what was that to the cruel worldso ready to punish, so ready to do worse! The mother still carried inher soul the child born of her body, preparing for him the new andbetter, the all-lovely birth of repentance unto life. 

Hester had not yet said a word about her own affairs. No one but themajor knew that her engagement to lord Gartley was broken. She was notwilling to add yet an element of perturbance to the overchargedatmosphere; she would not add disappointment to grief. 

In the afternoon the major, who had retired to the village, two milesoff, the moment his night-watch was relieved, made his appearance, inthe hope of being of use. He saw only Hester, who could give him but afew minutes. No sooner did he learn of Mark's condition, than heinsisted on taking charge of him. He would let her know at once if hewanted to see her or any one: she might trust him to his care!

"I am quite as good at nursing--I don't say as you, cousin Hester, oryour mother, but as any ordinary woman. You will see I am! I know mostof the newest wrinkles, and will carry them out. "

Hester could not be other than pleased with the proposal; for havingboth her mother and Corney to look after, and Miss Dasomma or Amy towrite to every day, she had feared the patient Mark might run some riskof being neglected. To be sure Saffy had a great notion of nursing, buther ideas were in some respects, to say the least, a little peculiar;and though at times she was a great gain in the sick room, she couldhardly be intrusted with entire management of the same. So the majortook the position of head-nurse, with Saffy for aid, and one of theservants for orderly. 

Hester's mind was almost constantly occupied with thinking how she wasto let her father and mother know what they must know soon, and ought toknow as soon as possible. She would tell her father first; her mothershould not know till he did: she must not have the anxiety of how hewould take it! But she could not see how to set about it. She had nolight, and seemed to have no leading--felt altogether at a standstill, without impulse or energy. 

She waited, therefore, as she ought; for much harm comes of theimpatience that outstrips guidance. People are too ready to think_something_ must be done, and forget that the time for action maynot have arrived, that there is seldom more than one thing fit to bedone, and that the wrong thing must in any case be worse than nothing. 

Cornelius grew gradually better, and at last was able to go down stairs. But the weather continued so far unfavourable that he could not go out. He had not yet seen his father, and his dread of seeing him grew to aterror. He never went down until he knew he was not in the house, andthen would in general sit at some window that commanded the door bywhich he was most likely to enter. He enticed Saffy from attendance onMark to be his scout, and bring him word in what direction his fatherwent. This did the child incalculable injury. The father was just asanxious to avoid him, fully intending, if he met him, to turn his backupon him. But it was a rambling and roomy old house, and there wasplenty of space for both. A whole week passed and they had not met--tothe disappointment of Hester, who cherished some hope in a chanceencounter. 

She had just one consolation: ever since she had Cornelius safe underher wing, the mother had been manifestly improving. But even this was asource of dissatisfaction to the brooding selfishness of theunhealthy-minded father. He thought with himself--"Here have I beenheart and soul nursing her through the illness he caused her, and all invain till she gets the rascal back, and then she begins at once toimprove! She would be perfectly happy with him if she and I never saweach other again!"

The two brothers had not yet met. For one thing, Corney disliked themajor, and for another, the major objected to an interview. He feltcertain the disfigurement of Corney would distress Mark too much, andretard the possible recovery of which he was already in great doubt. 

CHAPTER LV. 

MISS DASOMMA AND AMY. 

Miss Dasomma was quite as much pleased with Amy as she had expected tobe, and that was not a little. She found her very ignorant in theregions of what is commonly called education, but very quick inunderstanding where human relation came in. A point in construction orcomposition she would forget immediately; but once shown a possibilityof misunderstanding avoidable by a certain arrangement, Amy would recallthe fact the moment she made again the mistake. Her teachableness, coming largely of her trustfulness, was indeed a remarkable point in hercharacter. It was partly through this that Corney gained his influenceover her: superior knowledge was to her a sign of superior goodness. 

She began at once to teach her music: the sooner a beginning was madethe better! Her fingers were stiff, but so was her will: the way shestuck to her work was pathetic. Here also she understood quickly, butthe doing of what she understood she found very hard--the more so thather spirit was but ill at ease. Corney had deceived her; he had donesomething wrong besides; she was parted from him, and could realizelittle of his surroundings; all was very different from what she hadexpected in marrying her Corney! Also, from her weariness and anxiety innursing him, and from other causes as well, her health was not what ithad been. Then Hester's letters were a little stiff! She felt it withoutknowing what she felt, or why they made her uncomfortable. It was fromno pride or want of love they were such, but from her uncertainty--thediscomfort of knowing they were no nearer a solution of their difficultythan when they parted at the railway: she did not even know yet what shewas going to do in the matter! This prevented all free flow ofcommunication. Unable to say what she would have liked to say, unwillingto tell the uncomfortable condition of things, there rose a hedge andseemed to sink a gulf between her and her sister. Amy therefrom, naturally surmised that the family was not willing to receive her, andthat the same unwillingness though she was too good to yield to it, wasin Hester also. It was not in her. How she might have taken his marriagehad Corney remained respectable, I am not sure; but she knew that themain hope for her brother lay in his love for Amy and her devotion tohim--in her common sense, her true, honest, bright nature. She was onlyfar too good for Corney!

Then again Amy noted, for love and anxiety made her very sharp, thatMiss Dasomma did not read to her every word of Hester's letters. Onceshe stopped suddenly in the middle of a sentence, and after a pause wenton with another! Something was there she was not to know! It might havesome reference to her husband! If so, then something was not going rightwith him! Was he worse and were they afraid to tell her, lest she shouldgo to him! Perhaps they were treating him as her aunts treatedher--making his life miserable--and she not with him to help him to bearit! All no doubt because she had married him! It explained his deceivingher! If he had told them, as he ought to have done, they would not havelet her have him at all, and what would have become of her without herCorney! He ought not certainly to have told her lies, but if anythingcould excuse him, so that making the best of things, and excusing herhusband all she could, she was in danger of lowering her instinctivelyhigh sense of moral obligation. 

She brooded over the matter but not long, she threw herself on herknees, and begged her friend to let her know what the part of hersister's letter she had not read to her was about. 

"But, my dear, " said Miss Dasomma, "Hester and I have been friends formany years, and we may well have things to say to each other we shouldnot care that even one we loved so much as you should hear?--A lady mustnot be inquisitive, you know. "

"I know that, and I never did pry into other people's affairs. Tell meit was nothing about my husband, and I shall be quite content. "

"But think a moment, Amy!" returned Miss Dasomma, who began to findherself in a difficulty; "there might be things between his family andhim, who have known him longer than you, which they were not quiteprepared to tell you all about before knowing you better. Some people inthe way they treated you would have been very different from that angelsister of yours! There is nobody like her--that I know!"

"I love her with my whole heart, " replied Amy sobbing--"next toCornelius. But even she must not come between him and me. If it isanything affecting him, his wife has a right to know about it--agreater right than any one else; and no one has a right to conceal itfrom her!"

"Why do you think that?" asked Miss Dasomma, entirely agreeing with herthat she had a right to know, but thinking also, in spite of logic, thatone might have a right to conceal it notwithstanding. She was anxious totemporize, for she did not see how to answer her appeal. She could nottell her a story, and she did not feel at liberty to tell her the truth;and if she declined to answer her question, the poor child might imaginesomething dreadful. 

"Why, miss, " answered Amy, "we can't be divided!" I must do what Ican--all I can for him, and I have a right to know what there is to bedone for him. "

"But can you not trust his own father and mother?" said MissDasomma--and as she said it, her conscience accused her. 

"Yes, surely, " replied Amy, "if they were loving him, and not angry withhim. But I have seen even that angel Hester look very vexed with himsometimes, and that when he was ill too! and I know he will never standthat: he will run away as I did. I know what your own people can do tomake you miserable! They say a woman must leave all for her husband, andthat's true; but it is the other way in the Bible--I read it thismorning! In the Bible it is--'a man shall leave father and mother andcleave to his wife;' and after that who will say there ought to beanything between him and his parents she don't know about. It's_she_ that's got to look after the man given to her like that!"

Miss Dasomma looked with admiration at the little creature--showingfight like a wren for her nest. How rapidly she was growing! how nobleshe was and free! She was indeed a treasure! The man she had married waslittle worthy of her, but if she rescued him, not from his parents, butfrom himself, she might perhaps have done as good a work as helping anoble-hearted man!

"I've got him to look after, " she resumed, "and I will. He's mine, miss!If anybody's not doing right by him, I ought to be by and see himthrough it. "

Here Miss Dasomma's prudence for a moment forsook her: who shall explainsuch _accidents_! It stung her to hear her friends suspected ofbehaving unjustly. 

"That's all you know, Amy!" she blurted out--and bit her lip in vexationwith herself. 

Amy was upon her like a cat upon a mouse. 

"What is it?" she cried. "I _must_ know what it is! You shall_not_ keep me in the dark! I _must_ do my duty by my husband. If you do not tell me, I will go to him. "

In terror at what might be that result of her hasty remark, Miss Dasommafaltered, reddened, and betrayed considerable embarrassment. A prudentperson, lapsing into a dilemma, is specially discomfitted. She hadcommitted no offence against love, had been guilty of no selfishness ormeanness, yet was in miserable predicament. Amy saw, and was the moreconvinced and determined. She persisted, and Miss Dasomma knew that shewould persist. Presently, however, she recovered herself a little. 

"How can you wonder, " she said with confused vagueness, "when you knowhe deceived you, and never told them he was going to marry you?"

"But they know nothing of it yet--at least from the way Hester writes!"

"Yes; but one who could behave like that would be only too likely togive other grounds of offence. "

"Then there _is_ something more--something I know nothing about!"exclaimed Amy. "I suspected it the moment I saw Hester's face at thedoor!"--she might have said before that. --"I _must_ know what itis!" she went on. "I may be young and silly, but I know what a wife owesto her husband; and a wife who cares for nothing but her husband can domore for him than anybody else can. Know all about it I will! It is mybusiness!"

Miss Dasomma was dumb. She had waked a small but active volcano at herfeet, which, though without design against vineyards and villages, wouldgo to its ends regardless of them! She must either answer her questionsor persuade her not to ask any. 

"I beg, Amy, " she said with entreaty "you will do nothing rash. Can younot trust friends who have proved themselves faithful?"

