uc-nrlf 
 
 B 3 327 323 
 
 _ . : £. ■ s\-_ ^ ' 
 
 2. J !.u£JI^^ 
 
 *"* 
 
 Florence 
 
 TCOMERY 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 In crown 8vo. in uniform cloth binding, elegant. 
 
 THROWN TOGETHER. 6s. 
 MISUNDERSTOOD. 5s. 
 THWARTED. 5s. 
 THE TOWN CRIER. 5s. 
 
 Also, the ILLUSTKATED EDITION of 
 
 MISUNDERSTOOD, 
 
 With 8 full-page Illustrations by George du Mauri er. 
 In fcp. 4to. 7s. 6d. 
 
 To be obtained of all Booksellers. 
 
WILT) MIKE 
 
LONDON : miNTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STEEET SQOASB 
 
 AND PARLIAMENT STUEET 
 
! 
 
 A, 
 
 WILD MIKE 
 
 AND HIS VICTIM 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF 'MISUNDERSTOOD' 
 
 LONDON 
 KICHARD BENTLEY AND SON 
 
 NEW BTJKLINGTON STREET 
 $JttbIisbcrs in Orbinarn ia ^)rr Iftajcstg 
 
 1875 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
Pnf\ 
 Mr 
 
 TO 
 
 HAEVIE FARQUHAR, ESQ. 
 
 TREASURER OF THE VICTORIA HOSPITAL FOR SICK CHILDREN 
 GOUGH HOUSE, CHELSEA 
 
 THE FOLLOWING STOEY 
 
 is 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 212 
 
PEEP ACE. 
 
 The following story is not a continuation of 
 
 the 'Town Crier Series,' nor is it intended 
 
 for children. 
 
 F. Q 
 
 August, 1875. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. Listening for a Step upon the Stair 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 II. "When Night is Darkest Dawn is Nearest 
 
 15 
 
 III. The Beautiful Vision at Tim's Bedside 
 
 25 
 
 IV. Victoria Hospital 
 
 41 
 
 V. Realised Joys, and Dreams Come True at 
 Last 
 
 49 
 
 PART IT. 
 
 VI. A Winter's Night in Kensington Gardens 
 
 VII. The Question which finds no Answer 
 
 VIII. The Beautiful Vision again 
 
 IX. The Old, Old Story 
 
 X. Working in the Dark 
 
 XI. At Last ! 
 
 XII. For her Sake . 
 
 Conclusion. 
 
 65 
 75 
 91 
 103 
 115 
 123 
 131 
 
PART I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 LISTENING FOR A STEP UPON THE STAIR 
 
 r. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 All through the long winter of 1874-5 has 
 little Tim Collins been laid up in an attic of 
 one of the crowded houses in the poorer parts 
 of Brompton. 
 
 Such a long winter it has been ! Never, the 
 doctors tell us, has there been so much illness 
 about. 
 
 Never, within our own memory, has the 
 list of deaths in the Times been so loner. 
 
 Wonderful the havoc that has been made 
 among the very old and the very young. 
 
 And if it has been like this with the rich, 
 what must have it have been with the poor? 
 Especially with the children. 
 
4 LISTENING FOR A STEP 
 
 In the warm, luxurious nurseries of the 
 rich it has been difficult enough to keep out 
 the cold draughts of air that would find their 
 way in everywhere. 
 
 Every sort of device that ingenuity could 
 contrive to keep out the bitter wind has been 
 tried and failed. 
 
 Sand-bags, cotton-wool, list, curtains over 
 the doors ; one and all have been insufficient. 
 
 Yet, with all this care, and in spite of being- 
 kept in-doors day after day, the children have 
 cauovht cold, and some have been in bed and 
 had the doctor. 
 
 Then what pains and attention have been 
 bestowed upon them ! What toys their fathers 
 have brought home to them to prevent their 
 being dull ! 
 
 How their mothers have sat by their bed- 
 sides day after day, reading them fairy-tales, 
 telling them stories, and showing them pictures. 
 Their nurses have dressed dolls and made 
 
UPON THE STAIR. 5 
 
 paper-boats all day long, and been up and 
 down half-a-dozen times in the night to give 
 them lozenges or make them orange-ade. 
 
 It has been like this with the sick children 
 of the rich, but how has it been with the sick 
 children of the poor ? 
 
 This is the question little Tim shall answer ; 
 this is the story I am going to tell. 
 
 He knows, and he shall tell you what it is 
 to be ill in that noisy, crowded garret, which 
 he and his mother share with a drunken Irish- 
 woman and her family of five wild, rough 
 children. 
 
 We will lift the veil which in this great 
 metropolis hangs between us and our poor 
 neighbours, and hides from our view what is 
 going on so near. 
 
 And behind it we shall see the sick child 
 lying, as he lies day after day. 
 
 His father is dead, and his mother cannot 
 stay with him to take care of him ; for on her 
 
6 LISTENING FOR A STEP 
 
 earnings all depends. From morning till night 
 she is away at the steam-laundry, toiling to 
 make enough to keep herself alive, and to 
 provide for her sick hoy a few of the many 
 things of which he stands so sorely in need. 
 
 So all day long he lies there, quiet and 
 lonely ; too weak to move, too patient to com- 
 plain, and too brave to cry. 
 
 Quiet and lonely did I say ? 
 
 Yes ; lonely always, but quiet only some- 
 times. For there are times in the day when 
 the Irish children rush in from school, and 
 their mother returns from her charing. Then 
 the babies cry, the big ones quarrel, and the 
 mother scolds at the top of her voice. 
 
 Through and through his aching head goes 
 the noise and the babel, and he is glad to get 
 under the bed-clothes and to cover up his 
 ears to escape from it. 
 
 Poor little Tim is much in awe of the big, 
 rough woman. She is violent- tempered and 
 
UPON THE STAIR. 7 
 
 seldom sober, and her way of treating her own 
 children often makes him tremble at her 
 approach. 
 
 But he is more in awe of the children still \ 
 or, rather, of one of them — the eldest, a big, 
 tawny-haired boy who goes by the name of 
 Wild Mike. 
 
 No one can manage Wild Mike. His 
 mother's hard words and harder blows have 
 no effect upon him. He is the terror of all 
 the children in the street; a born bully, 
 reckless and cruel. 
 
 In Tim's healthy days Wild Mike was 
 always his tormentor ; now that he is ill he is 
 completely in the cruel boy's power. Mike 
 waits till Tim is alone, and then takes from the 
 terrified child his biscuits, his lozenges, the 
 orange he has to suck when he is thirsty, and 
 makes off before anyone can come. 
 
 Ah! little does Tim's mother dream, as 
 she toils away at the laundry, of all her sick 
 
8 LISTENING FOR A STEP 
 
 child suffers at the hands of that cruel, rough 
 boy. Little does she dream that the hardly- 
 procured luxuries which she has placed so 
 carefully by her boy's side before she left him, 
 the worsted shawl she has spread so tenderly 
 over him, are removed the moment her back 
 is turned. She strides along, in the teeth of 
 the east wind, rejoicing that she has deprived 
 herself of that shawl — for at least her child is 
 warm though she is cold — little dreaming that 
 it is tied round Wild Mike's throat. And she 
 will never find it out ; for Mike, a coward at 
 heart, like all bullies, will put it back exactly 
 where he found it, before there is a chance of 
 her return ; and he has stood over little Tim, 
 and threatened him with all the dreadful 
 things that he will do to him the next time 
 he catches him alone, if he dares to tell 
 her. 
 
 They were a wild, bad set of people amidst 
 whom Tim and his mother dwelt ; and only 
 
UPON THE STAIR. 9 
 
 the direst necessity would have compelled her 
 to live among them. 
 
 She had been trying to get another habita- 
 tion just before the beginning of Tim's illness : 
 but his having fallen ill so suddenly had pre- 
 vented her carrying out her intentions. 
 
 So his sufferings have been sadly and need- 
 lessly aggravated by the cruel treatment he has 
 all the time received, and of which his mother 
 knows nothing. 
 
 But Wild Mike's visits to his bedside are 
 only periodical, like the presence of the mother 
 and the rest. For the most part of the day 
 Tim is quite alone ; and if it were not that 
 the room is warmer when they are all there 
 he would rather be so. For when they are 
 all out, and the room is empty, no tongue 
 can describe how he suffers from the cold. 
 The door is always left open by the last child 
 who goes out of the room, and the window is 
 broken. There are cold draughts rushing in 
 
io LISTENING FOR A STEP 
 
 everywhere. Tim is never really warm till his 
 mother returns at night, shuts up the door, 
 stuffs up the window, and gets into bed with him. 
 
 How he longs for her return ! How he 
 thinks of it, dreams of it, patiently waits for 
 it! 
 
 Such a safe, protected feeling comes over 
 him in her presence ; such joy at feeling her 
 so near ! 
 
 The thought of that home-coming is what 
 keeps him happy : is the one bright spot in the 
 darkness of his day. 
 
 What a life for a child to lead ! Cold, sick, 
 and very lonely. Not a toy nor a picture-book 
 to beguile him. 
 
 Nothing to amuse him all the long, weary 
 day. 
 
 Nothing to distract him from his pain. 
 
 Nothing to think of but how his head 
 swims and his bones ache and his cough tears 
 him to pieces. 
 
UPON THE STAIR. II 
 
 Nothing to do but to lie and wonder how 
 soon the day will be over and his mother 
 return to him again. 
 
 To lie there watching for her coming, and 
 counting the minutes as they slowly pass by. 
 Listening, listening ever for the sound of her 
 step upon the stairs. 
 
 Waiting and wearying for her footfall long 
 before there is a chance it can be heard. 
 
 Almost as soon as her parting kiss is given, 
 and ere the echo of her receding footstep has 
 quite died away, he begins to listen. Hark I 
 that footstep ! is it coming ? Will it climb the 
 stair ? 
 
 Steps on the stair there are many, coming 
 and going, all day long. 
 
 Steps so many and so various that only 
 the ear of love could distinguish one among 
 them all. 
 
 Bough steps, hurried steps, unsteady steps, 
 steps faltering and slow ; steps worn and weary 
 
12 LISTENING FOR A STEP 
 
 with the burden of life they have to carry, 
 belonging to hearts more worn and weary still. 
 Tramp, tramp, their confused and varied tread- 
 ing sounds in his ears all day long. 
 
 Tramp, tramp, yet ever seeks he to distin- 
 guish the one he loves, the one he knows 
 so well. 
 
 Sometimes their familiar sounding soothes 
 him into sleep at last. Towards evening, 
 snatches of oblivion beguile the weary time. 
 
 And then bright dreams and fancies scare 
 all his pain away. 
 
 Come with me now this evening, and for a 
 moment look upon the child. 
 
 See how he lies there, dreaming, pain and 
 sorrow cheated of their power. 
 
 He is dreaming of a toy-shop window, and 
 a lighted Christmas-tree. 
 
 In his dream he sees a little figure (which is 
 himself) leaning against the window, and wist- 
 fully gazing in. 
 
UPON THE STAIR. j 3 . 
 
 Clearly before him are rising the joys that 
 have never been his. 
 
 Armies of red tin soldiers are passing before 
 him now ! 
 
 Heaven be thanked for that Heaven-sent 
 dreaming, brief and broken though it be ! 
 
 For tramp, tramp, soon sounds through his. 
 uneasy slumber, and he is roused from his- 
 happy dream. 
 
 To wake in the foggy twilight, deepening; 
 into darkness again. 
 
 Poor child ! bereft of his fancies, fresh from 
 a dream of joy ; does sorrow come down upon 
 his spirit as the darkness comes down into the 
 room ? No ! 
 
 For now that it is dark she will be coming ! 
 Her step will be heard very soon ! 
 
 Hark ! up the stair ascending, it is coming, 
 at last, at last ! . . . 
 
 Someone stands upon the threshold, some- 
 one advances to the bed. 
 
14 LISTENING FOR A STEP. 
 
 The sight lie has wearied and longed for, 
 is before him now. See how his eyes are 
 glowing ! How radiant his wan, weak smile ! 
 
 Oh ! Sight to the child so glorious ! What is 
 there in thee which we cannot see ? 
 
 To eyes by love illumined is vouchsafed 
 a vision to which ours are quite, quite blind. 
 
 We judge of its power and of its beauty 
 only by its effect on him. 
 
 For he sees what makes his heart beat 
 loudly, and irradiates his countenance with a 
 gleam of joy. 
 
 And we see nothing but a faded woman, 
 with the stamp of care upon her weary brow. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 WHEN NIGHT IS DARKEST DAWN 
 IS NEAREST 
 
17 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Tim never tells his mother of his troubles. 
 Perhaps he fears to, for she is strong and 
 vigorous, and her maternal instincts are strong 
 and vigorous too. 
 
 If the lioness in her were roused, Wild 
 Mike's fate would be a rough one ; and there 
 have, at times, been passages between the two,, 
 which the sick child would be sorry to see re- 
 peated. 
 
 Or it may be that, in the joy of her return 
 to him, the memory of his troubles flees away. 
 
 There are other things of which he does 
 not tell her, because it would grieve her so. 
 He never tells her how hard he tries to wake 
 
 c 
 
18 WHEN NIGHT IS DARKEST 
 
 her at night, when she is sleeping by his side, 
 and how his poor little voice is unheeded. 
 
 For he has nights of horror, and dreams in 
 which the fears of the day return with terror 
 tenfold. 
 
 And when he wakes in the thick darkness, 
 trembling and panic-stricken, he longs for the 
 sound of her voice. 
 
 Often his terrified cry is heard in the night : 
 c Mother ! wake up and speak to me. Wake 
 up and give me your hand.' 
 
 But, young and very wearied, she sleeps 
 heavily and sound. His piteous voice does not 
 reach her, and she answers him not a word. 
 
 The Irishwoman, more wakeful, calls out 
 to him harshly to hold his tongue, and go to 
 sleep ; and at the sound his heart beats louder, 
 and he cowers closer to his mother's side. 
 
 But still, in spite of its terrors, the night 
 passes only too quickly. He grieves when it 
 is over and the fo™y day begins. 
 
DA WN IS NEA REST. 19 
 
 For then she must rise and leave him — 
 leave him to his lonely clay. 
 
 We need not linger on this part of his his- 
 tory, week after week going by the same. Pass 
 we on to a day yet darker, but the darkest 
 before the dawn. 
 
 It was at abont three o'clock one afternoon 
 at the end of February that a thick yellow fog- 
 came quite suddenly on. The Irish children 
 and their mother got home safely, though with 
 difficulty, and very late. 
 
 But, alas ! for poor little Tim ! He waited 
 and wearied for a footstep that never came at 
 all. 
 
 The night fell, and his mother had not re- 
 turned. 
 
 Other people in the house began at last to 
 wonder, and to get uneasy as to what could 
 have befallen her. 
 
 By-and-by news came from below — news, 
 in its meaning to the child, of a length and 
 
 c 2 
 
2 o WHEN NIGHT IS DARKEST 
 
 breadth of woe immeasurable, embodied in one 
 short sentence : — 
 
 6 Knocked down by a cart in the fog, and 
 carried to St. George's Hospital.' 
 
 Let us drop the curtain we have lifted, over 
 the days that followed, and hide the despair of 
 the child. Why should we paint his desolation 
 when each one can imagine it so well ? 
 
 Daily he drooped ; and the little strength 
 he had, slowly ebbed away. 
 
 Some of the women from below came in 
 and out, and did what they could for him. 
 
 But they felt it would be of no avail. 
 
 His frail little body grew weaker, for his 
 spirit was broken. 
 
 4 He has no heart,' they said, ' to get well.' 
 
 The doctor was sent for at last, who came 
 and looked at him, and listened to his cough, 
 and shook his head. 
 
DA I VN IS NEA RES T. 2 1 
 
 Iii another place, lie said, and under other 
 circumstances, the child might get well ; but as 
 it was ! . . . 
 
 As it was, he drew the coverings closer 
 round him, gave him an orange and some 
 lozenges to suck when his cough was ' trouble- 
 some,' and said that was all he could do for 
 him. 
 
 The real remedies were beyond his power to 
 
 prescribe. 
 
 Pure air and sunlight, a properly ventilated 
 apartment, quiet, warmth, and cleanliness ; care, 
 attention, and strengthening food; the touch of 
 skilful hands, the sound of kind voices ; an 
 atmosphere of gentleness, kindness, and regu- 
 larity : such were the aids that alone could 
 restore the child. 
 
 In default of these, he gave him, as we have 
 already said, an orange and some lozenges, and 
 went his way. The women, who had collected 
 to hear the doctor's verdict, stood round the 
 
22 WHEN NIGHT IS DARKEST % 
 
 bed, talking freely, giving it as their opinion 
 that it would be better he should die, and that 
 it 4 wouldn't be long first.' That if his mother 
 died in the hospital, or was a cripple all her 
 life, the child would be much better gone ; for 
 what was to become of him if he lived ? 
 Then they went away too. 
 Tim is alone again — alone with his weak- 
 ness and his pain. 
 
 In mortal terror too ; for Wild Mike will 
 return directly, now that the doctor's visit is 
 over, to see if he has left anything good 
 behind . 
 
 Tim, with his heart beating wildly, is listen- 
 ing for his noisy step upon the stair. He has 
 got his orange under his pillow, and his box of 
 lozenges squeezed up tight in his left hand; 
 but he knows he has no chance of retaining 
 either if Mike is determined to take them 
 away. 
 
 But some minutes elapse, and no Mike 
 
DA IVN IS NEAREST. 23 
 
 appears ; so, his fear having temporarily sub- 
 sided, he begins to think of what he heard the 
 women say. 
 
 He knows what they meant very well. 
 
 Death, in the homes of the poor, is a very 
 familiar subject. 
 
 Yes, he knows what it means very well. 
 
 His father, so his mother had often told 
 him, had been fetched away by the angels. 
 
 They came down one summer evening and 
 carried him away. 
 
 Will they come and fetch him too ? 
 
 Hark ! a step upon the staircase, coming up 
 the stair. 
 
 Soft and slow is the footstep, and a rustling 
 softer still. 
 
 The rustling ceases on the threshold. A 
 silence follows, for the footsteps pause for a 
 minute ere they gently sound in the room. 
 
 And now T the rustling is close at hand. 
 
 Something is bending over him — something 
 
24 WHEN NIGHT IS DARKEST, &?c. 
 
 is touching his hair — and he opens his eyes 
 with a smile. 
 
 His thoughts are all of the angels, and he 
 thinks the angel who came to fetch his father 
 must be come to fetch him now. 
 
 So, when his glance rests upon the fair face 
 looking down upon him ; when his eye travels 
 on to the soft hair circling round her brow ; 
 when his starved heart drinks in the sorrowing 
 pity that is shining in the blue eyes that are 
 gazing so tenderly at him, he feels no fear, no 
 surprise. 
 
 He only holds out his wasted arms and 
 whispers : ' Are you God's angel, and have you 
 come to take me away ? ' 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 THE BEAUTIFUL VISION AT TIM'S BEDSIDE 
 
27 
 
 CHAPTER 111. 
 
 His visitor — a beautiful lady who has coine 
 straight from his mother's' bedside in St. 
 George's Hospital to satisfy that poor mother's 
 longing to know how her boy is faring — gently 
 shakes her head ; and, kneeling beside him, 
 she whispers such a message from that mother, 
 that his sad eyes faintly sparkle, and then 
 fill with tears of joy. 
 
 For he hears that she is alive and well ; 
 that she sends him her love and her blessing ; 
 and that she hopes at some time, not too far 
 distant, to return to him again. That she longs 
 to know if he is better, and thinks of him by 
 night and by day. 
 
28 THE BEAUTIFUL VISION 
 
 Having delivered her message, the lady 
 rises. 
 
 Gazing long at him, and then all round 
 the wretched place in which she finds him, she 
 is wondering what her answer is to be ! Better ? 
 he is not better, and under his present cir- 
 cumstances she feels that better he will never 
 be. 
 
 For the air is heavy and foul, the bed is 
 uneasy, he is shivering with the cold from 
 which his coverings are too scant to protect 
 him ; he appears to have no food and no 
 medicine ; and he is all alone ! 
 
 Standing by him without speaking, she is 
 revolving a plan for his deliverance in her 
 head, and wondering how quickly she will be 
 able to carry it out, for she feels there is no 
 time to lose. 
 
 6 1 am not an angel,' she said at last, softly, 
 ' but still I will carry you away.' 
 
 ' What, then,' he whispered wistfully — so 
 
AT TIM'S BEDSIDE. 29 
 
 taken up with his idea that he hardly heard 
 the last words of her sentence — ' are yon,' he 
 added, j list touching with his little wasted hand 
 the soft fur and velvet of which her dress was 
 composed, ' the Queen ? ' 
 
 ' No,' she said, smiling. ' I am a woman 
 who loves little children, that's all.' 
 
 He slightly shook his head. 
 
 6 You're never a woman,' he said. ; I know 
 better than that.' 
 
 'Why not? ' she questioned. 
 
 ' Women don't never wear the like of this,' 
 he answered, his hand still straying over the 
 velvet and fur. 
 
 6 Well, a lady, perhaps ! ' 
 
 ' Ah ! that's more like,' he said, ' but a very 
 grand lady, ain't you ? A kind of a princess, 
 like, or something of that.' 
 
 1 Have you never seen a lady before ? ' she 
 enquired, without directly replying to his 
 question. 
 
30 THE BEAUTIFUL VISION 
 
 4 Never so close,' lie answered. * I've seed 
 'em, don't yon know, in their carriages, or 
 getting out at the shops, but never so as I could 
 touch 'em.' 
 
 And with a pleased look lie played again 
 with the velvet and fur. 
 
 ' But it ain't only the clothes,' he added, in 
 a whisper, ' it's it's ' 
 
 'It's what?' she asked, looking down upon 
 him with a smile. 
 
 He gazed up at her, but did not answer. 
 
 He could not express it, but he knew in 
 himself that the being before him was as 
 different in every way to the women he was 
 accustomed to, as were her garments to those 
 he was accustomed to see worn. 
 
 Her lovely colouring, her soft eyes, her 
 general appearance, the harmony of the details 
 of her dress ; all this combined made a fair 
 picture to him, and begat in him a faint idea 
 of inward goodness as expressed by ex- 
 ternal beauty. 
 
AT TIM'S BEDSIDE. 31 
 
 For if the outward covering were so 
 fair what must the inward grace and glory 
 be! 
 
 4 Why do you come here ? ' he said, sud- 
 denly, as if it jarred upon him to see. her in 
 such a place. 
 
 ' I came,' she said, < to give you the mes- 
 sage from your mother, and to see for myself 
 how you were.' 
 
 ' But why ? ' he persisted. 
 
 ' Why ? ' she repeated, puzzled. 
 
 4 I mean,' he said, ' you are such a grand, 
 smart lady, and mother says they don't care 
 for us poor.' 
 
 'Who does she say they care for?' she 
 enquired. 
 
 6 Only their own selves,' w r as the reply. 
 
 She looked grieved at his words. She felt 
 so sorry the mother should inculcate such a 
 doctrine, and still more so that she should 
 believe in it herself. 
 
3 2 THE BEAUTIFUL VISION 
 
 But it is the inevitable result to those 
 who only see the rich in the distance. Say 
 what we will, the fact remains, that to the poor, 
 the sight of the rich in their luxury, in sharp 
 contrast to their own want, must ever create in 
 their minds an idea of selfishness, and breed 
 in their hearts bitter feelings of envy and 
 dislike. 
 
 But once let the rich draw near to the 
 poor, once let the poor believe in the human 
 tenderness and sympathy of the rich, the first 
 impression will be lost, the common ties of 
 our common humanity will draw class to class, 
 and envy and dislike will flee away. 
 
 But the rich must draw very near; near 
 as Tim's beautiful visitor has been to the bed- 
 side of his mother in the hospita 1 , near as 
 she is standing by his wretched bedside now. 
 
 The lady's thoughts reverted to the grateful 
 look on the poor woman's face as she had 
 that day seen it, and her brow cleared. 
 
AT TIM'S BEDSIDE. 33 
 
 She took little Tim's hand in hers. 
 