"Yes; for myself, " answered Amy: "but it is my _husband_!"--Shealmost screamed the word. --"And I will trust nobody to take care enoughof _him_. They can't know how to treat him or he would love themmore, and would not have been afraid to let them know he was marrying apoor girl. Miss Dasomma, what have you got against him? I have no fearyou will tell me anything but the truth!"

"Of course not!" returned Miss Dasomma, offended, but repressing allshow of her feeling. --"Why then will you not trust me?"

"I will believe whatever you say; but I will not trust even you to tellor not tell me as you please where my husband is concerned. That wouldbe to give up my duty to him. Tell me what it is, or--"

She did not finish the sentence: the postman's knock came to the door, and she bounded off to see what he had brought, leaving Miss Dasomma infear lest she should appropriate a letter not addressed to her. Shereturned with a look of triumph--a look so wildly exultant that herhostess was momentarily alarmed for her reason. 

"Now I shall know the truth!" she said. "This is from himself!"

And with that she flew to her room. Miss Dasomma should not hear a wordof it! How dared she keep from her what she knew about her husband!

It was Corney's first letter to her. It was filled, not with directcomplaints, but a general grumble. Here is a part of it. 

"I do wish you were here, Amy, my own dearest! I love nobody like you--Ilove nobody but you. If I did wrong in telling you a few diddle-daddies, it was because I loved you so I could not do without you. And whatcomforts me for any wrong I have done is that I have you. That wouldmake up to a man for anything short of being hanged! You little witch, how did you contrive to make a fool of a man like me! I should have beenin none of this scrape but for you! My mother is very kind to me, ofcourse--ever so much better company than Hester! she never looks as if afellow had to be put up with, or forgiven, or anything of that sort, inher high and mighty way. But you do get tired of a mother always keepingon telling you how much she loves you. You can't help thinking theremust be something behind it all. Depend upon it she wants something ofyou--wants you to be good, I daresay--to repent, don't you know, as theycall it! They're all right, I suppose, but it ain't nice for all that. And that Hester has never told my father yet. 

"I haven't even seen my father. He has not come near me once! Saffywouldn't look at me for a long time--that's the last of the litter, youknow; she shrieked when they called to her to come to me, and cried, 'That's ugly Corney! I won't have ugly Corney!' So you may see how I amused! But I've got her under my thumb at last, and she's useful. Thenthere's that prig Mark! I always liked the little wretch, though he issuch a precious humbug! He's in bed--put out his knee, or something. Henever had any stamina in him! Scrofulous, don't you know! They won't letme go near him--for fear of frightening him! But that's that braggart, major Marvel--and a marvel he is, I can tell you! He comes to mesometimes, and makes me hate him--talks as if I wasn't as good ashe, --as if I wasn't even a gentleman! Many's the time I long to be backin the garret--horrid place! alone with my little Amy!"

So went the letter. 

When Amy next appeared before Miss Dasomma, she was in another mood. Hereyes were red with weeping, and her hair was in disorder. She had beenlying now on the bed, now on the floor, tearing her hair, and stuffingher handkerchief in her mouth. 

"Well, what is the news?" asked Miss Dasomma, as kindly as she couldspeak, and as if she saw nothing particular in her appearance. 

"You must excuse me, " replied Amy, with the stiffness of a woman of theworld resenting intrusion. But the next moment she said, "Do not thinkme unkind, miss; there is nothing, positively nothing in the letterinteresting to any one but myself. "

Miss Dasomma said nothing more. Perhaps she was going to escape withoutfurther questioning! and though not a little anxious as to what theletter might contain to have put the poor girl in such a state, shewould not risk the asking of a single question more. 

The solemn fact was, that his letter, in conjunction with the word MissDasomma let slip, had at last begun to open Amy's eyes a little to thereal character of her husband. She had herself seen a good deal of hisfamily, and found it hard to believe they would treat him unkindly, nordid he exactly say so; but his father had not been once to see him sincehis return!--Corney had not mentioned that he himself, had all he could, avoided meeting his father. --If then they did not yet know he wasmarried, that other thing--the cause for such treatment of a son justescaped the jaws of death, must be a very serious one! It might be veryhard, it might be even unfair treatment--she could not tell; but theremust be something to explain it--something to show it not altogether themonstrous thing it seemed! I do not say she reasoned thus, but hergenius reasoned thus for her. 

Of course it must be the same thing that made him take to the garret andhide there! The more she thought of it the more convinced was she thathe had done something hideously wrong. It was a sore conviction to her, and would have been a sorer yet had she understood his playful blame ofher in the letter. But such was the truth of her devotion that she wouldonly have felt accountable for the wrong, and bent body and soul to makeup for it. From the first glimmer of certainty as to the uncertain factsshe saw with absolute clearness what she must do. There was that in thetone of the letter also, which, while it distressed her more than shewas willing to allow, strengthened her determination--especially the wayin which he spoke of his mother, for she not only remembered herkindness at Burcliff, but loved the memory of her own mother with herwhole bright soul. But what troubled her most of all was that he shouldbe so careless about the wrong he had done, whatever it was. "I mustknow all about it!" she said to herself, "or how am I to help him?" Itseemed to her the most natural thing that when one has done wrong, heshould confess it and confess it wrong--so have done with it, disowningand casting away the cursed thing: this, alas, Cornelius did not seeminclined to do! But was she, of all women in the world, to condemn himwithout knowing what he had to say for himself? She was bound to learnthe truth of the thing, if only to give her husband fair play, which shemust give him to the uttermost farthing? To wrong him in her thoughtswas the greatest wrong woman could do him; no woman could wrong him asshe could!

By degrees her mind grew calm in settled resolve. It might, shereasoned, be very well for husband and wife to be apart while they wereboth happy: they had only to think the more of each other; but whenanything was troubling either, still more when it was anything _in_either, then it was horrible and unnatural that they should be parted. What could a heart then do but tear itself to pieces, think-thinking? Itwas enough to make one kill oneself!

Should she tell Miss Dasomma what was in her thoughts? Neither she norHester had trusted her: needed she trust them? She must take her own wayin silence, for they would be certain to oppose it! could there be adesign to keep her and Corney apart?

All the indignant strength and unalterable determination of the littlewoman rose in arms. She would see who would keep them asunder now shehad made up her mind! She had money of her own--and there were thetrinkets Corney had given her! They must be valuable, for Corney hatedsham things! She would walk her way, work her way, or beg her way, ifnecessary, but nothing should keep her from Corney!

Not a word more concerning their difference passed between her and MissDasomma. They talked cheerfully, and kissed as usual when parting forthe night. 

The moment she was in her room, Amy began to pack a small carpet-bag. When that was done she made a bundle of her cloak and shawl, and laydown in her clothes. Long before dawn she crept softly down the stairs, and stole out. 

Thus for the second time was she a fugitive--then _from_, now_to_. 

When Miss Dasomma had been down some time, she went up to see why Amywas not making her appearance: one glance around her room satisfied herthat she was gone. It caused her terrible anxiety. She did not suspectat first whither she had gone, but concluded that the letter which hadrendered her so miserable contained the announcement that their marriagewas not a genuine one, and that, in the dignity of her true heart, shehad thereupon at once and forever taken her leave of Cornelius. Shewrote to Hester, but the post did not leave before night, and would notarrive till the afternoon of the next day. She had thought of sending atelegram, but saw that that might do mischief. 

When Amy got to the station she found she was in time for the firsttrain of the day. There was no third-class to it, but she found she hadenough money for a second-class ticket, and without a moment'shesitation, though it left her almost penniless, she took one. 

CHAPTER LVI. 

THE SICK ROOM. 

At Yrndale things went on in the same dull way, anger burrowing like adevil-mole in the bosom of the father, a dreary spiritual fog hangingover all the souls, and the mother wearying for some glimmer of aheavenly dawn. Hester felt as if she could not endure it much longer--asif the place were forgotten of God, and abandoned to chance. But therewas one dayspring in the house yet--Mark's room, where the major sat bythe bedside of the boy, now reading to him, now telling him stories, andnow and then listening to him as he talked childlike wisdom in childishwords. Saffy came and went, by no means so merry now that she was morewith Corney. In Mark's room she would at times be her old self again, but nowhere else. Infected by Corney, she had begun to be afraid of herfather, and like him watched to keep out of his way. What seemed to addto the misery, though in reality it operated the other way, was that theweather had again put on a wintry temper. Sleet and hail, and even snowfell, alternated with rain and wind, day after day for a week. 

One afternoon the wind rose almost to a tempest. The rain drove insheets, and came against the windows of Mark's room nearly at rightangles. It was a cheerful room, though low-pitched and very old, with agreat beam across the middle of it. There were coloured prints, mostlyof Scripture-subjects, on the walls; and the beautiful fire burning inthe bow-fronted grate shone on them. It was reflected also from thebrown polished floor. The major sat by it in his easy-chair: he couldendure hardship, but saved strength for work, nursing being none of thelightest. A bedroom had been prepared for him next to the boy's: Markhad a string close to his hand whose slightest pull sufficed to ring abell, which woke the major as if it had been the opening of a cannonade. 

This afternoon with the rain-charged wind rushing in fierce gusts everynow and then against the windows, and the twilight coming on the soonerbecause the world was wrapt in blanket upon blanket of wet cloud, themajor was reading, by no means sure whether his patient waked or slept, and himself very sleepy, longing indeed for a little nap. A moment andhe was far away, following an imaginary tiger, when the voice of Markwoke him with the question:

"What kind of thing do you like best in all the world, majie?--I mean_this_ world, you know--and of course I don't mean God orany_body_, but things about you, I mean. "

The major sat bolt upright, rubbed his eyes, stretched himself, butquietly that Mark might not know he had waked him, pulled down hiswaistcoat, gave a hem as if deeply pondering, instead of trying hard togather wits enough to understand the question put to him, and when hethought his voice sufficiently a waking one not to betray him, answered:

"Well, Mark, I don't think we can beat this same--can we? What do youthink?"

"Let's see what makes it so nice!" returned Mark. "First of all, you'rethere, majie!"

"And you're there, Markie, " said the major. 

"Yes, that's all right! Next there's my bed for me, and your easy-chairfor you, and the fire for us both! And the sight of your chair is betterto me than the feel of my bed! And the fire is _beautiful_, andthough I can't _feel_ that, because they're not my legs, I know itis making your legs so nice and warm! And then there are the shines ofit all about the room!

"What a beautiful thing a shine is, majie! I wish you would put on yourgrand uniform, and let me see the fire shining on the gold lace and thebuttons and the epaulettes and the hilt of your sword!"