 6 Dear child,' she whispered, ' your mother 
 will not say so now.' 
 
 ' What is the matter ? ' she added hastily, 
 or she felt his grasp on her tighten, and a look 
 of terror overspread his face. 
 
 She looked all round the room, and, seeing 
 no cause for fear, she asked him what it was he 
 was afraid of. 
 
 His look of terror did not abate ; he held 
 her tighter, and whispered ' Wild Mike.' 
 
 ' A dog ? ' she questioned. 
 
 ' Oh, no.' 
 
 ' A man, then ? ' 
 
 4 Oh, no.' 
 
 ' A boy, perhaps ? ' 
 
 He held her tighter than ever : he nod- 
 ded his head. 
 
 1 What does he do to frighten you so ? ' 
 
 ' I mustn't tell. I don't dare tell.' 
 
 'Why not?' 
 
 D 
 
34 THE BEAUTIFUL VISION 
 
 ' I don't know what he won't do to me, if I 
 tell.' 
 
 c No one shall hurt you while I am here,' 
 she said, soothingly, ' so tell me all about it.' 
 
 c Ah ! but when he catches me alone,' gasped 
 little Tim. 
 
 6 What ? ' she said quickly. 
 
 ' I think he'll kill me,' whispered Tim. 
 
 A look of indignation shot out of her blue 
 eyes ; her colour came and went for a moment ; 
 but she only said, ' Don't be afraid. Trust me, he 
 shall not touch you. Now tell me all about it.' 
 
 Whether it was the quiet of the room, or the 
 soothing sense of human kindness and human 
 protection ; or whether it was an undefined trust 
 in the power of anything so beautiful, that em- 
 boldened little Tim to tell of his long-hidden 
 troubles, I do not know. But he allowed the 
 sad story to be drawn from him, and almost 
 before he was aware of it, he had told it all. 
 
 ■ But don't beat him for it,' he implored, 
 
AT TIM'S BEDSIDE. 35 
 
 when lie had finished. ' I couldn't bear to have 
 Mm beat.' 
 
 The lady gave the required promise with a 
 sad smile ; and hardly had she done so, than 
 Tim turned ashy white, and, clinging to her con- 
 vulsively, he whispered : ' He is coming ! Here 
 he is ! ' 
 
 Gently disengaging herself from his grasp, 
 she rose from her seat, and turned round to con- 
 front the intruder. 
 
 Wild Mike was advancing into the room, 
 with an expression of greedy satisfaction in his 
 •eyes, and his whole air that of the bully intent 
 upon his prey. 
 
 ' Now, then ! ' he said, in his loud, rough 
 
 tones, ' now, then ! where's the ' 
 
 He started back, as he came face to face with 
 Tim's beautiful visitor. 
 
 There is a scene in ' Faust ' where the si<m 
 of the cross is held up before the Wicked One, 
 •and at the sight of it a complete change comes 
 
 d2 
 
36 THE BEAUTIFUL VISION 
 
 over his whole appearance. Triumphant in 
 wickedness before, he suddenly quails and 
 cringes. He shrinks away from it ; he cowers- 
 before it ; he does all he can to escape from it ;. 
 his attitude all the time expressing the most 
 abject terror and the deepest humiliation. 
 
 The symbol of truth and holiness seems to- 
 overwhelm him with the sense of his own vile- 
 ness, and to reveal to him the blackness of his 
 own darkness, by contrast with the thought of 
 Christ's marvellous light ! 
 
 Just so did the whole aspect of the boy- 
 bully change at the sight of the fair woman 
 standing by the bedside of his victim, with her 
 steadfast eyes fixed full upon him. 
 
 Astonishment, awe, fear, mingled with some- 
 thing of reverence and admiration, by turns- 
 were painted on his face. 
 
 She stood confronting him ; her blue eyes,, 
 still shining with the tears the story of his 
 cruelty had brought into them ; fixed sadly and 
 reproachfully upon him. 
 
AT TIM'S BEDSIDE. 37 
 
 And as the devil felt his own vileness at the 
 sight of the cross, so did this wicked boy awake 
 to a sense of his own wickedness in the presence 
 •of this beautiful woman. 
 
 Wherever he looked, her gaze followed him ; 
 turn where he would, he could not get away 
 from it. 
 
 He seemed as if he would have given worlds 
 to escape, and yet was rooted to the spot. 
 
 And, standing there, spell-bound, many and 
 varied feelings rushed through his mind. 
 
 Her presence in that unclean garret filled 
 him with wonder. 
 
 She looked like a being of another sphere 
 amid those filthy and wretched surroundings. 
 
 Her general appearance told him of a har- 
 mony and of a spotlessncss of which he knew 
 nothing. 
 
 In contrast with her external fairness, he 
 felt his own outward unsightliness ; in con- 
 trast with her inward purity, he felt his own 
 inward corruption. 
 
3 8 THE BEAUTIFUL VISION 
 
 And there dawned for the first time on the- 
 darkness of his mind a faint conception of a 
 higher state of being, and of another and a 
 purer world. 
 
 But above the wonder and the admiration 
 was a sense of fear unspeakable ; for her look 
 told him she knew all — told him that the tale 
 of his long course of oppression had been un- 
 folded to her ; told him also with what feelings 
 she viewed his conduct. 
 
 Her brilliancy and her wealth told him of 
 power, and the sense of her power terrified 
 him. 
 
 It told him that his defenceless prey was no 
 longer defenceless, but had found a rich and 
 powerful protector; and, judging from his own 
 corrupt point of view — he judged how she would 
 use that power. Knowing how he used power 
 himself, he judged that the hour of vengeance 
 was at hand, and that Tim and his protector, 
 leagued together, would reap a terrible retribu- 
 tion on his head. 
 
A T TIM'S BEDSIDE. 39 
 
 And as the thought burst upon him, his 
 cowardly heart failed him, and he turned and 
 fled. 
 
 The lady remained gazing thoughtfully at 
 the spot where he had disappeared, listening to 
 the sound of his steps upon the staircase, in 
 rapid and terrified descent. 
 
 Then she turned and knelt by Tim's bed- 
 side. 
 
 But the fear and the suspense had been too 
 much for the frail little fellow, and he had 
 fainted away. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 VICTORIA HOSPITAL 
 
43 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Tim never afterwards very clearly remembered 
 what followed. 
 
 He had dim recollections of things that 
 might have been dreams or might not ; of the 
 sensation of being lifted and carried in some- 
 body's arms, of rumbling over stones in some 
 sort of conveyance, of stopping, of being lifted 
 and carried again, of being laid down gently, 
 of the sound of voices, of the touch of kind 
 hands ; but it was all very dreamy and indis- 
 tinct. His next clear recollection was his own 
 surprise at waking up from a sound sleep and 
 a dream of red tin soldiers, and finding he had 
 got a little red jacket on. 
 
44 VICTORIA HOSPITAL. 
 
 Was lie still dreaming, or had he turned 
 into a tin soldier in the night ? The idea 
 made him laugh, but it was such a very weak 
 little laugh that lie hardly caught the sound of 
 it himself. 
 
 What could have happened ? and where 
 could he be ? 
 
 That he was not in his wretched little bed 
 in the cold garret he was quite sure, for he felt 
 so warm and snug. His bed was easy and com- 
 fortable, his pillow was soft ; there w^ere no cold 
 draughts, it was quite light, and the sloping roof, 
 which generally came down so close over his 
 bed that he could touch it with his hand, was 
 gone. Glancing his eye upwards he could see 
 the ceiling right up in the air, oh ! so far 
 away. 
 
 He lay still a little while, thinking. 
 
 Connecting his present happy circumstances 
 with his angelic visitor, he thought, perhaps, he 
 was in heaven, and that after all she ivas an 
 
VICTORIA HOSPITAL. 45 
 
 angel and had carried him away. He put his 
 hand behind him to see if he had got wings, 
 but could feel nothing but a flannel jacket and 
 his own very sharp little bones. 
 
 So then lie felt sure he was mistaken. Be- 
 sides, had she not distinctly told him she was 
 not an angel, but only a lady who loved little 
 sick children like him ? 
 
 Before, however, he could think it out, one 
 of his terrible fits of coughing came on. 
 
 Somebody came and raised him very gently 
 while he coughed, and when the fit was over 
 gave him something very pleasant to drink, and 
 gently laid him down again. 
 
 He was very much puzzled. 
 
 There seemed in this wonderful place to be 
 people at hand to guess what he wanted, and 
 to oive it to him clirectlv. 
 
 So quietly, too. There was no noise or 
 bustle, and they touched him and moved him so 
 that it did not hurt him or bother him the least. 
 
46 VICTORIA HOSPITAL. 
 
 What could it mean? A dream? Oh, 
 yes ! a dream, of course. Presently he should 
 wake up again and find himself in all his 
 wretchedness at home. 
 
 But by-and-by he was gently raised again 
 and some hot broth given him. 
 
 This was no dream, for he could taste it 
 quite well. 
 
 After he had drunk as much as he 
 wanted he was laid down again. Kind hands 
 smoothed his hair away from his brow and 
 tucked him up comfortably. Something very 
 soft and warm was put to his feet, and he 
 fell asleep. 
 
 When he awoke it was getting dark, and 
 his heart failed him. 
 
 The lon^, dark night was coming, the night 
 
 G 7 O o' o 
 
 that he dreaded so ! 
 
 lie slept again, for he was very weary, but 
 his fears followed him. 
 
 He dreamt he was back again in the 
 crowded garret. Harsh voices and noisy foot- 
 
VICTORIA HOSPITAL. 47 
 
 steps sounded in his ear, and close by his side 
 was the form of Wild Mike, with flaming eyes 
 •and threatening gestures, asking him how he 
 dared tell the lady all he had told. 
 
 And he cried out in his fear, and started up 
 in bed, and woke with a beating heart, with 
 the horror of his dream upon him, and a vet 
 greater horror of waking in the black darkness, 
 and finding himself alone. 
 
 He opened his eyes to find a soft light 
 burning in the room, shedding its rays on the 
 watchful form of a woman, sitting at a table 
 near; and at the sound of his cry she was at his 
 side in a moment, and she soothed him with 
 kind words, and told him his dream was no- 
 thing, and that he had no one to fear. 
 
 And she gave him something to drink, and 
 laid him down again, and told him she would 
 sit by his side and take care of him. 
 
 ' There are no Wild Mikes here,' she said, 
 for he kept on piteously entreating her to keep 
 Wild Mike away. 
 
4 S VICTORIA HOSPITAL. 
 
 So, with his eyes fixed trustfully upon her,, 
 and with a sense of peace in her protection to 
 which he had long been a stranger, he grew 
 quiet again. He slept on and off, Wild Mike's 
 form visiting him every now and then ; but 
 whenever he woke he found the light still 
 burning, and his protector still there. 
 
 All through the night she sat and watched,, 
 and was ever at hand to tell him his dreams 
 were nothing; and that he had no one to fear. 
 
 Towards morning he slept soundly, and 
 dreamt no more. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 REALIZED JOYS, AND DREAMS COME 
 TRUE AT LAST 
 
CHAPTEE V. 
 
 Whex he awoke it was broad, daylight, and 
 the sound of childish voices and childish laughter 
 was sounding in the room. 
 
 He raised himself and gazed round with 
 wonder and delight. For all round the room 
 were ranged little beds like his ; and on each 
 little bed was a scarlet coverlet, and in each little 
 bed was a little sick child, with a little red 
 jacket on. 
 
 They seemed to him like those red tin sol- 
 diers, on which his thoughts so often ran. 
 
 Some were sitting up, and some were lying 
 down. 
 
 Two women were standing at a table in the 
 e2 
 
5 2 REALISED JOYS, 
 
 middle of the room, cutting slices of bread and 
 butter and pouring out cups of milk and water 
 and tea. 
 
 He lay back again, and wondered if lie were 
 going to have any or not. 
 
 He was not kept long in doubt. A little 
 board was put across his crib ; a cup of milk and 
 water and some bread and butter were placed 
 upon it ; he was gently raised, and the cup held 
 to his lips. He was then given a slice of bread 
 and butter, and told he might eat it or not, as 
 he felt inclined. 
 
 He felt very much inclined. 
 
 It was so white and so thin and so good. 
 He was a long while eating and thinking, and, 
 perhaps, dozing a little ; for when he raised him- 
 self again to peep through the bars of his crib,, 
 all the other children had done breakfast. Some 
 were sitting up in bed, playing with toys, or 
 looking at picture-books. One or two were 
 sitting in little chairs by the fire, and two or 
 
AND DREAMS COME TRUE AT LAST. 53 
 
 three more were dressed, and were standing by 
 the bedsides of the others, helping them to play. 
 
 This time Tim caught the eye of one of the 
 young women, and she advanced to his side. 
 
 But she was not his friend of the night, and 
 his expression must have shown her he was 
 puzzled ; for she explained to him that the night 
 nurse had gone away to rest, and that she herseK 
 was one of the day nurses. 
 
 ' But tell me what you were going to ask 
 her?' she said. w Is there anything you want to 
 know? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! if you please, ma'am,' he said, in a little 
 weak whisper, ' could you tell me where I'm got 
 to, and how I got here, and how long I'm going 
 to stop ? ' 
 
 ' You are in the Victoria Hospital for little 
 sick children,' she answered, kindly. ' A lady had 
 you brought here, and you're going to stop till 
 we make you quite well again. Is there any- 
 thing else ? ' she added, smiling. 
 
54 REALISED JOYS, 
 
 ' Ob ! if you please, who do all them toys 
 belong to ? ' 
 
 'To any little child who comes here,' she 
 answered. 
 
 The reply almost took his breath away. He 
 could hardly believe his ears. 
 
 He rubbed his eyes as if he thought he was 
 dreaming, 
 
 ' Ain't there no glass, then, between me and 
 the toys ? ' he said, in a whisper, ' what's gone 
 with the glass ? ' 
 
 Without attempting to answer this incom- 
 prehensible question, she placed upon his board 
 a box of toys, and, propping him up with pillows, 
 told him he might play with them as long as 
 he liked. 
 
 Did his eyes deceive him ? Eed tin soldiers 
 
 6 The glass must be there,' he whispered to 
 himself; and he stretched out his hands, ex- 
 pecting to come in contact with it. 
 
 His trembling fingers go straight into the 
 box! 
 
AND DREAMS COME TRUE AT LAST. 55 
 
 He touches the soldiers ; he handles them ; 
 he lifts them out one by one. They are his to 
 do as he wills with. 
 
 Oh, fulfilled ambitions ! realised joys, and 
 dreams come true at last ! 
 
 It was almost worth his long winter of suf- 
 fering to be brought face to face with such joys 
 as these ! 
 
 Wondrous to the child of Want and Poverty 
 was it to have in his own hands, and at his own 
 disposal, the very toys he had so often and so 
 wistfully gazed at in the toy- shops, feeling they 
 were not for such as he. 
 
 So often, peering in at them out of the dark- 
 ness, had he felt that he could touch them, they 
 seemed so near. 
 
 So often had he stretched out his hand to try 
 and feel them, and come in contact with the 
 hard, cold wall of glass. 
 
 So often had he realized that between him 
 and them there was a great gulf fixed. 
 
56 REALISED JOYS, 
 
 And. now the gulf is bridged over ; the glass 
 is gone ; the long-coveted joys are his ! 
 
 i You may play with them as long as you 
 like,' he repeats, in trembling tones of joy. 
 
 No more weary counting of the minutes, as 
 they slowly pass by. 
 
 No more wondering how soon the long dull 
 day will be gone. 
 
 Hour after hour he plays with them, all day 
 long. 
 
 For many succeeding days, too, they were 
 all-in-all to him. 
 
 Nothing but sheer exhaustion would make 
 him put them aside. Oh ! it was a wonderful 
 place that he had got into. 
 
 Quickly and happily the days passed by. 
 
 When he was tired of playing he would lie 
 back and watch all that was going on in the 
 room. 
 
 There was always plenty to see and to 
 interest. First, there were the visits of the 
 
AND DREAMS COME TRUE AT LAST. si 
 
 kind doctors, who always said something cheery 
 and amusing to each little invalid. 
 
 Gentlemen and ladies, too, passed through 
 very often, and stopped, questioning kindly, 
 first at one little bed, and then at another. 
 
 Sometimes their little children came with 
 them ; happy little children, healthy little chil- 
 dren, with colours in their cheeks, and smiles in 
 their eyes, gazing with wonder and sympathy at 
 the little sufferers all round. 
 
 ' Mamma,' said one impetuous sympathiser, 
 after giving a horrified glance at Tim's wan, sad 
 face, ' I think I'll send this little boy my new 
 rocking-horse. He looks so unhappy.' 
 
 6 I'll make you a scrap-book,' said a little 
 girl, nodding encouragingly at him from the 
 foot of his crib, c with funny pictures in it to 
 make you laugh. You'll promise to laugh?' 
 she added, anxiously. 
 
 Tim liked to see them and hear them, 
 though for the first little while after his ar- 
 
5 3 REALISED JOYS, 
 
 rival lie felt too weak to answer or smile 
 much. 
 
 But in a short time there was a great im- 
 provement in little Tim's condition. He 
 coughed less, he slept more. His appetite got 
 better, and there began to be a little more 
 flesh upon his bones. He looked happier, 
 cleaner, brighter. He smiled more, and he 
 even laughed at times. He did not get so 
 tired when he sat up as he had done at first, 
 and the form of Wild Mike no longer visited 
 him in his dreams. 
 
 He grew more inclined to talk to the 
 nurses and to make friends with the other 
 children. He took more interest in the visitors, 
 and shily answered their kind enquiries. 
 
 He liked to see the ladies pass by. The soft 
 sweep of their dresses was inexpressibly sooth- 
 ing to him ; bringing back to him the rustling 
 that had sounded on the stair in his wretched 
 home. And the sound recalled to him the 
 
AND DREAMS COME TRUE AT LAST. 59 
 
 vision that had there appeared to him and 
 rescued him from all his woe. 
 
 Every day when the visitors' hour came 
 his eye eagerly followed every lady as she passed 
 through the room, but his beautiful visitor 
 was never among them ; and he began at last 
 to think she must, after all, have been an angel, 
 and, having done what God had told her, 
 had returned to the Heaven whence she came. 
 
 As the afternoons grew longer, and the 
 weather finer, the windows were kept open, 
 and a soft air came in from the garden. 
 
 One or two little birds began to sing, the 
 sun shone in, and everything looked cheery 
 and bright. 
 
 The time wore on, the days grew quite 
 long, Tim began to feel as if he had been 
 in the hospital a long while, and still there was 
 no news of his ' beautiful lady.' 
 
 Among many reasons why Tim longed for 
 her was that he was wearying for news of 
 his mother. 
 
60 REALISED JOYS, 
 
 She had brought him news before ; so she 
 would be the one to do so again. 
 
 And he did so long to know if his mother 
 was getting better. 
 
 He wanted her, too. to know how happy 
 he was, and how well he was beginning to 
 feel. He knew it would gladden her so. 
 
 He wondered also, how soon she would 
 be sufficiently recovered to come and see 
 him. 
 
 For the other children's mothers often 
 came ; and Tim watched wistfully from his 
 pillow the happy meetings, in which he longed 
 to share. 
 
 It was a pretty sight to see the mothers 
 hurrying in, each with her eye and her mind 
 fixed on the one particular little bed, that 
 contained her own peculiar treasure. 
 
 Little wasted arms were held out, smiles 
 played on little white lips'; and tears of joy 
 were shed by the mothers as they marked the 
 improvement in the little pale faces. 
 
AND DREAMS COME TRUE AT LAST. 61 
 
 Sometimes a little convalescent was tri- 
 umphantly borne off by his exulting parent ; 
 his own joy at returning home in restored 
 health, largely mingled with regret at saying 
 goodbye to all his friends, and leaving a place 
 where he had been so happy. 
 
 The boy who occupied the bed next to Tim 
 was the first to get well and go home ; and 
 Tim missed him very much for the first few 
 hours after his departure. 
 
 But, on confiding his regret to one of the 
 nurses, he was informed that he need not fret, 
 for that a new boy would be coming in, in the 
 afternoon. 
 
 'Bless your heart,' she said, 'you need 
 never be afraid of being lonely; as fast as a 
 bed is empty it is filled again, and it would 
 be the same if we had twenty more. They 
 are waiting by dozens to come in. More's 
 the pity we have not more room for them.' 
 
 Hearing this, Tim was happy, and fell 
 asleep for a while. 
 
62 REALISED JOYS, 
 
 When lie awoke lie found, to his surprise, 
 that the bed was already occupied. 
 
 The new-comer had arrived while he was 
 sleeping. 
 
 A form was lying there all in a heap. 
 6 He is very ill indeed,' said Tim to himself. 
 
 He raised himself and peeped over his crib. 
 4 New boy,' he said, ' what is your name ? ' 
 
 The heap moved, but there was no answer. 
 
 Tim, who had grown quite friendly with 
 other children, persisted. 
 
 ' New boy,' he said again, ' turn round, and 
 let me see your face.' 
 
 The sheet was drawn down for a minute, 
 and a white face peeped out. 
 
 The next moment such a cry of terror 
 rang through the room that the nurses came 
 rushing to Tim's bedside to ask what was the 
 matter. 
 
 But he could not speak ; he could not tell 
 them. 
 
AND DREAMS COME TRUE AT LAST. 63 
 
 He could only point to the bed next him 
 with his trembling fingers, and turn his ter- 
 rified eyes upon them with a mute appeal for 
 protection. 
 
 For the face that had peeped at him from 
 under the bedclothes — was the face of Wild 
 Mike 
 
 END OF PART I. 
 
PART II. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 A WINTER'S NIGHT IN KENSINGTON GAPDENS 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 When Wild Mike fled in terror from the pre- 
 sence of the beautiful woman by Tim's bedside, 
 he dashed into the street, and ran on and on, 
 heedless of where he went. 
 
 His one idea was to put as great a distance 
 as possible between himself and what had so 
 powerfully affected him, and to escape from the 
 retribution which he felt sure was impending. 
 
 He did not stop till he got into the Park by 
 the Albert Memorial. He waited a minute or 
 two to recover his breath, and then set off 
 again. 
 
 He dashed down the avenue which leads 
 towards Kensington Palace, and then, feeling 
 
 F 2 
 
6S A WINTERS NIGHT 
 
 that to be too public a spot, he turned off short 
 to the right, and disappeared farther into the 
 recesses of Kensington Gardens. 
 
 At last, thoroughly exhausted, he threw 
 himself down on the damp grass to rest. 
 
 He lay there panting, going over the recent 
 interview in his mind. 
 
 He felt as if he could never return to the 
 garret. 
 
 His guilty conscience told him of many acts, 
 besides his cruelty to Tim, which might come 
 to light if public attention were drawn to him, 
 and ideas of punishment and policemen — of 
 prison even — passed in hot haste through his 
 brain. 
 
 No, he could never go back — never face 
 Tim and his protector again. He would run- 
 away and go to sea. 
 
 Many of his street friends had done so when 
 they had got into trouble, and he knew, or 
 thought he knew, how to set about it. 
 
IN KENSINGTON GARDENS. 69 
 
 He must get out of the Park, and take the 
 road to the river, from whence he imagined he 
 should find his way to the London Docks. 
 
 There was no time to be lost, as the day- 
 light was beginning to fade, and it was getting 
 very foggy. So he got up, and began to walk 
 slowly on. 
 
 But the fog increased every moment, and 
 soon he found to his dismay that he could 
 hardly see two yards in front of him. He 
 walked on as quick as he could ; he dared not 
 go very fast, for he was afraid of knocking 
 up against the trees. 
 
 The fog got thicker and thicker every 
 moment, and the daylight was fast dis- 
 appearing. 
 
 Mike's heart began to beat loudly, for, like 
 all guilty people, he had a horror of being alone 
 in the dark. 
 
 He groped his way along, holding out his 
 hands before him like a blind man; but the 
 
70 A WINTER'S NIGHT 
 
 fog got so thick at last that he could not see 
 the trees till he was close upon them. 
 