"I will, Markie. "

"I've seen your sword, you know, majie! and I think it is thebeautifullest thing in the world. I wonder why a thing for killingshould be so beautiful! Can you tell me, majie?"

The major had to think in order to answer that question, but thinking hehit upon something like the truth of the thing. 

"It must be that it is not made for the sake of the killing, but for thesake of the right that would else be trodden down!" he said, "Whateveris on the side of the right ought to be beautiful. "

"But ain't a pirate's sword beautiful? I've read of precious stones inthe hilt of a pirate's sword! That's not for the right--is it now, majie?"

The boy was gradually educating the man without either of them knowingit--for the major had to _think_ in order to give reasonableanswers to not a few of Mark's questions. The boy was an unconsciousSocrates to the soldier; for there is a Teacher who, by fitting themright together, can use two ignorances for two teachings. Here theostensible master, who was really the principal pupil, had to thinkhard. 

"Anything, " he said at last, "may be turned from its right use, and thenit goes all wrong. "

"But a sword looks all right--it shines--even when it is put to a wronguse!"

"For a while, " answered the major. "It takes time for anything that hasturned bad to lose its good looks. "

"But, majie, " said Mark, "how can a sword ever grow ugly?"

Again the major had to think. 

"When people put things to a bad use, they are not good themselves, " hesaid; "and when they are not good, they are lazy, and neglect things. When a soldier takes to drinking or cruelty, he neglects his weapons, and the rust begins to eat them, and at last will eat them up. "

"What is rust, majie?"

"It is a sword's laziness, making it rot. A sword is a very strongthing, but not taken care of will not last so long as a silkhandkerchief. "

At this point the major began to fear Mark was about to lead him intodepths and contradictions out of which he would hardly emerge. 

"Sha'n't we go on with our reading?" he said. 

Mark, however, had not lost sight of the subject they had started with, and did not want to leave it yet. 

"But, majie, " he replied, "we haven't done with what we like best! Wehadn't said anything about the thick walls round us--between us and thewide, with the fire-sun shining on their smooth side, while the rain isbeating and the wind blowing on their rough side. Then there's the windand the rain all about us, and can't come at us! I fancy sometimes, as Ilie awake in the night, that the wind and the rain are huge packs ofwolves howling in a Russian forest, but not able to get into the houseto hurt us. Then I feel so safe! And that brings me to the best of all. It is in fancying danger that you know what it is to be safe. "

"But, Mark, you know some people are really in danger!"

"Yes, I suppose so--I don't quite know! I know that I am not in danger, because there is the great Think between me and all the danger!"

"How do you know he is between you and _all_ danger?" asked hisfriend, willing to draw him out, and with no fear of making him uneasy. 

"I don't know how I know it; I only know that I'm not afraid, " heanswered. "I feel so safe! For you know if God were to go to sleep andforget his little Mark, then he would forget that he was God, and wouldnot wake again; and that could not be! He can't forget me or you, majie, more than any one of the sparrows. Jesus said so. And what Jesus said, lasts forever. His words never wear out, or need to be made overagain. --Majie, I do wish everybody was as good as Jesus! He won't bepleased till we all are. Isn't it glad! That's why I feel so safe that Ilike to hear the wind roaring. If I did not know that he knows all aboutthe wind, and that it is not the bad man's wind, but the good man'swind, I should be unhappy, for it might hurt somebody, and now itcannot. If I thought he did not care whether everybody was good or not, it would make me so miserable that I should like to die and never cometo life again!--He will make Corney good--won't he, majie?"

"I hope so, Markie, " returned the major. 

"But don't you think we ought to do something to help to make Corneygood? You help me to be good, majie--every day, and all day long! I knowmother teaches him, for he's her first-born! He's like Jesus--he's God'sfirst-born! I'm so glad it was Jesus and not me!"

"Why, Mark?"

"Because if it had been me, I shouldn't have had any Jesus to love. --ButI don't think we ought to leave Corney to mother all alone: she's notstrong enough! it's too hard for her! Corney never was willing to begood! I can't make it out! Why shouldn't he like to be good? It's surelygood to be good!"

"Yes, Mark; but some people like their own way when it's ever so nasty, better than God's way when it's ever so nice!"

"But God must be able to let them know what foolish creatures they are, majie!"

It was on the major's lips to say 'He has sent you to teach it to me, Mark!' but he thought it better not to say it. And indeed it was betterthe child should not be set thinking about what he could do so muchbetter by not thinking about it!

The major had grown quite knowing in what was lovely in a soul--couldsee the same thing lovely in the child and the Ancient of days. Somefoolishly object that the master taught what others had taught beforehim, as if he should not be the wise householder with his old things aswell as new: these recognize the old things--the new they do notunderstand, therefore do not consider. Who first taught that the mightyGod, the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth, was like a child! Whofirst said, "Love one another as I have loved you"? Who first dared tosay "He that overcometh shall sit down with me on my throne even as Iovercame and am set down with my father on his throne"?--taught men thatthe creature who would but be a true creature should share the glory ofhis creator, sitting with him upon his throne?

"You see, majie, " Mark went on, "it won't do for you and me to be sosafe from all the storm and wind, wrapped in God's cloak, and poorCorney out in the wind and rain, with the wolves howling after him! Youmay say it's his own fault--it's because he won't let God take him upand carry him: that's very true, but then that's just the pity ofit!--It is so dreadful! I can't understand it!"

The boy could understand good, but was perplexed with evil. 

While they talked thus in their nest of comfort there was one out in thewind and rain, all but spent with their buffeting, who hastened withwhat poor remaining strength she had to the doing of His will. Amy, leftat the station with an empty purse, had set out to walk through mire anddarkness and storm, up hill and down dale, to find her husband--the manGod had given her "to look after. "

CHAPTER LVII. 

VENGEANCE IS MINE. 

That same morning, Mr. Raymount had found it, or chosen to imagine itnecessary--from the instinct, I believe to oppose inner with outerstorm, to start pretty early for the county-town, on something he calledbusiness, and was not expected home before the next day. Assuming heartin his absence, Cornelius went freely wandering about the house, manyparts of which had not yet lost to him the interest of novelty, andlunched with his mother and Hester and Saffy like one of the family. Hismother, wisely or not, did her best to prevent his feeling anydifference from old times: where one half of the parental pair erred somuch on the side of severity, perhaps it was well that the other shoulderr on that of leniency--I do not know; I doubt if it was right; I thinkshe ought to have justified her husband's conduct, to the extent towhich it would bear justification, by her own. But who shall be surewhat would have been right for another where so much was wrong andbeyond her setting right! If what is done be done in faith, some goodwill come out of our mistakes even; only let no one mistake self-willfor that perfect thing faith!

Their converse at table was neither very interesting nor verysatisfactory. How could it be? As well might a child of Satan be happyin the house of Satan's maker, as the unrepentant Cornelius in the houseof his mother, even in the absence of his father. Their talk was poorand intermittent. Well might the youth long for his garret and thecompany of the wife who had nothing for him but smiles and sweetestattentions!

After dinner he sat for a time at the table alone. He had been orderedwine during his recovery, and was already in some danger of adding afondness for that to his other weaknesses. He was one of those slightnatures to which wine may bring a miserable consolation. But the motherwas wise, and aware of the clanger, kept in her own hands theadministrating of the medicine. To-day, however, by some accident calledfrom the room, she had not put away the decanter, and Cornelius hadseveral times filled his glass before she thought of her neglect. Whenshe re-entered he sat as if he were only finishing the glass she hadleft him with. The decanter revealed what had taken place, but themother blaming herself, thought it better to say nothing. 

Cornelius leaving the room in a somewhat excited mood, but concealingit, sauntered into the library, and thence into the study, where was hisfather's own collection of books. Coming there upon a volume by acertain fashionable poet of the day, he lighted the lamp which no oneused but his father, threw himself into his father's chair, and began toread. He never had been able to read long without weariness, and fromthe wine he had drunk and his weakness, was presently overcome withsleep. His mother came and went, and would not disturb him, vexed thatshe failed in her care over him. I fear, poor lady! her satisfaction inhaving him under her roof was beginning to wane in the continual troubleof a presence that showed no signs of growth any more than one of thedead. But her faith in the over-care of the father of all was strong, and she waited in hope. 

The night now was very dark, "with hey, ho, the wind and the rain!" Upabove, the major and the boy talked of sweet, heavenly things, and downbelow the youth lay snoring, where, had his father been at home, hedared not have showed himself. The mother was in her own room, andHester in the drawing-room--where never now, in the oppression of theselatter times, did she open her piano. The house was quiet but for thenoise of the wind and the rain, and those Cornelius did not hear. 

He started awake and sat up in terror. A hand was on his shoulder, gripping him like a metal instrument, not a thing of flesh and blood. The face of his father was staring at him through the lingering vapoursof his stupid sleep. 

Mr. Raymount had started with a certain foolish pleasure in the prospectof getting wet through, and being generally ill-used by theweather--which he called _atrocious_, and all manner of evil names, while not the less he preferred its accompaniment to his thoughts to thefinest blue sky and sunshine a southern summer itself could have givenhim. Thinking to shorten the way he took a certain cut he knew, butfound the road very bad. The mud drew off one of his horse's shoes, buthe did not discover the loss for a long way--not until he came to apiece of newly mended road. There the poor animal fell suddenly lame. There was a roadside smithy a mile or two farther on, and dismounting hemade for that. The smith, however, not having expected anything to do insuch weather, and having been drinking hard the night before, was noteasily persuaded to appear. Mr. Raymount, therefore, leaving his horsein the smithy, walked to an inn yet a mile or two farther on, and theredried his clothes and had some refreshment. By the time his horse wasbrought him and he was again mounted, the weather was worse than ever;he thought he had had enough of it; and it was so late besides that hecould not have reached the town in time to do his business. He gave uphis intended journey therefore, and turning aside to see a friend in theneighbourhood, resolved to go home again the same night. 