 It burst upon him then, that he should 
 never find his way out of the Park, and mortal 
 terror took hold of him at the thought of being 
 locked up there all night. 
 
 His craven heart failed him, and he cried 
 out in his fear. 
 
 He set off running with all his might, calling" 
 for help, and crying bitterly. 
 
 In his headlong course he came suddenly 
 against a tree, and, falling over and over, with 
 his head against the trunk, he was stunned for 
 a moment, and felt too giddy and sick to go on. 
 
 But terror impelled him, and he got up and 
 started off again, groping his way, and sobbing 
 and crying as he went. 
 
 He never perceived that, in his confusion, 
 he had turned his back upon the way by which 
 he had entered, and was plunging ever deeper 
 and deeper into the Park. 
 
IN KENSINGTON GARDENS. yi 
 
 One step more, and, with a loud splash, he 
 fell into the water. 
 
 It was the Kensington Palace Pond. For 
 a moment the waters closed over his head; 
 but he clung with all his strength to the bank, 
 and regained his footing in the mud. Clinging 
 with all his might and main, he managed to 
 scramble out, covered with mud from head to 
 foot, soaked to the skin, and shivering with 
 cold. 
 
 In this miserable plight he once more flung 
 himself down on the ground, and screamed 
 and cried in impotent wrath and despair. For 
 he knew where he was now, and how far he 
 had wandered from the path which led out into 
 the streets again. 
 
 He knew how hopeless it was for him to 
 find his way through the avenues, and he 
 realised that he should have to stay where he 
 was till morning. 
 
 All night long the wretched boy wandered 
 
72 A WINTER'S NIGHT 
 
 about the Park, sinking down and sleeping 
 sometimes, when exhausted nature could en- 
 dure no longer, but ever waking in terror, and 
 starting to his feet again. 
 
 Awakened sometimes by ghastly dreams 
 and fancies, sometimes by the chattering of his 
 own teeth, which he could not keep together, 
 sometimes by the very pain of the bitter cold 
 from which he was suffering. 
 
 He feared to fall asleep, and he dreaded to 
 remain awake. 
 
 Terrors of all kinds came over him, natural 
 and supernatural. An evil conscience and a 
 vivid imagination brought all sorts of horrors 
 to his mind. Sleeping, horrid forms scared and 
 terrified him ; and waking, imaginary sights 
 and sounds filled his breast with fear. 
 
 Every wicked thing he had ever done passed 
 in review before him that dreadful night. 
 
 His recent cruelty to Tim haunted him as a 
 presence from which he could not escape. 
 
IN KENSINGTON GARDENS. 73 
 
 Wherever he looked he saw the child's 
 white face, now terrified, now pleading, now 
 weeping ; and he seemed to hear his weak 
 voice imploring him not to take all his food 
 away — to leave him just 072^ little drop of some- 
 thing, with which to moisten his parched and 
 fevered lips. 
 
 Mike screamed aloud at last, and prayed 
 that the face might depart from him. 
 
 He made the most solemn vows, the most 
 •earnest promises, that he would never molest 
 Tim again, if only he would take his face away 
 from before him, and not haunt him so. 
 
 The very sound of his own cries brought 
 new terror into his panic-stricken breast. 
 
 In the morning a bundle, more dead than 
 alive, was picked up by the Park-keeper, and 
 •carried to the nearest police-station. 
 
CHAPTEE VH. 
 THE QUESTION WHICH FINDS NO ANSWER 
 
77 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The restoratives that were applied revived hirn 
 sufficiently to enable him to give his name and 
 address, and he was carried home on a stretcher 
 
 So, to the garret whence he had so precipi- 
 tately fled, he was restored in a state far more 
 pitiable than that of his former victim, and 
 placed in Tim's vacant bed. 
 
 There, for many days and nights, he lay and 
 suffered. 
 
 The doctor gave no hope of his recovery, 
 unless he could be sent, like Tim, to the Chil- 
 dren's Hospital. 
 
 His mother did her best to procure him an 
 order of admission among the different families 
 
7 8 THE QUESTION 
 
 where she was employed; but she was told 
 the hospital was quite full, and that there 
 was uo chance of a vacancy for some time to 
 come. 
 
 Foiled in this, her last hope, she wept and 
 wailed over him in loud and violent grief, and 
 railed at the selfishness of the rich, who would 
 not spare a little money to provide a few more 
 beds, and so save her child. 
 
 For it was only too probable that by the 
 time a vacancy occurred, Mike would be beyond 
 the reach of all human help. 
 
 She then, to drown her despair, took to 
 drinking more deeply than ever, and so rendered 
 herself useless, and worse than useless, to her 
 unfortunate boy. 
 
 So, in neglect, and in cold, and in misery, 
 Wild Mike lies, as Tim did, day after day. His 
 turn now to count the weary moments as they 
 slowly pass by. His turn to wonder how soon 
 the dark foggy day will be done. 
 
WHICH FINDS NO ANSWER. 79 
 
 Over him, too, the women come and cackle, 
 and he hears that he must die. 
 
 Hears it with terror unspeakable, with shrink- 
 ing, and with loathing, and with fear. 
 
 Hears it, and cries aloud with horror, and 
 raves, and screams, and prays to be allowed to 
 live a little longer. 
 
 Night and clay the thought of death pursued 
 and haunted him ; and the dread of it took hold 
 upon him more and more. 
 
 One minute, in impotent wrath and fury, he 
 would cry that he could not, would not die. 
 The next, in cowardly terror, he would clasp 
 his hands and give vent to the most abject en- 
 treaties to be spared this time, only tins once ; 
 and to be allowed to return to the world again. 
 
 This intense fear of death, this clinging to a 
 life which could have but few charms, which was 
 bright with few happy recollections, few future 
 hopes, sprang, alas ! almost entirely from his 
 blank incapacity of realising a higher state of 
 
8o THE QUESTION 
 
 being, and a happy, because holy, world. To 
 him such things meant simply nothing. 
 
 Was it to be wondered at ? Conceptions of 
 what we have never seen must vary according 
 to the mind that conceives them, and the mind 
 forms its conceptions from that by which it is 
 surrounded. 
 
 Taught by his surroundings, what could his 
 mind conceive of a world ' in which dwelleth 
 righteousness ' ? 'To the pure,' says St. Paul, 
 6 all things are pure, but unto them that are 
 defiled and unbelieving is nothing pure, but 
 even their very mind and conscience is defiled/ 
 
 And thus it was with this wretched boy. 
 His very mind and conscience was defiled. 
 
 Every man projects himself upon the world 
 and colours it accordingly, white or black. 
 
 To one mind, then, all is purity ; to another, 
 all corruption. 
 
 And Mike's wicked heart and polluted mind, 
 projected on the world, made it all as black and 
 bad as he. 
 
WHICH FINDS NO ANSWER. 81 
 
 To him was nothing pure, and no one 
 holy. 
 
 To him God was a Being of awful power and 
 vengeance, relentless, implacable, and cruel. 
 
 For, not being able to conceive of holiness, 
 he invested Him only with His attribute of 
 power. 
 
 And, judging of Him by himself, he endowed 
 Him with the motives by which he was himself 
 actuated. 
 
 He imagined God pursuing, with fearful ven- 
 geance, those who had offended Him ; just as he 
 himself relentlessly wreaked revenge upon his 
 enemies, especially those who were weaker 
 than he. 
 
 Heaven, then, being thus to him an impos- 
 sible blank, and God, in His character of a 
 Father, an unknown Gocl, there was nothing in 
 the thought of that which lay before him but 'a 
 certain fearful looking for of judgment and fiery 
 indignation,' and the overwhelming conviction 
 
 G 
 
82 THE QUESTION 
 
 that it was a ' fearful thing to fall into the hands 
 of the Living God.' 
 
 Day and night his mind dwelt on these things ; 
 c on the worm which dieth not, and the fire 
 which never shall be quenched.' 
 
 He would have given worlds to escape for a 
 moment from the torment of his own thoughts, 
 to turn them for an instant's rest into some other 
 channel ; but, cast them back as he would, there 
 was not one holy recollection, not one pure and 
 peaceful memory to help him to change their 
 current. 
 
 Backwards or forwards, it was all the same. 
 
 No peace, no rest anywhere. 
 
 Behind, the horror of past wickedness ; and 
 in front, the dread of retribution ! 
 
 Suddenly, one day, athwart the gloom and 
 the terror of his own thoughts, came the recol- 
 lection of a face lie had once seen for a minute ; 
 a fair young face, with an expression of mingled 
 sadness and reproach painted on it. 
 
WHICH FINDS NO ANSWER. 83 
 
 It came with an infinitely soothing feeling, 
 like the sight of a pure, deep~well, in the midst 
 of a hot, sandy plain. 
 
 It eased him inexpressibly, and gave a fresh 
 turn to his thoughts. As the days wore on, he 
 often cooled, as it were, the fiery heat of his 
 tormented mind, by calling it up before him. 
 
 At first he was content to call it up, and 
 gaze upon it ; but after a time he took to think- 
 ing about it, and to trying to recall the feelings 
 it had created in him at the time he saw it. 
 The more lie dwelt upon it the clearer the scene 
 returned. 
 
 Back came the memory of his own sense of 
 outward unsightliness, by contrast with her ex- 
 ternal fairness ; of the feeling of her inward 
 purity, as opposed to his inward corruption. 
 
 Back, too, with a flash, the faint dawning 
 of the thought of a higher state of being, and 
 of another and a purer world. 
 
 Over and over the same road his thoughts 
 g2 
 
8 4 THE QUESTION 
 
 daily travelled, and each time got a little bit 
 farther into the light. 
 
 He took to speculating on her, her life, that 
 other world from out of which she had come, 
 her motive for coming. 
 
 It was not, evidently, as he had once 
 thought, to use her power upon him, to heap 
 retribution upon his head ; for the days had 
 come and gone since for many weary weeks, 
 and nothing had happened. 
 
 Why, then, had she come ? 
 
 She had come out of the light of her life 
 into that gloomy and wretched garret ; she had 
 come in her beauty and her splendour into the 
 midst of squalid poverty and filthy surround- 
 ings — what for? . . . She was not actuated 
 by greed, nor by any other of the motives by 
 which he was himself led and guided. What, 
 then, could it be? 
 
 As time wore on he realised that she had 
 come, that she could have come for no other 
 
WHICH FINDS NO ANSWER. 85 
 
 reason than to rescue a forlorn child from a 
 miserable position ; come to do an act of 
 ■charity and unselfishness with no other motives 
 but love and kindness ; motives to him altoge- 
 ther unknown and incomprehensible. 
 
 And the boy marvelled, but went on 
 thinking. 
 
 There were, then, in the world, other 
 motives than those with which he was ac- 
 quainted. 
 
 What was the power that set these motives 
 working? — the power, in short, that made her 
 do these things ? 
 
 Something which he could not understand. 
 
 But the very idea that there was a power 
 ■of which he knew nothing, sowed the first seeds 
 of faith in his mind. 
 
 Through the blackness and wickedness of 
 the world in which he lived, through the dark- 
 ness of his own polluted mind, shone the one 
 light he had ever had a glimpse of: the sight 
 
86 THE QUESTION 
 
 of a goodness to him incomprehensible, robed 
 in a beauty which even he could understand. 
 
 6 Faith,' we are told, ' comes by hearing ; ' 
 but faith comes also by seeing in others the 
 fruits of that faith, so clear, so certain, that ho 
 who runs may read. 
 
 Day by day he evolved from these thoughts- 
 new ideas and fresh speculations. 
 
 The idea of retribution that he had at first 
 connected with her, the feelings with which he 
 had at first invested her, time had shown him 
 to exist only in his own breast. 
 
 Perhaps — wondrous thought ! — perhaps, in 
 like manner, the idea of vengeance with which 
 he invested God, might exist only in his own 
 corrupt heart, which could not conceive of any- 
 thing else. 
 
 For, opposed to the wrath and fury which 
 constituted his idea of an all-powerful and 
 avenging God, was that expression of sadness, 
 of reproach rather than anger — of mournful 
 
WHICH FINDS NO ANSWER. 87 
 
 pity even — that had shone out of those soft 
 eyes, in that well-remembered face. There 
 dawned upon him therefrom the faint possi- 
 bility of reproach without anger, of displeasure 
 without revenge, of recoil from sin without 
 hatred for the sinner — of forgiveness, in 
 short. 
 
 Bound this stupendous thought all his 
 ponderings now centred. 
 
 Was there, then, mercy with God ? Was 
 there hope of forgiveness for such as he ? 
 
 How, how was he to get the question 
 answered ? 
 
 Who, who would tell him what he craved 
 to know ? 
 
 Day after day worked in his mind this 
 question, which could not be answered any- 
 way. . . . 
 
 The order of admission to the Children's 
 
88 THE QUESTION 
 
 Hospital came at last, and the sick boy was 
 removed to its sheltering care. 
 
 He was too ill, however, by that time, for 
 outward circumstances to make much difference 
 to him ; but still he was eager to go. 
 
 For Tim was there, and lie wanted to see him, 
 and to beg his forgiveness for all his cruelty. 
 
 Would Tim forgive ? he wondered. 
 
 On this hung, in Mike's mind, the chance 
 of the pardon of God. By this he should know 
 if there was forgiveness above. 
 
 Thus would the question find an answer 
 which had worked in his mind so long. 
 
 He should gauge God's mercy by Tim's 
 forgiveness. 
 
 We have seen how his hopes ended. 
 
 When he saw the effect the very sight of him 
 had on his former victim, when he heard him 
 cry to the nurses, and saw them hurry to his 
 bed, he gave up all for lost, and his unspoken 
 petition for pardon died away on his lips. 
 
WHICH FINDS NO ANSWER. 89 
 
 Too weak and confused to realise that Tim 
 was frightened, and that the nurses saw the only 
 way to quiet him was promptly to remove the 
 new-comer from his side, Mike mistook the 
 child's looks and gestures for wrath and hatred, 
 and his own subsequent removal for Tim's 
 scheme of revenge. 
 
 He saw no more of him, for he was estab- 
 lished for good in a different ward ; but he 
 had seen enough to convince him that all his 
 hopes were vain. 
 
 For, if with this gentle child there was 
 no forgiveness, what could he hope for from 
 God? 
 
 He returned to the misery of his former 
 opinions. 
 
 Boiled up in a heap, he maintained a sullen 
 silence, and turned away from everybody. 
 
 So the old question went unanswered, and 
 his life ebbed away. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 THE BEAUTIFUL VISION AGAIN 
 
93 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 It is a lovely spring afternoon, and the Victoria 
 Hospital is full of visitors. 
 
 Their hands are laden with spring flowers, 
 which they have brought to show the little 
 sufferers, how nature is waking to life again, 
 in the green fields and country lanes. 
 
 Little weak hands are joyfully grasping 
 primroses and violets, and eyes are sparkling 
 with delight at the sight of what some have 
 never seen before, some will never see again. 
 
 Tim is much, much better. He is up and 
 dressed, and playing by the bedside of one of 
 the other children. 
 
 He is twining flowers in the hair of the 
 
94 THE BEAUTIFUL VISION AGAIN. 
 
 little girl with whom he is playing, and his 
 happy laugh rings out merrily and clear. 
 
 Suddenly, he stops laughing, and turning 
 his head half-round, he stands listening intently, 
 a half-defined hope rising in his breast. 
 
 For a sound of soft rustling has fallen on 
 his ear ! 
 
 It must, it can be, no other than she ! 
 
 And, his heart beating high with hope and 
 expectation, he leaves the bedside and turns to 
 the door. 
 
 With her hands full of golden daffodils, 
 with her soft eyes looking down upon him, and 
 the smile he remembers so well, she is standing 
 €lose beside him ! — the visitor long-expected, 
 long-looked-for — come at last ! 
 
 All shyness forgotten, lie runs up to her, 
 his hands extended, his face bright with joy, 
 -scattering his own path with the flowers that, 
 in his excitement, he allows to fall. 
 
 She drops hers too. She takes both his 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL VISION AGAIN. 9 r 
 
 hands. She exclaims with delight at the im- 
 provement in his appearance. 
 
 She looks at him with unfeigned pleasure, 
 and assures him she hardly knows him again ; 
 that she can scarcely believe he is the same 
 pale, sad, little boy she remembers. 
 
 She tells him she has been very ill herself 
 for many weeks, or she would have been to see 
 him long ago. 
 
 Then, drawing him to a seat beside her, 
 she gives him news ol his mother — good news, 
 wondrous news, news almost too good to be 
 true. ' Your mother is quite, quite well,' she 
 whispers. ' She is to leave the hospital to- 
 day, and on her way home she is coming here 
 to see you ; she will be here in a very little 
 while. I have sent the carriage to fetch her, 
 she cannot be many minutes now.' 
 
 Leaving Tim to take in the full joy of this 
 information at his leisure, she rose to visit 
 some of the other little beds. 
 
96 THE BEAUTIFUL VISION AGAIN. 
 
 We will watch her as she goes her rounds. 
 
 She seems to have some secret understand- 
 ing with the children, for each looks up and 
 smiles as she draws near. 
 
 A peevish baby, who keeps on whining, 
 stops its wail as she comes to its crib. 
 
 A cross little boy, who will speak to no 
 one, holds up his toys for her to see. 
 
 A shy girl, who lias turned away from all 
 the other ladies, lifts trusting eyes to her 
 face. 
 
 It is the same wherever she bends her 
 steps ; and, though the room is full of other 
 visitors, the children seem to have eyes for no 
 one but her. 
 
 Many and various were the visitors to the 
 Children's Hospital, and as many and various 
 the reasons why they came. 
 
 Some had had sick children of their own, 
 who had been restored to them in health again ; 
 and these came, with full and grateful hearts, 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL VISION AGAIN. 97 
 
 to show their thankfulness by doing what they 
 could for other little sick children. 
 
 Some had had sick children who had not 
 been restored to them ; and these came to lavish 
 on the children of others the care and attention 
 which was no longer needed by their own. 
 
 Others, whose homes were childless, and 
 
 whose lives were objectless and dull, came to 
 
 create new interests, and to fill up their empty day. 
 
 . Others came from a pure love of doing good, 
 
 or a natural love of children. 
 
 Some, again, from mere curiosity, or a desire 
 for occupation. 
 
 And there were others, who, finding the 
 emptiness of pleasure and the unsatisfying nature 
 of this world's good, in whose homes, perhaps, 
 Death had been busy, and the brightness of whose 
 lives had fled, were tinning to charity as a last 
 resource. 
 
 But Tim's ' beautiful lady ' came not from 
 such motives as these. 
 
 H 
 
9 8 THE BEAUTIFUL VISION AGAIN. 
 
 Bich in the love of husband and of children, 
 she came that out of her own abundance she 
 might give to those who lacked ; so happy in 
 the love and brightness with which her own 
 path in life was flooded, that she longed to pour 
 some of its overflowing upon the hard, dusty 
 pathway of others. 
 
 Dowered with the gift of beauty, it was in 
 her consecrated, like any other talent, to the 
 service of God. 
 
 She could not but see that she could soothe 
 or influence, could elevate or cheer, where others, 
 less gifted, failed. 
 
 She could not but see that wan faces bright- 
 ened as their eyes rested on anything so fair. 
 
 She recognised in her God-given beauty a 
 power, an influence, and a responsibility, which 
 it was her life-long endeavour to turn to account. 
 
 Eecognised it all without a spark of vanity, 
 or the faintest glorying in the homage it brought 
 her. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL VISION AGAIN. 99 
 
 Homage of all kinds she found in the world 
 she lived in ; and she was indifferent to it all. 
 
 She could ' put the cup of this world's glad- 
 ness to her lips, and yet be unintoxicated ; gaze 
 on all its grandeur, and yet be undazzled ; feel 
 its brightness, and yet defy its thrall.' 
 
 She lived in it, but not of it, ready in a 
 moment to leave it all. 
 
 Her great desire was to use her talent for 
 the glory of Him who had committed it to her 
 keeping. 
 
 Often, then, was she to be found in the dif- 
 ferent hospitals, or by the bedsides of the suf- 
 fering poor at home. 
 
 Eough men looked gratefully at her ; dying 
 eyes gazed reverently upon her ; gazed, and were 
 helped to realise a land peopled by such as she ; 
 the saints and angels they were so soon to see. 
 The roughest and rudest, who could not grasp 
 the idea of goodness from an abstract idea, were 
 led by the sight of her beauty to the thought of 
 
 h2 
 
ioo THE BEAUTIFUL VISION AGAIN. 
 
 the holiness it expressed. For in beauty that 
 vague idea of gentleness and purity and good- 
 ness which is for ever haunting our minds finds 
 something of a shape. 
 
 And, being thus the earthly type of a 
 heavenly perfection, unseen as yet, it may be 
 made a stepping-stone to lead our hearts to the 
 thought of that heavenly perfection, and so on 
 to the knowledge of God. 
 
 If the sontr of the bird raises in our hearts a 
 psalm of thanksgiving ; if the sight of Nature in 
 her grandeur or her loveliness lifts our minds to 
 the thought of the Great Creator, why should 
 not beauty raise our thoughts beyond itself, and 
 be one of the many voices that speak to our 
 souls of God ? 
 
 There are, we are told, so many voices in 
 the world, and none of them is without signifi- 
 cation 
 
 Having spoken a word in turn to each little 
 child, she went into the adjoining room. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL VISION AGAIN. ioi 
 
 She stopped before a bed in which some- 
 thing was lying in a motionless heap, and 
 beckoned to the nurse in charge of the ward. 
 
 * Who is this ? ' she enquired. 
 
 ' A poor Irish boy,' was the answer. ' He 
 was very ill when he was admitted, and the 
 doctors have no hopes of him at all. He never 
 speaks to anyone, but lies as you see him day 
 after day. It is little we have been able to do 
 for him, but anything we could think of has 
 been done. He seems half frightened, half 
 sullen, poor boy, and will not answer when 
 spoken to. Had he come in sooner the doctors 
 say they might have saved him ; but he came 
 too late.' 
 
 The lady signed to the nurse to leave her, 
 and advanced to the side of the bed alone. 
 
 There was little to be seen of its occupant 
 but the outline of his head and forehead, 
 and just a peep of his closed eyes, their dark 
 lashes sweeping his white, hollow cheek ; but 
 she recognised him directly. 
 
102 THE BEAUTIFUL VISION AGAIN. 
 
 Tears of pity rose to her eyes as she gazed 
 upon the piteous wreck before her. 
 
 The contrast between what she saw and 
 the strong rough boy she remembered, came 
 upon her with a sharp pang ; and she had room 
 in her heart for nothing but sorrow that his life 
 should thus have been sacrificed, because the 
 resources of the hospital were so limited. 
 
 A little more money, a few more beds, and 
 he might have been saved. 
 
 Saved too, perhaps, in God's mercy, to re- 
 pentance and amendment of life. 
 
 Sad, very sad were her thoughts as she stood 
 by the boy who had ' come too late.' 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 THE OLD, OLD STORY 
 
io5 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The nurse retired and left the lady alone by 
 the bed. 
 
 There was no one very near. The child in 
 the next bed was sleeping, and the bed on the 
 other side was empty, for its owner was up and 
 dressed, and playing at the other end of the 
 ward. 
 
 She stood there quite quiet and silent, and 
 there was hardly a sound in the room. 
 
 And so it came to pass that Wild Mike, 
 becoming conscious in the silence of a presence 
 near him, drew the sheet cautiously down for a 
 minute, and found the face of which he thought 
 and dreamt so often looking down upon him. 
 
106 THE OLD, OLD STORY. 
 
 He started visibly ; a wonderful light broke 
 over his face ; and then he remained gazing 
 fixedly at her, while thoughts of which she 
 could guess nothing coursed through his mind. 
 
 For the very sight of her fair young face 
 brings back the hopes that Tim had scared 
 away. 
 
 The very expression of her eyes tells him of 
 mercy, pity, and forgiveness. 
 
 All the reproach, even, that he remembers 
 has gone out of them ; there is only sorrow and 
 tenderness now. 
 