His feelings when he saw his son asleep in his chair, were not likethose of the father in that one story of all the world. He had beengiving place to the devil for so long, that the devil was now able to dowith him as he would--for a season at least. Nor would the possessedever have been able to recognize the presence of the devil, had he not aminute or two of his full will with them? Or is it that the miserablepossessed goes farther than the devil means him to go? I doubt if hecares that we should murder; I fancy he is satisfied if only we hatewell. Murder tends a little to repentance, and he does not want that. Anyhow, we cherish the devil like a spoiled child, till he gets too badand we find him unendurable. Departing then, he takes a piece of thehouse with him, and the tenant is not so likely to mistake him when hecomes again. Must I confess it at this man so much before the multitudeof men, that he was annoyed, even angry, to see this unpleasant son ofhis asleep in _his_ chair! "The sneak!" he said! "he dares not showhis face when I'm at home, but the minute he thinks me safe, gets intomy room and lies in my chair! Drunk, too, by Jove!" he added, as a fumefrom the sleeper's breath reached the nostrils beginning to dilate withwrath. "What can that wife of mine be about, letting the rascal go onlike this! She is faultless except in giving me such a son--and thenhelping him to fool me!" He forgot the old forger of a bygone century!His side of the house had, I should say, a good deal more to do withwhat was unsatisfactory in the lad's character than his wife's. 

The devil saw his chance, sprang up, and mastered the father. 

"The snoring idiot!" he growled, and seizing his boy by the shoulder andthe neck, roughly shook him awake. 

The father had been drinking, not what would have been by any of theneighbours thought too much, but enough to add to the fierceness of hiswrath, and make him yet more capable of injustice. He had come into thestudy straight from the stable, and when the poor creature looked uphalf awake, and saw his father standing over him with a heavy whip inhis hand, he was filled with a terror that nearly paralyzed him. He satand stared with white, trembling lips, red, projecting eyes, and a lookthat confirmed the belief of his father that he was drunk, whereas hehad only been, like himself, drinking more than was good for him. 

"Get out of there, you dog!" cried his father, and with one sweep of hispowerful arm, half dragged, half hurled him from the chair. He fell onthe floor, and in weakness mixed with cowardice lay where he fell. Thedevil--I am sorry to have to refer to the person so often, but he playeda notable part in the affair, and I should be more sorry to leave himwithout his part in it duly acknowledged--the devil, I say, finding thehouse abandoned to him, rushed at once into brain and heart and limbs, and _possessed_. When Raymount saw the creature who had turned hishitherto happy life into a shame and a misery lying at his feet thusabject, he became instantly conscious of the whip in his hand, andwithout a moment's pause, a moment's thought, heaved his arm aloft, andbrought it down with a fierce lash on the quivering flesh of his son. Herichly deserved the punishment, but God would not have struck him thatway. There was the poison of hate in the blow. He again raised his arm;but as it descended, the piercing shriek that broke from the youthstartled even the possessing demon, and the violence of the blow wasbroken. But the lash of the whip found his face, and marked it for atime worse than the small-pox. What the unnatural father would have donenext, I do not know. While the cry of his son yet sounded in his ears, another cry like its echo from another world, rang ghastly through thestorm like the cry of the banshee. From far away it seemed to comethrough the world of wet mist and howling wind. The next instant aspectral face flitted swift as a bird up to the window, and laid itselfclose to the glass. It was a French window, opening to the ground, andneither shutters nor curtains had been closed. It burst open with agreat clang and clash and wide tinkle of shivering and scattering glass, and a small figure leaped into the room with a second cry that soundedlike a curse in the ears of the father. She threw herself on theprostrate youth, and covered his body with hers, then turned her headand looked up at the father with indignant defiance in her flashing eye. Cowed with terror, and smarting with keenest pain, the youth took hiswife in his arms and sobbed like the beaten thing he was. Amy's eyegleamed if possible more indignantly still. Protection grew fierce, andfanned the burning sense of wrong. The father stood over them like afury rather than a fate--stood as the shock of Amy's cry, and her stormyentrance, like that of an avenging angel, had fixed him. But presentlyhe began to recover his senses, and not unnaturally sprang to theconclusion that here was the cause of all his misery--some worthlessgirl that had drawn Cornelius into her toils, and ruined him and hisfamily for ever! The thought set the geyser of his rage roaring andspouting in the face of heaven. He heaved his whip, and the devil havingnone of the respect of the ordinary well bred Englishman for even theleast adorable of women, the blow fell. But instead of another andshriller shriek following the lash, came nothing but a shudder and asilence and the unquailing eye of the girl fixed like that of a spectreupon her assailant. He struck her again. Again came the shiveringshudder and the silence: the sense that the blows had not fallen uponCorney upheld the brave creature. Cry she would not, if he killed her!She once drew in her breath sharply, but never took her eyes from hisface--lay expecting the blow that was to come next. Suddenly the lightin them began to fade, and went quickly out; her head dropped like astone upon the breast of her cowardly husband, and there was not evenmute defiance more. 

What if he had killed the woman! At an inquest! A trial for murder!--Inlowest depths Raymount saw a lower deep, and stood looking down on thepair with subsiding passion. 

Amy had walked all the long distance from the station and more, for shehad lost her way. Again and again she had all but lain down to die onthe moorland waste on to which she had wandered, when the thought ofCorney and his need of her roused her again. Wet through and through, buffeted by the wind so that she could hardly breathe, having hadnothing but a roll to eat since the night before, but aware of the wantof food only by its faintness, cold to the very heart, and almostunconscious of her numbed limbs, she struggled on. When at last she gotto the lodge gate, the woman in charge of it took her for a commonbeggar, and could hardly be persuaded to let her pass. She was justgoing up to the door when she heard her husband's cry. She saw thelighted window, flew to it, dashed it open, and entered. It was the lastexpiring effort of the poor remnant of her strength. She had not lifeenough left to resist the shock of her father-in-law's blows. 

While still the father stood looking down on his children, the doorsoftly opened, and the mother entered. She knew nothing, not even thather husband had returned, came merely to know how her unlovely butbeloved child was faring in his heavy sleep. She stood arrested. She sawwhat looked like a murdered heap on the floor, and her husband standingover it, like the murderer beginning to doubt whether the deed was assatisfactory as the doing of it. But behind her came Hester, and peepingover her shoulder understood at once. Almost she pushed her motheraside, as she sprang to help. Her father would have prevented her. "No, father!" she said, "it is time to disobey. " A pang as of death wentthrough her at the thought that she had not spoken. All was clear! Amyhad come, and died defending her husband from his father! She put herstrong arms round the dainty little figure, and lifted it like a seaweedhanging limp, its long wet hair continuing the hang of the body andhelpless head. Hester gave a great sob. Was this what Amy's lovely bravewomanhood had brought her to! What creatures men were! As the thoughtpassed through her, she saw on Amy's neck a frightful upswollen wale. She looked at her father. There was the whip in his hand! "Oh, papa!"she screamed, and dropped her eyes for shame: she could not look him inthe face--not for his shame, but for her shame through him. And as shedropped them she saw the terrified face of Cornelius open its eyes. 

"Oh, Corney!" said Hester, in the tone of an accusing angel, and ranwith her from the room. 

The mother darted to her son. 

But the wrath of the father rose afresh at sight of her "infatuation. "

"Let the hound lie!" he said, and stepped between. "What right has he towalk the earth like a man! He is but fit to go on all fours--Ha! ha!" hewent on, laughing wildly, "I begin to believe in the transmigration ofsouls! I shall one day see that son of yours running about the place amangy mongrel!"

"You've killed him, Gerald!--your own son!" said the mother, with acold, still voice. 

She saw the dread mark on his face, felt like one of thedead--staggered, and would have fallen. But the arm that through her sonhad struck her heart, caught and supported her. The husband bore thewife once more to her chamber, and the foolish son, the heaviness of hismother, was left alone on the floor, smarting, ashamed, and full of fearfor his wife, yet in ignorance that his father had hurt her. 

A moment and he rose. But, lo, in that shameful time a marvel had beenwrought! The terror of his father which had filled him was gone. Theyhad met; his father had put himself in the wrong; he was no more afraidof him. It was not hate that had cast out fear. I do not say that hefelt no resentment, he is a noble creature who, deserving to be beaten, approves and accepts: there are not a few such children: Cornelius wasnone of such; but it consoled him that he had been hardly used by hisfather. He had been accustomed to look vaguely up to his father as asort of rigid but righteous divinity; and in a disobedient, self-indulgent, poverty-stricken nature like his, reverence could onlytake the form of fear; and now that he had seen his father in a rage, the feeling of reverence, such as it was, had begun to give way, andwith it the fear: they were more upon a level. Then again, his father'sunmerciful use of the whip to him seemed a sort of settling of scores, thence in a measure, a breaking down of the wall between them. He seemedthereby to have even some sort of claim upon his father: so cruellybeaten he seemed now near him. A weight as of a rock was lifted from hismind by this violent blowing up of the horrible negation that had beenbetween them so long. He felt--as when punished in boyhood--as if thestorm had passed, and the sun had begun to appear. Life seemed a trifleless uninteresting than before. He did not yet know to what a state hiswife was brought. He knew she was safe with Hester. 

He listened, and finding all quiet, stole, smarting and aching, yetcherishing his hurts like a possession, slowly to his room, theretumbled himself into bed, and longed for Amy to come to him. He was aninvalid, and could not go about looking for her! it was her part to findhim! In a few minutes he was fast asleep once more, and forgoteverything in dreams of the garret with Amy. 

When Mrs. Raymount came to herself, she looked up at her husband. Hestood expecting such reproaches as never yet in their married life hadshe given him. But she stretched out her arms to him, and drew him toher bosom. Her pity for the misery which could have led him to behave soill, joined to her sympathy in the distressing repentance which she didnot doubt must have already begun, for she knew her husband, made hertreat him much as she treated her wretched Corney. It went deep to theman's heart. In the deep sense of degredation that had seized him--notfor striking his son, who, he said, and said over and over to himself, entirely deserved it, but for striking a woman, be she who shemight--his wife's embrace was like balm to a stinging wound. But it wasonly when, through Hester's behaviour to her and the words that fellfrom her, he came to know who she was, that the iron, the beneficentspear-head of remorse, entered his soul. Strange that the mere fact ofour knowing _who a person is_, should make such a difference in theway we think of and behave to that person! A person is a person just thesame, whether one of the few of our acquaintances or not, and his claimon us for all kinds of humanities just the same. Our knowledge of anyone is a mere accident in the claim, and can at most only make us feelit more. But recognition of Amy showed his crime more heinous. Itbrought back to Mr. Raymount's mind the vision of the bright girl heused to watch in her daft and cheerful service, and with that visioncame the conviction that not she but Corney must be primarily to blame:he had twice struck the woman his son had grievously wronged! He mustmake to her whatever atonement was possible--first for having broughtthe villain into the world to do her such wrong, then for his owncruelty to her in her faithfulness! He pronounced himself the mostdespicable and wretched of men: he had lifted his hand against a womanthat had been but in her right in following his son, and had shownherself ready to die in his defence! His wife's tenderness confirmed thepredominance of these feelings, and he lay down in his dressing-room ahumbler man than he had ever been in his life before. 

CHAPTER LVIII. 

FATHER AND DAUGHTER-IN-LAW. 

Hester carried poor little Amy to her own room, laid her on her own bed, and did for her all one child of God could do for another. With handstender as a mother's, and weeping as she had never wept before, sheundressed her, put her in a warm bath, then got her into bed, and usedevery enticement and persuasion to induce her to take somenourishment--with poor success: the heart seemed to have gone out ofher. But instinctively Amy asked for milk, and that brought her roundbetter than anything else could have done. Still she lay like one dead, seeming to care for nothing. She scarcely answered Hester when shespoke, though she tried to smile to her: the most pitiful thing was thatsmile Hester had ever seen. Her very brain and blood were haunted withthe presence of Corney's father. He seemed ever and always to bestanding over her and Corney with that terrible whip. All her thoughtwas how to get him away from the frightful place. Hester did her best toreassure her. She told her Corney was fast asleep and little the worse;did all she could to keep her quiet, and soothe her to sleep; and alittle after midnight was successful. Then she lay down herself on thesofa beside her bed, sorely exhausted. 

In the gray of the morning Mr. Raymount woke. He was aware of a greathush about him. He looked from the window, and saw in the east the firstglimmer of a lovely spring-day. The stillness awed, almost frightenedhim. It was not around him only but in him; his very soul seemed hushed, as if in his sleep the Voice had said "Peace! be still!" He felt like anaughty child, who, having slept, seems to have slept away hisnaughtiness. Yesterday seemed far away--only the shudder of it was left;but he knew if he began to think it would be back with its agony. Hadsome angel been by his bedside to soothe him? A demon had surelypossessed him! Had it been but hinted as within the bounds ofpossibility that he should behave to a woman as he had behaved, he wouldhave laughed the idea to scorn! He had always thought himself achivalrous gentleman! This was the end of his faith in himself! Hisgrand Hester would not feel herself safe from him! Truly a demon hadpossessed him: might not an angel have been by him as he slept?

What had become of the poor girl? But he needed not to be anxious abouther: neither his wife nor his daughter would have turned her out intothe night! He would still be able to do something for her! He must makeatonement for treating her so brutally! Hope dawned feebly on his murkyhorizon. He would be good to her as he would never have thought of hadhe not ill-used her so! There was something to be done foreverybody--for himself and for poor Amy Amber! If she was gone he wouldspend every penny he had to find her! But Cornelius would know! He mustsee him! He would tell him he was sorry he had struck him!

In the yet dark gray of the morning he went to his son's room. 

When he had all but reached the door he saw it was a little open. Thenext instant he heard a soft voice within speaking persuadingly. He wentclose and listened. It was Amy's voice!--In his house! In his son'sroom! And after the lesson he had given them but the night before! Thiswas too bad! He pushed the door--and looked in! The dainty little figurethat had haunted his dreams was half lying on the bed, with an armthrown round his son. He could not see her face, but he could hearperfectly the words that came through the dusk. 

"Corney darling!" she said, "you must get up. You must come away. Here Iam to take you from them. I was sure they were not treating you well!That was what made me come. I did not know how cruel they were, or Iwould have come long ago. But, Corney, you must have done something verywrong! I don't mean to me; I don't care what you do to me; I am yourown. But you must have done something very wrong to make your father soangry with you! And you cannot have said you were sorry, or he wouldhave forgiven you! He can't be a bad man--though he does hurtdreadfully!"

"He is a very good man!" muttered Corney from the pillow. 

"But I'm afraid, " continued Amy, "if he hasn't been able to make yousorry before, he will never be able now! To beat you as he did lastnight will never make you repent. "

"Oh, he didn't hurt me much! You don't think a fellow would mind thatsort of thing from his own father--when he was in a passion, don't youknow? Besides, Amy--to you I will confess it--I only gave him too goodreason. "

"Come, then, come. We will go somewhere. I want to make you think theright way about the thing; and when you are sorry, we will come back andtell him so. Then perhaps he will forgive me and we shall be all happyagain. "

What was this he heard! The cunning creature! This was her trick toentice him from his home!--And just as the poor boy was beginning torepent too! She knew her trade! She would fall in with his better moodand pretend goodness! She would help him to do what he ought! She wouldbe his teacher in righteousness! Deep, deep she was--beyond anything hehad dreamed possible! No doubt the fellow was just as bad as she, butnot the less must he do what little he yet might for the redemption ofhis son!

But as he thought thus it smote him that Cornelius could not but prefergoing with one who loved him, and talked to him like that, let her bewhat she might, to staying with a father who treated him as he had beendoing ever since he came home! He would behave to him very differentlyafter this! But he must interfere now, cost what it might! What else washe father for!

He pushed the door wide and went in. 

Amy heard and raised herself from the bed, stood upright and faced thecomer. There was just light enough to see that it was the father. Thehorrid idea shot through her mind that it was his custom to come thus tohis son's room in the night and lash him. She roused every fevered nerveto do battle with the strong man for his son. Clenching her little handshard, she stood like a small David between the bed and the comingGoliath. 

"Get out of this, " he said, with the sternness of wrath suppressed. 

"I came to take him away, " said Amy, who had begun to tremble from headto foot. "It is my business to take care of him. "

"Your business to take care of him from his own"--he hesitated, thensaid--"mother?" which certainly was the more fitting word. 

"If, " answered Amy, "a man is to leave father and mother and cleave tohis wife, it's the least thing the wife can do to take care of him fromhis father!"

Mr. Raymount stood confounded: what could the hussey mean? Was she goingto pretend she was married to him? Indignation and rage began to riseafresh; but if he gave way what might he not be guilty of a second time!A rush of shame choked the words that crowded to his lips; and with theself-restraint came wholesome doubt: was it possible he had married her?Was it not possible? Would it not be just worthy of him to have done soand never told one of his family! At least there need be nothingincredible in it! This girl--yes--plainly she had both cunning andfascination enough to make him not only run after her but marry her! Howwas he to come at the truth of the thing? The coward would not have thecourage to contradict her, but he would know if he were lying!

"Do you mean to tell me, " he said, "that he has married you--without aword to his own father or mother?"

Then out at last spoke Cornelius, rising on his elbow in the bed:

"Yes, father, " he said, with slow determination, "I have married her. Itis all my fault, not one bit hers. I could never have persuaded her hadI not made her believe you knew all about it and had no objection. "

"Why did you not let us know then?" cried the father in a voice whichill suited the tameness of the question. 

"Because I was a coward, " answered Corney, speaking the truth withcourage. "I knew you would not like it. "

"Little _you_ know of what I like or dislike!"

"You can soon prove him wrong, sir!" said Amy, clasping her hands, andlooking up in his face through the growing light of the morning. "Forgive us, and take me too; I was so happy to think I was going tobelong to you all! I would never have married him, if I hadknown--without your consent, I mean. It was very wrong of Corney, but Iwill try to make him sorry for it. "

"You never will!" said Corney, again burying his head in the pillow. 

Now first the full horror of what he had done broke upon the mind of Mr. Raymount. He stood for a moment appalled. 

"You will let me take him away then?" said Amy, thinking he hesitated toreceive her. 

Now whether it was from an impulse of honesty towards her, or ofjustification of himself, I cannot tell, but he instantly returned:

"Do you know that his money is stolen?"

"If he stole it, " she replied, "he will never steal again. "

"He will never get another chance. He cannot get a situation now. "

"I will work for both. It will only be me instead of him, and that's nodifference; he belongs to me as much as I do to him. If he had only keptnothing from me, nothing of this would have happened. --Do come, Corney, while I am able to walk; I feel as if I were going to die. "

"And this is the woman I was such a savage to last night!" said Mr. Raymount to himself. 

"Forgive me, Amy!" he cried, stretching out his arms to her. "I havebehaved like a brute! To strike my son's wife! I deserve to be hangedfor it! I shall never forgive myself! But you must forgive me forChrist's sake. "

Long ere he had ended Amy was in his arms, clinging to him--he holdingher fast to his bosom. 

The strong man was now the weaker; the father and not the daughter wept. She drew back her head. 

"Come, Corney, " she cried; "come directly! Out of your bed and down onyour knees to your own blessed father, and confess your sins. Tell himyou're sorry for them, and you'll never do them again. "

Corney obeyed: in some strange, lovely way she had got the mistressshipof his conscience as well as his heart. He got out of bed at once, wentstraight down on his knees as she told him, and though he did not speak, was presently weeping like a child. It was a strange group in the grayof the new morning--ah, indeed, a new morning for them!--the girl in thearms of the elderly man, and the youth kneeling at their feet, both menweeping and the girl radiant. 

Gerald Raymount closed the door on his son and his son's wife, andhastened to his own to tell her all. 

"Then surely will the forgiveness of God and his father take awayCorney's disgrace!" said the mother. 

The arrival of this state of things was much favoured by the severeillness into which Amy fell immediately the strain was off her. She wasbrought almost to death's door. Corney in his turn became nurse, andimproved not a little from his own anxiety, her sweetness, and thesympathy of every one, his father included, with both of them. But suchwas her constitution that when she began to recover she recoveredrapidly, and was soon ready for the share lovingly allotted her in theduties of the house. 

CHAPTER LIX. 

THE MESSAGE. 

But the precious little Mark did not get better; and it soon became veryclear to the major that, although months might elapse ere he left them, go he must before long. It was the sole cloud that now hung over thefamily. But the parting drew nigh so softly and with so little increaseof suffering, also with such a changeless continuance of sweet, lovingways, and mild but genuine enjoyment of existence, that of those whowould most feel the loss of him, he only was thoroughly aware that deathwas at the door. The rest said the summer would certainly restore him;but the major expected him to die in the first of the warm weather. Thechild himself believed he was going soon. His patience, resting uponentire satisfaction with what God pleased, was wonderful. 