 Back to his mind springs the old wonder ; 
 the old question trembles on his lips once more. 
 
 He must speak or die. 
 
 A terrific struggle follows. 
 
 He leans forward eagerly ; he fixes on her 
 an imploring eye, but no sound escapes his lips. 
 
 He tries again ! he fights with his panting 
 breath and his terrible weakness. It is his last 
 hope, and speak he must and will. 
 
THE OLD, OLD STORY. 107 
 
 And in the midst of his gasping the words 
 suddenly come. 
 
 But, alas ! so confused and rambling is his 
 speech, that she cannot understand his vague 
 account of the feelings with which we, who 
 have followed them so long, are acquainted. 
 
 But, pained to see him suffer, longing to 
 give him help, she listens with the most earnest 
 attention ; she strains mind and memory to 
 assist her in striving to unravel his meaning, and 
 she gleans at last a faint idea of what he is 
 trying to say. 
 
 She gleans that he is vile and wicked, that 
 he fears to die, and that he has no hope nor idea 
 of mercy. 
 
 Something in the hopelessness of his manner 
 affects her very deeply. It brings upon her 
 an overwhelming conviction of what his state 
 must be ; of his sense of hopeless iniquity, of 
 his deep, deep need of a Saviour and Mediator, 
 and his awful ignorance of Christ. 
 

 
 108 THE OLD, OLD STORY. 
 
 For the moment her heart is so stirred 
 within her that she cannot steady her voice to 
 tell him the old, old story, and give his spirit 
 rest. 
 
 But she controlled herself at last ; and, 
 sitting beside him, she took his hand, and spoke, 
 in her soft low voice. 
 
 She put before him first man's wickedness, 
 his weakness, rebellion, and sin. 
 
 She spoke of the spotless purity and holiness 
 of Him in whom sin cannot dwell. 
 
 She showed how impossible it was that the 
 one could approach the other. 
 
 And between the two she pictured the 
 Saviour, reconciling God and man together. 
 
 She dwelt on the God-man dying for sinners, 
 and on the load of guilt he bore. 
 
 And she spoke of the full, free pardon, the 
 forgiveness, the mercy, the love. 
 
 ' Do you see ? ' she whispered softly as she 
 bent over the listening boy. 
 
THE OLD, OLD STORY, 109. 
 
 But lie lay without sign or word. 
 
 Did he understand, she wondered, or was 
 his mind too benighted, too weak ? 
 
 And she searched for an illustration to make 
 what she said more clear. 
 
 It came directly. 
 
 For, turning her thoughts into the boy's 
 dark past, the child he had treated so cruelly 
 came at once to her mind. 
 
 She thought of the wretched garret where 
 she had found that child, and of the piteous 
 plight he had been in. 
 
 In quick contrast came the sight she had 
 had of him to-day ; all health and joy and 
 spirits ; his troubles ended and over ; their very 
 memory passed away. 
 
 And glad at the thought, she bent down 
 and whispered : 
 
 6 As freely has God forgiven and forgotten, 
 as Tim has forgiven you.' 
 
 She was amazed at the effect of her words. 
 
no THE OLD, OLD STORY. 
 
 His face was all disturbed again ; the con- 
 vulsive struggle returned ; and lie gasped out 
 that Tim would not forgive him ; that Tim had 
 had him cast out and punished, and that, per- 
 haps, God would cast him out too. 
 
 Gently she tried to reason with him, but it 
 was of no avail. And she dared not question 
 him further, he was so exhausted already. 
 
 So she saw the only way was to fetch little 
 Tim to his side. 
 
 For only by the sense of human pardon 
 could the heavenly mercy be brought to his 
 benighted mind. 
 
 So she rose and went back into the adjoining 
 room. 
 
 A very different scene was going on there. 
 
 Tim's mother had arrived, and the joy of the 
 meeting between the mother and child had been 
 such as to bring tears to the eyes of the nurses, 
 accustomed, as they were, to such scenes. 
 
 When ' Tim's beautiful lady ' entered, Mrs. 
 
THE OLD, OLD STORY. in 
 
 Collins, with her boy in her arms, was listening 
 to the account of his recovery, which one of the 
 nurses was giving at great length. 
 
 The lady therefore waited till it was over. 
 
 The little fellow had not had one drawback, 
 the nurse was saying ; his recovery had been 
 slow, but sure. 
 
 At least only one, and that a very curious 
 one. The arrival of an Irish boy had had such 
 an effect upon him, he had been so terrified at 
 the sight of him, that for a day or two he had 
 slept badly, and suffered from dreams. 
 
 Mrs. Collins turned to Tim and asked him 
 some close questions, which resulted in her 
 hearing a great deal of her child's past troubles 
 which she had never heard before. 
 
 She was terribly affected by the disclosure. 
 
 ' God may forgive him,' she exclaimed, with 
 a burst of tears, as she pressed Tim closer to 
 her, and wound her protecting arms more tightly 
 round him. ' God may forgive him, but I never 
 will.' 
 
112 THE OLD, OLD STORY. 
 
 It was at this juncture that the lady ad- 
 vanced, feeling that she must not delay any 
 longer, and said she had a great favour to beg 
 of Tim and his mother, which she hoped would 
 be granted. 
 
 Mrs. Collins declared with warmth that she 
 was ready to do any and everything for the sake 
 of her who had done so much ; but when she 
 heard what the request was, her face changed, 
 and she cried out at the idea, while little Tim 
 trembled all over at the thought of being taken 
 to Wild Mike's side. 
 
 It was an anxious moment for the lady. 
 
 We need not enter into the details of what 
 followed, nor show how she triumphed at last. 
 
 There are beings so pure and holy that their 
 very presence purifies all they approach, brings 
 out all that is good in others, and drives all the 
 bad away. 
 
 It softens the hardest, roughest natures ; 
 shames the unholy, and makes the good more 
 pure. 
 
THE OLD, OLD STORY. n 3 
 
 And Mrs. Collins's nature was not really hard 
 nor rough, and her heart was very full of joy 
 and gratitude. 
 
 So, ten minutes after, Tim's forgiving hand 
 is in that of his tormentor, and Tim's mother's 
 pardoning kiss is on Wild Mike's brow. 
 
 'As freely,' says a soft, low voice in the 
 silence, 'as freely has God forgiven and forgotten 
 as these have forgiven you.' 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 WORKING IN THE DARK 
 
H7 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 There is no dissentient voice this time, no dis- 
 turbing change in the face of the listening boy. 
 
 For the earthly forgiveness has brought to 
 his mind, the sense of God's pardoning love. . . . 
 
 Tim and his mother retire again, and the 
 lady is left alone by the bedside. 
 
 Mike lay with closed eyes, as if waiting to 
 hear more. 
 
 Leaving the question of forgiveness, she 
 began now to try and lead his thoughts to 
 the idea of that happy life he was so soon to 
 experience. 
 
 She strove to paint the gladness and the 
 glory of the Fair Place to which he was goino', 
 
US WORKING IN THE DARK. 
 
 and her glowing eyes and fervent manner, told 
 of her own faith and joy in the things of which 
 she was telling. 
 
 ' I have thought long and deeply on these 
 things,' she said, softly, ' for I have been down 
 to the Gates of Death myself.' 
 
 An incoherent sound which broke from him 
 at her words she interpreted into a desire to 
 know how she had felt. 
 
 'I was willing,' she said, in her soft low 
 voice, ' quite willing to go, and am willing 
 still.' 
 
 ' You thought it was only the poor, and the 
 sick, and wretched, who were willing to die,' 
 she went on, ' but, indeed, it is not so. I have 
 much to leave ; dear ones, to whom my going 
 would be such pain that for their sakes, per- 
 haps, I was glad to be restored again ; but, as 
 far as I am myself concerned, I am ready to go 
 when God calls me.' 
 
 There was no doubting the sincerity of her 
 
WORKING IN THE DARK. 119 
 
 words, the truth of the feelings to which she 
 was giving expression. 
 
 Her serene countenance confirmed them ; 
 the rapt look of her eyes echoed them, and 
 seemed to say : ' I am ready.' 
 
 She had gauged all life's happiness and all 
 life's pleasures, drunk deeply of a cup of joy 
 filled to the brim and running over, expe- 
 rienced all that this world has to give ; and, 
 bright and dear as it all was, she was conscious 
 that she wanted something more. 
 
 6 Earthly happiness is a husk ; it stays the 
 6 hunger of the soul without satisfying it. . . . 
 8 It is the grandeur of the soul which makes it 
 ' insatiable in its desires, with an infinite void 
 
 ' which cannot be filled by the world 
 
 ' Man's destiny is not to be dissatisfied, but to 
 ' be for ever wwsatisfied.' 
 
 'Far out of sight, while sorrows still enfold us, 
 Lies the Fair Country where our hearts abide ; 
 And of its bliss is nought more wondrous told us 
 Than those few words, "I shall be satisfied."' 
 
120 WORKING IN THE DARK. 
 
 4 1 was not afraid,' she said, catching, as she 
 thought, some enquiring expression to that 
 effect in his eyes. ' No, I was not afraid, be- 
 cause I knew I should not be alone. And yon 
 will not be alone either. The Eternal God will 
 be your refuge, and underneath will be the 
 everlasting arms. The loneliness of death is 
 gone for ever, for Christ hath trodden its path 
 before us, and he will lead us through. " Yea, 
 though I walk through the Valley of the 
 Shadow of Death I will fear no evil, for Thou 
 art with me." That was what I kept saying to 
 myself over and over again.' 
 
 He was listening intently, and seemed to be 
 trying to say the words himself. 
 
 Seeing this she repeated them several times, 
 and then waited anxiously to hear what he 
 would say. 
 
 Something, surely, of joy and satisfaction 
 would come from his whitelips now ! 
 
 But no. 
 
WORKING IN THE DARK. 121 
 
 He gave no further sign of consciousness of 
 her presence, nor said what she longed to hear. 
 
 The visitors' hour was over, and she left 
 the hospital for that clay ; but the next morning 
 found her again at his side. 
 
 Weaker he was, and less able to listen ; but 
 his look told her she was welcome. 
 
 It went on like this day after day. 
 
 Little could she discover how far her words 
 reached and touched him, and it was with some 
 disappointment that she realised that she should 
 never know what he was feeling. 
 
 Stories she had so often read and heard of, 
 of children's happy death-beds, of their dying 
 speeches, their simple words of love and trust 
 in Jesus. 
 
 But nothing of all this from him. 
 
 Only the expression in his Irish eyes told 
 her he was glad to see her come, and sorry to 
 see her go. 
 
 Still she persevered, working on in the dark, 
 day after day. 
 
122 WORKING IN THE DARK. 
 
 The sense of forgiveness had, she hoped* 
 come upon him ; for the rest she must wait 
 and pray. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 AT LAST 
 
125 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 And so at last the day came when she stood 
 by his side for the last time. 
 
 Faint he was and dying, with no voice to 
 speak. 
 
 It was but soft whispering on her part ; and 
 on his, no sign, no word. 
 
 The daylight slowly faded, and the hour of 
 departure came. 
 
 Fain would she have lingered, for she 
 longed to catch some indication that her work 
 had not been in vain ; she yearned for a sign 
 or token that her prayers for his peace had 
 been heard. 
 
 She bowed her head and prayed that a sign 
 
126 AT LAST. 
 
 might yet be vouchsafed her, and, gazing upon 
 him, waited for an answer. 
 
 But mute and motionless still he remained, 
 and it seemed it was not to be. 
 
 As Christ once said to the Scribes and 
 Pharisees so now he seemed to say to her : 
 6 There shall no sign be given you.' 
 
 Her heart failed her for a moment ; but it 
 was only for a moment. 
 
 High soon rose her faith above the wish for 
 outward evidence, the desire for visible proof. 
 
 ' I am content,' she murmured. 
 
 Content to work in the dark and to leave 
 the issues to Him ; content to sow in tears, 
 and not bear the sheaves of rejoicing ; content 
 to toil in His vineyard, and not see the fruit of 
 those labours. 
 
 Slowly she rose and left him, and with lin- 
 gering footsteps gained the door. 
 