"Isn't it nice, majie, " he said more than once, in differing forms, "that I have nothing to do with anything--that there is no preparation, no examination wanted for dying? It's all done for you! You have just tobe lifted and taken--and that's so nice! I don't know what it will feellike, but when God is with you, you don't mind anything. "

Another time he said, "I was trying, while you were resting, majie, to tell Saffy a dream Ihad; and when I had told her she said, 'But it's all nonsense, you know, Mark! It's only a dream!'--What do you think, majie?"

"Was it a dream, Mark?" asked the major. 

"Yes, it was a dream, but do you think a dream is nothing at all? Ithink, if it is a good dream, it must be God's. For you know every goodas well as every perfect gift is from the father of lights! He made thething that dreams and the things that set it dreaming; so he must be themaster of the dreams--at least when he pleases--and surely always ofthose who mind him!--The father of lights!" he repeated; "what abeautiful name! The father of all the bright things in the world!Hester's eyes, and your teeth, majie! and all the shines of the fire onthe things in the room! and the sun and the far-away stars that I shallknow more about by and by! and all the glad things that come and go inmy mind, as I lie here and you are sitting quiet in your chair, majie!--and sometimes at night, oh, so many! when you think I amsleeping! Oh, I will love him, and be afraid of nothing! I know he is init all, and the dark is only the box he keeps his bright things in!

"Oh, he is such a good father of lights! Do you know, majie, I used tothink he came and talked to me in the window-seat when I was a child!What if he really did, and I should be going to be made sure that hedid--up there, I mean, you know--I don't know where, but it's whereJesus went when he went back to his papa! Oh, how happy Jesus must havebeen when he got back to his papa!"

Here he began to cough, and could not talk more; but the major did notblame himself that he had not found the heart to stop him, though heknew it was not what is called _good_ for him: the child when movedto talk must be happier talking, and what if he died a few minutessooner for it!--was born again rather! thought the major to himself--andalmost added, "I would that my time were come!" For the child's and thesoldier's souls had got nearer to each other, than were yet any twosouls in that house in absolute love. 

A great silent change, not the less a development, had been and waspassing in the major. Mark not only was an influence on him altogethernew, but had stirred up and brought alive in him a thousand influencesbesides, not merely of things hitherto dormant in him, but of memoriesnever consciously, operant--words of his mother; a certainSunday-evening with her; her last blessing on his careless head; theverse of a well-known hymn she repeated as she was dying; old scraps ofthings she had taught him; dying little Mark gave life to these and manyother things. The major had never been properly a child, but now livedhis childness over again with Mark in a better fashion. 

"I have had such a curious, such a beautiful dream, majie!" he said, waking in the middle of one night. The major was sitting up with him: hewas never left alone now. 

"What was it, Markie?" asked the major. 

"I should like Corney to hear it, " returned Mark. 

"I will call him, and you can then tell it us together. "

"Oh, I don't think it would do to wake Corney up! He would not likethat! He must hear it sometime--but it must be at the right time, elsehe would laugh at it, and I could not bear that. You know Corney alwayslaughs, without thinking first whether the thing was made for laughingat!"

By this time Corney had been to see Mark often. He always spoke kindlyto him now, but always as a little goose, and Mark, the least assumingof mortals, being always in earnest, did not like the things he wanted"to go in at Corney's ears to be blown away by Corney's nose!" ForCorney had a foolish way of laughing through his nose, and it sounded soscornful, that the poor child would not expose to it what he loved. Hence he was not often ready to speak freely to Corney--or to anotherwhen he was within hearing distance. 

"But I'll tell you what, majie, " he went on "--I'll tell _you_ thedream, and then, if I should go away without having told him, you musttell it to Corney. He won't laugh then--at least I don't think he will. Do you promise to tell it to him, majie?"

"I will, " answered the major, drawing himself up with a mental militarysalute, and ready to obey to the letter whatever Mark should require ofhim. 

Without another word the child began. 

"I was somewhere, " he said, "--I don't know where, and it don't matterwhere, for Jesus was there too. And Jesus gave a little laugh, such abeautiful little laugh, when he saw me! And he said, 'Ah, little one, now you see me! I have been getting your eyes open as fast as I couldall the time! We're in our father's house together now! But, Markie, where's your brother Corney?' And I answered and said, 'Jesus, I'm verysorry, but I don't know. I know very well that I'm my brother's keeper, but I can't tell where he is. ' Then Jesus smiled again, and said, 'Nevermind, then. I didn't ask you because I didn't know myself. But we musthave Corney here--only we can't get him till he sets himself to be good!You must tell Corney, only not just yet, that I want him. Tell him thathe and I have got one father, and I couldn't bear to have him out in thecold, with all the horrid creatures that won't be good! Tell him I lovehim so that I will be very sharp with him if he don't make haste andcome home. Our father is _so_ good, and it is dreadful to me thatCorney won't mind him! He is _so_ patient with him, Markie!' 'Iknow that, Jesus, ' I said; 'I know that he could easily take him topieces again because he don't go well, but he would much rather make himgo right'--I suppose I was thinking of mamma's beautiful gold watch, with the wreath of different-coloured gold round the face of it: thatwouldn't go right, and papa wanted to change it, but mamma liked the oldone best. And I don't know what came next. --Now what am I to do, majie?You see I couldn't bear to have that dream laughed at. Yet I must tellit to Corney because there is a message in it for him!"

Whether the boy plainly believed that the Lord had been with him, andhad given him a message to his brother, the major dared not inquire. "Let the boy think what he thinks!" he said to himself. "I dare not lookas if I doubted. " Therefore he did not speak, but looked at the childwith his soul in his eyes. 

"I do not think, " Mark went on, "that he wanted me to tell Corney theminute I woke: he knows how sore it would make me to have him laugh atwhat _he_ said! I think when the time comes he will let me know itis come. But if I found I was dying, you know, I would try and tell him, whether he laughed or not, rather than go without having done it. But ifCorney knew I was going, I don't think he would laugh. "

"I don't think he would, " returned the major. "Corney is a better boy--alittle--I do think, than he used to be. You will be able to speak to himby and by, I fancy. "

A feeling had grown upon the household as if there were in the house astrange lovely spot whence was direct communication with heaven--alittle piece cut out of the new paradise and set glowing in the heart ofthe old house of Yrndale--the room where Mark lay shining in his bed, aChrist-child, if ever child might bear the name. As often as the dooropened loving eyes would seek first the spot where the sweet face, thetreasure of the house, lay, reflecting already the light of the sunlesskingdom. 

That same afternoon, as the major, his custom always of an afternoon, dozed in his chair, the boy suddenly called out in a clear voice, "Oh, majie, there was one bit of my dream I did not tell you! I've justremembered it now for the first time!--After what I told you, --do youremember?--"

"I do indeed, " answered the major. 

"--After that, Jesus looked at me for one minute--no, not a minute, fora minute--on mamma's watch at least--is much longer, but say perhaps forthree seconds of a minute, and then said just one word, --'Our father, Markie!' and I could not see him any more. But it did not seem to matterthe least tiny bit. There was a stone near me, and I sat down upon it, feeling as if I could sit there without moving to all eternity, so happywas I, and it was because Jesus's father was touching me everywhere; myhead felt as if he were counting the hairs of it. And he was not onlyclose to me, but far and far and farther away, and all between. Near andfar there was the father! I neither saw nor felt nor heard him, and yetI saw and heard and felt him so near that I could neither see nor hearnor feel him. I am talking very like nonsense, majie, but I can't do itbetter. It was God, God everywhere, and there was no nowhere anywhere, but all was God, God, God; and my heart was nothing, knew nothing buthim; and I felt I could sit there for ever, because I was right in thevery middle of God's heart. That was what made everything look so allright that I was anxious about nothing and nobody. "

Here he paused a little. 

"He had a sleeping draught last night!" said the major to himself. "--But the sleeping draught was God's, and who can tell whether God maynot have had it given to him just that he might talk with him! Somepeople may be better to talk to when they are asleep, and others whenthey are awake!"

"And then, after a while, " the boy resumed, "I seemed to see a blackspeck somewhere in the all-blessed. And I could not understand it, and Idid not like it; but always I kept seeing this black speck--only one;and it made me at last, in spite of my happiness, almost miserable, 'Only, ' I said to myself, 'whatever the black speck may be, God will rubit white when he is ready!' for, you knew, he couldn't go on for everwith a black speck going about in his heart! And when I said this, allat once I knew the black speck was Corney, and I gave a cry. But withthat the black speck began to grow thin, and it grew thin and thin tillall at once I could see it no more, and the same instant Corney stoodbeside me with a smile on his face, and the tears running clown hischeeks. I stretched out my arms to him, and he caught me up in his, andthen it was all right; I was Corney's keeper, and Corney was my keeper, and God was all of us's keeper. And it was then I woke, majie, notbefore. "

The days went on. Every new day Mark said, "Now, majie, I do thinkto-day I shall tell Corney my dream and the message I have for him!" Butthe day grew old and passed, and the dream was not told. The next andthe next and the next passed, and he seemed to the major not likely everto have the strength to tell Corney. Still even his mother, who was nowhardly out of his room during the day, though the major would neveryield the active part of the nursing, did not perceive that his time wasdrawing nigh. Hester, also, was much with him now, and sometimes hisfather, occasionally Corney and Mrs. Corney, as Mark called her with amerry look--very pathetic on his almost transparent face; but none ofthem seemed to think his end quite near. 

One of the marvellous things about the child was his utter lack offavouritism. He had got so used to the major's strong arms andsystematic engineering way of doing things as to prefer his nursing tothat of any one else; yet he never objected to the substitution ofanother when occasion might require. He took everything that came to himas in itself right and acceptable. He seemed in his illness to loveeverybody more than even while he was well. For every one he kept his orher own place. His mother was the queen; but he was nearly as happy withHester as with her; and the major was great; but he never showed anydiscomfort, not to say unhappiness, when left alone for a while withSaffy--who was not always so reasonable as he would have liked her tobe. When several were in the room, he would lie looking from one toanother like a miser contemplating his riches--and well he might! forsuch riches neither moth nor rust corrupt, and they are the treasures ofheaven also. 

One evening most of the family were in the room: a vague sense haddiffused itself that the end was not far off, and an unconfessedinstinct had gathered them. 

A lamp was burning, but the fire-light was stronger. 

Mark spoke. In a moment the major was bending over him. 

"Majie, " he said, "I want Corney. I want to tell him. "

The major, on his way to Corney, told the father that the end was nigh. With sorely self-accusing heart, for the vision of the boy on the stonein the middle of the moor haunted him, he repaired to the anteroom ofheaven. 

Mark kept looking for Corney's coming, his eyes turning every othermoment to the door. When his father entered he stretched out his arms tohim. The strong man bending over him could not repress a sob. The boypushed him gently away far enough to see his face, and looked at him asif he could not quite believe his eyes. 

"Father, " he said--he had never called him _father_ before--"youmust be glad, not sorry. I am going to your father and my father--to ourgreat father. "

Then seeing Corney come in, he stretched his arms towards him past hisfather, crying, "Corney! Corney!" just as he used to call him when hewas a mere child. Corney bent over him, but the outstretched arms didnot close upon him; they fell. 

But he was not yet ascended. With a strength seeming wonderful when theythought of it afterwards, he signed to the major. 

"Majie, " he whispered, with a look and expression into the meaning ofwhich the major all his life long had never done inquiring, "Majie!Corney! you tell!"

Then he went. 

I think it was the grief at the grave of Lazarus that made our Lordweep, not his death. One with eyes opening into both worlds could hardlyweep over any law of the Father of Lights! I think it was theimpossibility of getting them comforted over this thing death, whichlooked to him so different from what they thought it, that made thefearless weep, and give them in Lazarus a foretaste of his ownresurrection. 

The major alone did not weep. He stood with his arms folded, like asentry relieved, and waiting the next order. Even Corney's eyes filledwith tears, and he murmured, "Poor Markie!" It should have been "PoorCorney!" He stooped and kissed the insensate face, then drew back andgazed with the rest on the little pilgrim-cloak the small prophet haddropped as he rose to his immortality. 

Saffy, who had been seated gazing into the fire, and had no idea of whathad taken place, called out in a strange voice, "Markie! Markie!"

Hester turned to her at the cry, and saw her apparently followingsomething with her eyes along the wall from the bed to the window. Atthe curtained window she gazed for a moment, and then her eyes fell, andshe sat like one in a dream. A moment more and she sprang to her feetand ran to the bed, crying again, "Markie! Markie!" Hester lifted her, and held her to kiss the sweet white face. It seemed to content her; shewent back to her stool by the fire; and there sat staring at thecurtained window with the look of one gazing into regions unknown. 

That same night, ere the solemn impression should pass, the major tookCorney to his room, and recalling every individual expression he couldof the little prophet-dreamer, executed, not without tears, thecommission intrusted to him. And Corney did not laugh. He listened witha grave, even sad face; and when the major ceased, his eyes were full oftears. 

"I shall not forget Markie's dream, " he said. 

Thus came everything in to help the youth who had begun to mend hisways. 

And shall we think the boy found God not equal to his dream of him? Hemade our dreaming: shall it surpass in its making his mighty self? Shallman dream better than God? or God's love be inferior to man'simagination or his own?

CHAPTER LX. 

A BIRTHDAY GIFT. 

When Mark's little cloak was put in the earth, for a while the housefelt cold--as if the bit of Paradise had gone out. Mark's room was likea temple forsaken of its divinity. But it was not to be drifted up withthe sand of forgetfulness! The major put in a petition that it mightcontinue to be called Mark's, but should be considered the major's: hewould like to put some of his things in it and occupy it when he came!Every one was pleased with the idea. They no longer would feel sopainfully that Mark was not there when his dear majie occupied the room!

To the major it was thenceforth chamber and chapel and monument. Itshould not be a tomb save as upon the fourth day the sepulchre in thegarden! he would fill it with live memories of the risen child! Verydifferent was his purpose from that sickly haunting of the grave inwhich some loving hearts indulge! We are bound to be hopeful, nor wrongour great-hearted father. 

Mark's books and pictures remained undisturbed. The major dusted themwith his own hands. Every day he read in Mark's bible. He never took itaway with him, but always when he returned in whatever part of the biblehe might have read in the meantime, he resumed his reading where he hadleft off in it, The sword the boy used so to admire for its brightnessthat he had placed it unsheathed upon the wall for the firelight to playupon it, he left there, shining still. In Mark's bed the major slept, and to Mark's chamber he went always to shut to the door. In solitudethere he learned a thousand things his busy life had prepared him forlearning. The master had come to him in the child. In him was fulfilleda phase of the promise that whosoever receives a child in the name ofJesus receives Jesus and his father. Through ministering to the child hehad come to know the child's elder brother and master. It was thepresence of the master in the child, that without his knowing it, openedhis heart to him, and he had thus entertained more than an angel. 

Time passed, and their hearts began, not through any healing power intime, but under the holy influences of duty and love and hope, to coverwith flowers their furrows of grief. Hester's birthday was at hand. Themajor went up to London to bring her a present. He was determined tomake the occasion, if he could, a cheerful one. 

He wrote to his cousin Helen asking if he might bring a friend with him. He did not think, he said, his host or hostess knew him, but Hester did:he was a young doctor, and his name was Christopher. He had met himamongst "Hester's friends, " and was much taken with him. He would be agreat acquisition to their party. He had been rather ailing for sometime, and as there was much less sickness now, he had persuaded him totake a little relaxation. 

Hester said for her part she would be most happy to see Mr. Christopher;she had the highest esteem for him; and therewith she told themsomething of his history. Mr. Raymount had known his grandfather alittle in the way of business, and was the more interested in him. 

I may mention here that Corney soon began to show a practical interestin the place--first in the look of it--its order and tidiness, and thenin its yield, beginning to develop a faculty for looking after property. Next he took to measuring the land. Here the major could give him no endof help; and having thus found a point of common interest, they began tobe drawn a little together, and to conceive a mild liking for eachother's company. Corney saw by degrees that the major knew much morethan he; and the major discovered that Corney had some brains. 

Everything was now going on well at Yrndale--thanks to the stormy andsorrowful weather that had of late so troubled its spiritual atmosphere, and killed so many evil worms in its moral soil!

As soon as the distress caused by Corney's offences was soothed byreviving love for the youth and fresh hope in him, Hester informed herparents of the dissolution of her engagement to lord Gartley. The motherwas troubled: it is the girl that suffers evil judgment in such a case, and she knew how the tongue of the world would wag. But those whodespise the ways of the world need not fret that low minds attribute tothem the things of which low minds are capable. The world and itsjudgments will pass: the poisonous tongue will one day become pure, andmake ample apology for its evil speaking. The tongue is a fire, butthere is a stronger fire than the tongue. Her father and the major caredlittle for this aspect of the matter, for they had both come to theconclusion that the public is only a sort of innocent, whose behaviourmay be troublesome or pleasant, but whose opinion is worth considerablyless than that of a wise hound, The world is a fine thing to save, but awretch to worship. Neither did the father care much for lord Gartley, though he had liked him; the major, we know, both despised and detestedhim. 

Hester herself was annoyed to find how soon the idea of his lordshipcame to be altogether a thing of her past, looking there in its naturalplace, a thing to trouble her no more. At his natural distance from her, she could not fail to see what a small creature her imagination, and theself that had mingled with her noblest feelings concerning him, hadchosen as her companion and help in her schemes of good. But she wasable to look on the whole blunder with calmness, and a thankfulness thatkept growing as the sting of her fault lost its burning, lenified in thehumility it brought. 

There was nothing left her now, she said to herself, but the best ofall--a maiden life devoted to the work of her master. She was notwilling any more to run the risk of loosing her power to help the Lord'screatures, down trodden of devils, _well-to-do_ people, and theirown miserable weaknesses and vices. Even remaining constant to duty, shemust, in continuous disappointment and the mockery of a false unity, have lost the health, and worse, the spirits necessary to wholesomecontact and such work as she was fain to do. In constant opposition toher husband, spending the best part of her strength in resistance ere itcould reach the place where it ought to be applied entire, with strifeconsciously destroying her love and keeping her in a hopeless unrest, how could any light have shone from her upon those whose darkness madeher miserable! Now she would hold herself free! What a blessed thing itwas to be her own mistress and the slave of the Lord, externally free!To be the slave of a husband was the worst of all slavery exceptself-slavery!

Nor was there in this her conclusion anything of chagrin, or pettishself-humiliation. St. Paul abstained from marriage that he might thebetter do the work given him by the Lord. For his perilous and laboriouswork it was better, he judged, that he should not be married. It was forthe kingdom of heaven's sake. 

Her spirits soon returned more buoyant than before. Her health wasbetter. She found she had been suffering from an oppression she hadrefused to recognize--already in no small measure yoked, and rightunequally. Only a few weeks passed, and, in the prime of health and thatglorious thing feminine strength, she looked a yet grander woman thanbefore. There was greater freedom in her carriage, and she seemed tohave grown. The humility that comes with the discovery of error had madeher yet more dignified: true dignity comes only of humility. Pride isthe ruin of dignity, for it is a worshipping of self, and that involvesa continuous sinking. Humility, the worship of the Ideal--that is, ofthe man Christ Jesus, is the only lifter-up of the head. 

Everybody felt her more lovable than before. Her mother began to feel anenchantment of peace in her presence. Her father sought her company morethan ever in his walks, and not only talked to her about Corney, buttalked about his own wrong feelings towards him, and how he had beenpunished for them by what they wrought in him. He had begun, he toldher, to learn many things he had supposed he knew he had only thoughtand written and talked about them! Father and daughter were thereforemuch to each other now. Even Corney perceived a change in her. For onething, scarce a shadow of that "superiority" remained which used toirritate him so much, making him rebel against whatever she said. Shebecame more and more Amy's ideal of womanhood, and by degrees she taughther husband to read more justly his beautiful sister. She pointed out tohim how few would have tried to protect and deliver him as she had done;how few would have so generously taken herself, a poor uneducated girl, to a sister's heart. So altogether things were going well in the family:it was bidding fair to be a family forevermore. 

Miss Dasomma came to spend a few days with Hester and help celebrate herbirthday: she was struck with improvement where she would have beenloath to allow it either necessary or possible. Compelled to admit itspresence, she loved her yet more--for the one a fact, the other was anecessity. 

Her birthday was the sweetest of summer days, and she looked a perfectsummer-born woman. She dressed herself in white, but not so much for herown birthday as for Mark's into the heavenly kingdom. 

After breakfast all except the mother went out. Hester was littleinclined to talk, and the major was in a thoughtful, brooding mood. MissDasomma and Mr. Raymount alone conversed. When the rest reached acertain spot whither Mr. Raymount had led them for the sake of the view, Hester had fallen a little behind, and Christopher went back to meether. 