 But, as soon as the dying boy found she was 
 no longer near him, he raised himself with all 
 
AT LAST. 127 
 
 the little strength that he could muster, to look 
 his last upon her as she receded from his view. 
 Voice he had none with which to stay her 
 footsteps, with which to pray her to let him see 
 her face once more. 
 
 Yet, ere she passed out, she was moved, she 
 knew not wherefore, to take one last look at 
 the bed whereon he lay. 
 
 And, standing in the doorway, with her 
 white garments fluttering in the light summer 
 breeze which blew in from behind her, she 
 turned — to find his eyes, o'er which the film of 
 death was slowly gathering, fixed upon her; 
 and in their look the sign was given. 
 
 In their depths was the token that her 
 prayers had been heard. 
 
 The tears rushed into her eyes as she met 
 his rapt and adoring gaze. 
 
 For it told her that the peace she had so 
 prayed for, for him, had come down upon his 
 soul at last. 
 
128 AT LAST. 
 
 For nothing else could have brought into 
 his eyes that sweet and beautiful expression. 
 
 They told her, too, of the love and gra- 
 titude with which he was moved towards 
 herself. 
 
 They glowed and deepened as they rested 
 on her, as hers met and returned their gaze. 
 
 She hastily repressed her tears, lest the sight 
 of them should mar the calm and peace of 
 the boy's dying hour. 
 
 For a few minutes she bent upon him a 
 look full of joy and tenderness ; and then, with 
 a hopeful smile, and a parting wave of the 
 hand which seemed to seek to direct his looks 
 upwards rather than upon herself, she passed 
 away from his sight — to meet him no more, till, 
 standing by him one Day face-to-face with 
 God, she shall hear her Saviour say : ' He that 
 converteth a sinner from the error of his way 
 shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a 
 multitude of sins.' 
 
AT LAST. 129 
 
 And what shall we say of the boy? 
 
 How shall we speculate on the feelings 
 with which he was regarding her, who had 
 brought him the message of mercy, and opened 
 to him the Gates of Heaven ! 
 
 Dreamily, perhaps, may have returned for 
 a moment the memory of the terror which 
 had beset him when he had first heard that 
 he must die. 
 
 Back may have come the recollection of 
 the sense of hopeless iniquity, the dread and 
 the shrinking fear. 
 
 And there may have dawned on his mind 
 the joyous conviction that he does not fear 
 death now! 
 
 That there lurks in his breast no loathing, 
 no shrinking, no dread of the Unknown Land. 
 
 And she, who first, by her beauty and 
 goodness, gave him faith in that Better World ; 
 she now has shown him the way to it, and 
 made him willing, even glad, to go ! 
 
 K 
 
i 3 o AT LAST. 
 
 It must have been some such thoughts as 
 these which, causing a flood of love and 
 thankfulness to rush over him, brought that 
 look of adoration to his eye. 
 
 When she had quite disappeared, and his 
 straining eyes could no longer discern the last 
 flutter of her dress, he fell back upon his 
 pillow, and turned his nice to the wall 
 
 And when the hospital awoke to life next 
 morning one little bed was empty; for the 
 angels had come in the darkness and carried 
 Wild Mike away. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 FOR HER SAKE 
 
133 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 It was on a cold winter's day that I first 
 introduced little Tim to my readers ; and it 
 will be on a lovely summer's evening that we 
 shall take our leave of him. 
 
 From beneath the portals of Victoria 
 Hospital, some time after the events recorded 
 in the last chapter, two figures came out 
 hand-in-hand. 
 
 They are those of Tim and his mother ; for 
 he is quite recovered, and has this day received 
 his discharge. 
 
 To brighter days and a happier home lie 
 and his mother are returning. For she has, 
 through the instrumentality of Tim's beautiful 
 
134 FOR HER SAKE. 
 
 lady found other lodgings, and they will be 
 troubled by rough neighbours no more. 
 
 The winter, with its attendant hardships, 
 is a thing of the past, and has been succeeded 
 by cloudless skies and brilliant summer sun- 
 shine. 
 
 The squares are weighed down with lilacs 
 and laburnums, 'and the parks are gay with 
 flowers. 
 
 The world looks bright and happy; and 
 Tim, with the flush of restored health upon 
 his face, looks bright and happy too. 
 
 And yet it is not with unmixed joy that 
 he turns his back upon the hospital, for he 
 has been very happy there, and made many 
 kind friends. 
 
 Again and again his head is turned to 
 the door where a group is seen standing ; where 
 handkerchiefs are fluttering, and hands are 
 waving adieu. 
 
 He kisses his hand repeatedly in recogni- 
 
FOR HER SAKE. 135 
 
 tion of these farewell salutations ; and as he 
 turns the corner, and the hospital is lost to 
 sight, he leaves go of his mother's hand, and 
 runs back for a minute to give one parting 
 look. 
 
 After that he gives himself up to the 
 pleasure of finding himself well and happy 
 and in the world again. 
 
 Everything seems new and delightful, after 
 his many months of confinement. 
 
 The streets, the people, the shops, the carts, 
 the carriages, are each and all objects of delight 
 to him ; but when they come in sight of the 
 park, with its green trees and its moving throng, 
 his joy knows no bounds. 
 
 He begs his mother to take one little turn 
 there before going home ; and as they bend 
 their steps thither she talks to him of all they 
 will do together now. How she will be coming 
 home in the daylight, just as he comes home 
 from school; and how they will wander forth 
 
136 FOR HER SAKE. 
 
 together in the cool, sweet evenings ; and how 
 happy they will be. 
 
 They enter the park by the Albert Memorial, 
 and lean against the railings, watching all the 
 carriages go by. 
 
 The park is one blaze of beanty ; the trees 
 wear their freshest green. 
 
 Away, behind the monument, the avenues 
 where the dead boy wandered in the dark night 
 are crowded with happy children, and the blos- 
 soms are thick on the trees, against which, in the 
 darkness, he stumbled and fell. 
 
 Tim is almost confused with the brightness, 
 the crowds, and the summer sunshine. 
 
 There is a garden-party in the neighbour- 
 hood, and all the carriages are on their way to it. 
 
 Prancing horses, glittering harness, lovely 
 ladies, pretty children, keep up a sort of moving 
 panorama before him, and he stands by his 
 mother's side entranced, too much taken up with 
 what he sees to speak a word. 
 
FOR HER SAKE. J 37 
 
 But that mother's face is overcast. 
 
 She had been very silent ever since they 
 stood there, for the sight of the rich in their 
 lavish luxury, their apparent light-heartedness 
 and freedom from care, always raised a peculiar 
 feeling in her breast ; and bitter thoughts, for 
 .some time dormant, are awaking there once 
 more. 
 
 She was gazing gloomily at the glittering 
 throng, when a carriage suddenly came by, at 
 the sight of which her whole face changed in an 
 instant. The gloomy look fled away, and gave 
 place to one of loving admiration. Simul- 
 taneously a cry of delight burst from little Tim. 
 And yet the carriage at which Mrs. Collins was 
 gazing so kindly, and with eyes of such grateful 
 tenderness, suggested the idea of luxury quite 
 as much as did any which had preceded it, and 
 the lovely lady who sat in it was as beautifully 
 dressed and looked quite as light-hearted as any 
 who had gone before. 
 
138 FOR HER SAKE. 
 
 But, attracted by Tim's glad cry, the lady 
 had turned her head in his direction, and had 
 revealed to the poor woman the face which, had 
 bent over her as she lay in the hospital, the face 
 of the lady who had saved her boy. 
 
 It lighted up with pleasure at the sight of 
 the two standing by the railing ; the lady leaned 
 eagerly forward, and repeatedly kissed her hand. 
 
 It was all over in a minute, and the carriage 
 out of sight ; but it had been as the rustling of 
 angel's wings to that poor rebelling woman. 
 
 c Tim,' she said, abruptly, ' do you mind my 
 telling you that the rich were a selfish lot, and 
 that grand ladies only cared for themselves ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, mother,' answered Tim. 
 
 ' Well ; I shan't never say it again,' she re- 
 sumed, shortly, ' that's all.' 
 
 No ! never again. She knows now what one 
 can be, and all will for the future be loved and 
 believed in for her sake. 
 
 On came more prancing horses, more glitter- 
 
FOR HER SAKE. 1 39' 
 
 ing harness, more luxurious carriages, more 
 beautifully dressed ladies. 
 
 But Tim's mother no longer gazes upon the 
 dazzling panorama with an unfriendly eye ; no 
 longer views the occupants of the carriages in 
 the same light. 
 
 Henceforward she will credit each and all, 
 however much surrounded by the outward trap- 
 pings of wealth and luxury, with the womanly 
 heart, the tender feelings, the charity, pity, and 
 unselfishness of Tim's ' beautiful lady.' 
 
CONCLUSION 
 
143 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 And now I would remind my readers that, 
 though my little heroes and the events of 
 their lives belong to the region of fiction, the 
 Victoria Hospital for Sick Children is a fact. 
 
 And if any have been touched by this story 
 I would pray them, while the impression is 
 still fresh, to let feeling pass into action, and 
 to bestow some portion of their share cf this 
 world's good where it is so much needed. 
 
 For there are still weak Tims waiting to 
 be tended, and Wild Mikes waiting to be 
 taught. 
 
 Still in the homes of the poor is the cry 
 heard that their children are perishing before 
 
i 4 4 CONCLUSION. 
 
 their eyes ; that there is no hope for them 
 except by admission into the hospital ; and that 
 every bed is full. 
 
 Still rises the plaint that by the time there 
 is a chance of a vacancy the children will be 
 beyond the reach of human help. 
 
 How can the mothers of these suffering 
 children believe in our Christian charity; or 
 in the brotherly love which we profess to have 
 one for the other? 
 
 How can the sight of our children in 
 luxury, in sharp contrast to the bitter want 
 of their own, breed anything in their hearts 
 but a contempt for our selfishness, and a feeling 
 of envy and dislike ? 
 
 Daily our own well-cared-for and tenderly- 
 nurtured little ones are before their eyes. 
 They meet them at every turn, riding or 
 driving in the parks or in the streets, sur- 
 rounded by careful attendants, and by every 
 luxury that love and wealth can bestow ; and 
 
CONCLUSION. 145 
 
 from the sight, perhaps, these poor mothers 
 return to the dying child at home — dying 
 from sheer want of the care they have not 
 time to bestow, the skilful nursing they have 
 not sufficient knowledge to give, the necessaries 
 they have no means to procure. 
 
 And they know all the while that we could 
 save these poor children of theirs, without 
 depriving our own of one of the advantages 
 which they enjoy. 
 
 They know that within a stone's-throw of 
 them, perhaps, is a hospital where their little 
 ones might be tended and restored to them, 
 if only its resources were not so limited. 
 
 They read in the Bible that there is a faith 
 which works by love. 
 
 They read that God is a God of mercy 
 and that He puts it into the hearts of his 
 servants to be merciful too. 
 
 From every pulpit in London is proclaimed 
 that those who profess to be His followers are 
 
 L 
 
146 CONCLUSION. 
 
 filled with the Spirit, and that the fruits of the 
 Spirit are love and kindness. 
 
 But the wail of their sick and suffering 
 children is sounding in their ears all day long, 
 and contradicts these assertions. 
 
 'Do ye hear the children weeping, and disproving 
 Oh, my brothers, what ye preach ? 
 For God's possible is taught by this world's loving, 
 And the " mothers " doubt of each.' 
 
 THE END. 
 
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INGOLDSBY LEGENDS (continued). 
 
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 21 
 
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 22 
 
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 23 
 
Upwards of a QUARTER OF A MILLION volumes of this Series 
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 Shadow of Ashlydyat. 
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 Mildred Arkell. 
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 Elster's Folly. 
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 A Life's Secret. 
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 Red as a Rose is She. 
 Cometh up as a Flower. 
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 The Wooing O't. , 
 Which shall it be ? ' 
 
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 The Three Clerks. 
 
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 Susan Fielding. 
 Steven Lawrence : Yeoman. 
 
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 Emma. 
 
 Pride and Prejudice. 
 
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 Lady Susan and The Watsons. A Sister's Story 
 
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 Comin' thro' the Rye 
 
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 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 Ladybird. 
 
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 24 
 (4 
 
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