"You are thinking of your brother, " he said, in a tone that made herfeel grateful. 

"Yes, " she answered. 

"I knew by your eyes, " he returned. "I wish I could talk to you abouthim. The right way of getting used to death is to go nearer the dead. Suppose you tell me something about him! Such children are rare! Theyare prophets to whose word we have to listen. "

He went on like this, drawing her from sadness with gentle speech aboutchildren and death, and the look and reality of things; and so theywandered about the moor for a little while before joining the rest. 

Mr. Raymount was much pleased with Christopher, and even Corney foundhimself drawn to his side, feeling, though he did not know it, astrength in him that offered protection. 

The day went on in the simplest, pleasantest intercourse. After lunch, Hester opened her piano, and asked Miss Dasomma, gifted in her art evento the pitch prophetic, to sit down and play---"upon _us_" shesaid. And in truth she did: for what the hammers were to the strings, such were the sounds she drew from them to the human chords stretchedexpectant before her. Vibrating souls responded in the music that isunheard. A rosy conscious silence pervaded the summer afternoon and theancient drawing-room, in which the listeners were one here and onethere, all apart--except Corney and "Mrs. Corney, " as for love of Markshe liked to be called, on a sofa side by side, and Saffy playing with awhite kitten, neither attending to the music, which may have been doingsomething for both notwithstanding. Mr. Raymount sat in a great softchair with a book in his hand, listening more than reading: his wife layon a couch, and soon passed into dreams of pleasant sounds; the majorstood erect by Miss Dasomma, a little behind her, with his arms foldedacross his chest; and Christopher sat on a low window-seat in an oriel, where the balmiest of perfumed airs freely entered. Between him and allthe rest hung the heavy folds of a curtain, which every now and thenswelled out like the sail of Cleopatra's barge "upon the river Cydnus. "

He sat with the tears rolling down his face, for the music to which helistened seemed such as he had only dreamed of before. It was the musicof climes where sorrow is but the memory of that which has been turnedinto joy. He thought no one saw him, and no one would have seen him butfor the traitor wind seeming only to play with the curtain but every nowand then blowing it wide out, as if the sheet of the sail had been letgo, and revealing him to Hester where she sat on a stool beside hermother and held her sleeping hand. It was to her the revelation of aheart, and she saw with reverence. 

Lord Gartley could sing, lord Gartley could play, lord Gartleyunderstood the technicalities of music; Christopher could neither playnor sing--at least anything more than a common psalm-tune to lead thegroans of his poor--and understood nothing of music; but there was inhim a whole sea of musical delight, to be set in motion by theenchantress who knew the spell! Such an enchantress might float in thebark of her own will across the heaving waves of that sea, moon and windof its tides and currents! When the music ceased she saw him go softlyfrom the room. 

After an early dinner, early that they might have room for a walk in thetwilight, the major proposed the health of his cousin Hester, and made alittle speech in her honour and praise. Nor did his praise make Hesterfeel awkward, for praise which is the odour of love neither fevers norsickens. 

"And now, cousin Hester, " concluded the major, "you know that I love youlike a child of my own! It is a good thing you are not, for if you werethen you would not be half so good, or so beautiful, or so wise, or soaccomplished as you are! Will you oblige me by accepting this foolscap, which, I hope, will serve to make this blessed day yet a trifle morepleasant to look back upon when Mark has got his old majie again. Itrepresents a sort of nut, itself too bulky for a railway truck. If myHester choose to call it an empty nut, I don't mind: the good of it toher will be in the filling of it with many kernels. "

With this enigmatical peroration the major made Hester a low bow, andhanded her a sheet of foolscap, twice folded, and tied with a bit ofwhite ribbon. She took it with a sweetly radiant curiosity. It was thetitle-deed of the house in Addison square. She gave a cry of joy, gotup, threw her arms round majie's neck, and kissed him. 

"Aha!" said the major, "if I had been a young man now, I should nothave had that! But I will not be conceited; I know what it is she meansit for: the kiss collective of all the dirty men and women in her dearslums, glorified into that of an angel of God!"

Hester was not a young lady given to weeping, but she did here breakdown and cry. Her long-cherished dream come true! She had no money, butthat did not trouble her: there was always a way of doing when one waswilling to begin small!

This is indeed a divine law! There shall be no success to the man who isnot willing to begin small. Small is strong, for it only can growstrong. Big at the outset is but bloated and weak. There are thousandswilling to do great things for one willing to do a small thing; butthere never was any truly great thing that did not begin small. 

In her delight Hester, having read the endorsement, handed the paper, without opening it, to Christopher, who sat next her, with theunconscious conviction that he would understand the delight it gave her. He took it and, with a look asking if he might, opened it. 

The major had known for some time that Mr. Raymount wanted to sell thehouse, and believed, from the way Hester spent herself in London, hecould not rejoice her better than by purchasing it for her; so, just asit was, with everything as it stood in it, he made it his birthday-giftto her. 

"There is more here than you know, " said Christopher, handing her backthe paper. She opened it and saw something about a thousand pounds, forwhich again she gave joyous and loving thanks. But before the eveningwas over she learned that it was not a thousand pounds the dear majiehad given her, but the thousand a year he had offered her if she wouldgive up lord Gartley. Thus a new paradise of God-labour opened on thedelighted eyes of Hester. 

In the evening, when the sun was down, they went for another walk. Isuspect the major, but am not sure:--anyhow, in the middle of a fir-woodHester found herself alone with Christopher. The wood rose towards themoor, growing thinner and thinner as it ascended. They were climbingwestward full in face of the sunset, which was barred across the treesin gold, blue, rosy pink, and a lovely indescribable green, such as isnot able to live except in the after sunset. The west lay like thebeautiful dead not yet faded into the brown dark of mother-earth. Thefir-trees and bars of sunset made a glorious gate before them. 

"Oh, Hester!" said Christopher--he had been hearing her called_Hester_ on all sides all day long, and it not only came of itself, but stayed unnoticed of either--"if that were the gate of heaven, and weclimbing to it now to go in and see all the dear people!"

"That would be joy!" responded Hester. 

"Come then: let us imagine it a while. There is no harm in dreaming. "

"Sometimes when Mark would tell me one of his dreams, I could not helpthinking, " said Hester, "how much more of reality there was in it thanin most so-called realities. "

Then came a silence. 

"Suppose, " began Christopher again, "one claiming to be a prophetappeared, saying that in the life to come we were to go on living justsuch a life as here, with the one difference that we should be no longerdeluded with the idea of something better; that all our energies wouldthen be, and ought now to be spent in making the best of what wehad--without any foolish indulgence in hope or aspiration:--what wouldyou say to that?"

"I would say, " answered Hester, "he must have had his revelation eitherfrom God, from a demon, or from his own heart: it could not be from God, because it made the idea of a God an impossibility; it must come from ademon or from himself, and in neither case was worth paying attentionto. --I think, " she went on, "my own feeling or imagination must bebetter worth my own heeding than that of another. The essential delightof this world seems to me to lie in the expectation of a better. "

They emerged from the wood, the bare moor spread on all sides beforethem, and lo, the sunset was countless miles away! Hills, fields, rivers, mountains, lay between! Christopher stopped, and turning, lookedat Hester. 

"Is this the reality?" he said. "We catch sight of the gate of heaven, and set out for it. It comes nearer and nearer. All at once a somethingthey call a reality of life comes between, and the shining gate ismillions of miles away! Then cry some of its pilgrims, 'Alas, we arefooled! There is no such thing as the gate of heaven! Let us eat anddrink and do what good we can, for to-morrow we die!' But is there nogate because we find none on the edge of the wood where it seemed tolie? There it is, before us yet, though a long way farther back. Whathas space or time to do with being? Can distance destroy fact? What ifone day the chain of gravity were to break, and, starting from the edgeof the pine wood, we fared or flew farther and farther towards the barsof gold and rose and green! And what if even then we found them recedeand recede as we advanced, until heart was gone out of us, and we couldfollow no longer, but, sitting down on some wayside cloud, fell athinking! Should we not say--Justly are we punished, and our punishmentwas to follow the vain thing we took for heaven-gate! Heaven-gate is toogrand a goal to be reached foot or wing. High above us, it yet opensinside us; and when it opens, down comes the gate of amber and rose, andwe step through both, at once!"

He was silent. They were on the top of the ridge. A little beyond stoodthe dusky group of their companions. And the world lay beneath them. 

"Who would live in London who might live here?" said the major. 

"No one, " answered Hester and Christopher together. 

The major turned and looked at them almost in alarm. 

"But I _may not_, " said Hester. "God chooses that I live inLondon. "

Said Christopher, --

"Christ would surely have liked better to go on living in his father'shouse than go where so many did not know either him or his father! Buthe could not go on enjoying his heaven while those many lived only adeath in life. He must go and start them for home! Who in any measureseeing what Christ sees and feeling as Christ feels, would rest in theenjoyment of beauty while so many are unable to desire it? We are notreal human beings until we are of the same mind with Christ. There aremany who would save the pathetic and interesting and let the ugly andprovoking take care of themselves! Not so Christ, nor those who havelearned of him!"

Christopher spoke so quietly there seemed even a contrast between hismanner and the fervour of his words. 

"I would take as many in with me, " he said, turning to Hester, "as Imight, should it be after a thousand years I went in at the gate of thesunset--the sunrise rather, of which the sunset is a leaf of the foldingdoor! It would be sorrow to go in alone. My people, my own, my ownhumans, my men, my women, my little ones, must go in with me!"

Hester laboured, and Christopher laboured. And if one was the heart andthe other the head, the major was the right hand. But what they did andhow they did it, would require a book, and no small one, to itself. 

It is no matter that here I cannot tell their story. No man ever did thebest work who copied another. Let every man work out the thing that isin him! Who, according to the means he has, great or small, does thework given him to do, stands by the side of the Saviour, is afellow-worker with him. Be a brother after thy own fashion, only see itbe a brother thou art. The one who weighed, is found wanting the most, is the one whose tongue and whose life do not match--who says, "Lord!Lord!" and does not the thing the Lord says; the deacon who finds a goodseat for the man in goodly apparel, and lets the poor widow stand in theaisle unheeded; the preacher who descants on the love of God in thepulpit, and looks out for a rich wife in his flock; the missionary whowould save the heathen, but gives his own soul to merchandize; the womanwho spends her strength for the poor, and makes discord at home.